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Blue Belle

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This story is No. 1 in the series "Blue Belle Universe". You may wish to read the series introduction first.

Summary: He dressed up as his state's senior senator. Now he's a blue woman. How the hell does Xander keep landing himself in these situations?

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Marvel Universe > X-Men > Xander-Centered
Marvel Universe > Avengers
(Moderator)JoeHundredaireFR1841161,48041588207,45220 May 097 Apr 13No

Chapter 22

Blue BelleJoe's Note: Because people wanted it… Miriam finally comes face-to-face with her houseguests. We also get to experience the morning after at Casa Rosenberg, and find out whether or not Betsy got her blonde cheerleader twosome the night before. I'm pretty sure she did, but don't take my word for it. I'm just the author. Oh, and I don't know if there's anyone at facebook.com/violet.butterfly or @violet.butterfly on Twitter but if there is, please don't poke them. They're real people, not junk accounts I set up for viral purposes.



November 21, 2011
Rosenberg Household - Michelle's Room
Sunnydale, California




     The next morning came far too early for Michelle's liking, her eyes cracking open to find a metal spike hovering in place over her beeping alarm clock. Eyes widening, she stretched her arm out and batted the spike away as it began to descend, wincing as it scraped noisily against the edge of her nightstand before embedding itself in the floor with a thunk. Sighing in relief, she ran her hand through her hair… and then realized she couldn't move her other arm. Or anything else, for that matter. "Morning, Cordy. Please don't kill my clock. It's the only one I have. Also? I'd like to get up now, if you're done using me as a body pillow."

     Cordelia groaned and, much to Michelle's surprised, snuggled even closer as she pressed her face between Michelle's neck and the bed. "Set the thing back an hour or two. I don't wanna get up yet."

     Snorting, Michelle planted her free hand on the mattress and pushed, turning onto her side and forcing Cordelia to roll off of her onto the bed. She glanced back over her shoulder, snickering as she watched the green-haired girl go through a full rotation and end up on her stomach, reaching up to pull a pillow over her head. "Hey, I don't want to be up this early either. You're the one who needs an hour to get ready every morning, though, and so I am. Now c'mon. Up and at 'em." Cordelia let out a stream of mostly unintelligible noises that sounded none too flattering and so Michelle retaliated by grabbing the top sheet and comforter, tugging hard. Deprived of warmth, Cordelia let out an indignant squeal and popped her head up, glaring at Michelle. "Shower. Now."

     Glare ruined by the cute way her hair was puffed up from sleep, Cordelia continued to grumble as she slid off the end of the bed and stumbled over to the bag she'd brought. "Who's the cheertator around here, anyway? Don't wanna get up yet. You're not allowed to make me." Still muttering, she hoisted the bag up onto her shoulder and wobbled over to the door, disappearing through it as she headed down the hall towards the bathroom.

     Michelle chuckled, smoothing down the oversized t-shirt she'd worn to bed as she followed Cordelia out into the hall, turning in the opposite direction and making her way towards the stairs. She wasn't particularly self-conscious or anything - staring into a mirror for hours on end as she played with different forms and variations on her Michelle form to find something that was 'just right' had cured her of that - but she only knew Sheila and Ira Rosenberg as Willow's distant and frequently absent parents. She didn't know how her 'aunt' and 'uncle' would treat her, or what their expectations would be regarding proper attire for wandering the house. As she descended the stairs, it occurred to her that it might have been a good idea to thrown on some shorts or… well, anything to go with her shirt. But then again, why change her habits until she knew she had to? Breezing through the living room, she entered the kitchen and paused. There was only one Rosenberg, and they were enjoying an unusual - for them - breakfast. "Wills? Is that my leftover pizza?"

     "How come you've never let me have this before?" Willow had a slice in each hand, alternating back and forth devouring the pizza as fast as she could chew. "I came down the morning and figured I'd just have a bowl of cereal but that wasn't doing it for me so then I tried toast and that still wasn't good enough and then I realized I could actually smell the pizza through the box and the door of the fridge and so I figured what the heck and so I dug out the Meat Cravers and oh my gosh, it's like a meat party in my mouth!" Freezing, Willow chewed and swallowed before pointing the remainder of one slice at Michelle. "Don't even say it, Michelle. I know that sounded wronger out loud than it did in my head."

     Holding up her hands in surrender, Michelle turned and opened one of the two pizza boxes remaining in the fridge, picking two slices at random for her breakfast. Kicking the fridge door shut behind her, she wandered over and dropped one onto Willow's plate before sitting down across from her and nibbling on the piece still in her hand. Hmm. So that's what Jamaican Jerk Chicken pizza tasted like. Not bad. Not something she'd order for herself, but tolerable enough. Meant Aura's pizzas were fair game for stealing from at future sleepovers, though. And speaking of future pizza… "Well, we'll keep that in mind for future pizza ordering. And if I remember correctly, you're the one who tried to keep me from eating those kinds of pizzas."

     Willow stuck out her tongue at that, retracting it as Michelle cringed at the half-chewed mess of meat she was being shown. Swallowing, Willow took a sip of what Michelle hoped was iced tea - mostly because she couldn't think of something else brown and non-carbonated that would go good with pizza - before speaking again. "Hush, you. I'm Willow and I'm never wrong so this obviously has to be your fault." Michelle opened her mouth to protest and Willow narrowed her eyes. "Resolve face."

     Before the two could argue it out further, there was a shriek from upstairs that had both girls leaping out of their seats, a pizza crust sticking out of the corner of Willow's mouth like a carb-loaded cigar. A few seconds later, Sheila came charging into the kitchen, wrapped in a bathrobe and looking frazzled. "Michelle? Why is your friend showering in our bathroom?"

     "Um, Cordelia should be in Willow's bathroom. That's where she was headed when I came down, at any rate. And she's showering because she stayed over last night and doesn't want to go to school smelly?" Relaxing, Michelle lowered herself back into her seat, picking her half-eaten piece of pizza up off the table and examining it. It'd been more than five seconds, but the table was pretty damn clean… it was still good, right? Taking a bite out of it, she pointed up at the ceiling, where the sound of running water could clearly be heard. "There's nothing wrong with your bathroom, so does it matter if someone's in ours?"

     Walking over to the kitchen counter, Sheila began poking at the coffee maker and called back over her shoulder to them. "Nothing in theory, dear. But we've had this discussion when you visited in the past, remember? Just because you're staying with us for a few months instead of a few days doesn't mean it magically doesn't apply anymore. Because of your… inclinations… you have to live with a slightly different set of rules than Willow does."

     Michelle looked over at Willow, who looked just as confused. Which was both good and not; she'd been hoping someone could fill her in on what was going on, but at least it meant she hadn't missed something major. "My 'inclinations'?"

     "You don't have to pretend with us, Michelle. When you called and came out to Willow, the answering machine picked up before her and the entire conversation was recorded. She forgot to erase it before we came home and I heard the whole thing." Finishing what she was doing, Sheila came over and leaned down, resting a hand atop the hand that Michelle wasn't gripping her breakfast with. "Ira and I have nothing against people who choose to live alternative lifestyles, but you have to understand that it changes a few things. There's no way we'd let a boy stay over in Willow's room with her. It'd be hypocritical of us to let you have girls sleeping over in yours." Frowning, she glanced over at Willow. "Although with the way that Harmony girl was looking at you last night, dear, we might need to reexamine who's an acceptable overnight visitor in your case."

     Wait, wait, what? Michelle looked over at Willow, who was staring back at her with wide eyes. Her aunt and uncle 'knew' she was a lesbian? Her joking with Cordelia the night before hadn't entirely been a joke; she didn't quite know how to classify herself given her odd origin and blended gender. And yet she'd supposedly… Rachel and Ivette. Michelle's lip curled back in a snarl. That definitely hadn't been on the 'to implant' list. Obnoxious little bitches. Fine. They wanted to play games? She could play games too. Just wait until 'Phoebe Frost' got to Sunnydale High today. There were some awfully pretty girls on the varsity cheerleading squad. Ivette's sister was going to turn out to be a very friendly girl…



November 21, 2011
Chase Household - Kitchen
Sunnydale, California




     "A gorgeous and witty telepathic multimillionaire walks into a kitchen and finds all three children of a mutant terrorist mastermind. It's not a joke; I'm just in the mood to narrate the events of my life today for some odd reason."

     Smirking, Miriam raised her martini glass in a salute before taking a sip from the shockingly green concoction it held. "Come on, Emma. I woke up to find four uninvited guests in my house. Including one who didn't get 'no means no' until I pounded it into her head with a frying pan. I think I'm entitled to some backup."

     Jean groaned as she lowered herself into a chair on the opposite side of the dining room table, glaring at Miriam. That had been… what, a decade ago? She'd grown up a fair bit since then and - unlike Emma - she kept her mind to herself unless absolutely necessary. She always had. If Miriam needed reinforcements against anyone, it was Emma. Who seemed utterly nonplussed to be sitting down for breakfast with not only Miriam Chase, but Wanda and Pietro Lehnsherr as well. "Fair enough, I suppose. Speaking of which, I'm only counting two uninvited guests at the moment and the Hellmouth cuts the range of my telepathic abilities down significantly. Since they're not in the house or anywhere in the relatively small area I can read clearly… I don't suppose you know where our daughters ran off to, do you?"

     "When they left, I think Tommy was trying to sell them on the delights of Jack in the Box. Not sure; he tends to talk quickly and so it's kinda hard to understand him sometimes." Miriam exchanged looks with her siblings and the three burst into laughter; why that was funny, Jean had no idea. Then again, she had no idea who 'Tommy' was, either. Maybe if she did, then she'd be laughing too?

     Evidently she was the only person in the room who didn't know who Tommy was, though. Clucking her tongue, Emma looked back and forth between Wanda and Pietro several times before sighing. "It's been almost eighteen years, and I still can't believe the two of you would do something so… so very trailer park. Remind me again, Wanda, how much did you need to use your powers to ensure that the X-gene was the only mutation your twins came out with?"

     Wanda scowled at that, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. "Only a bit. And I don't care what you say, I don't think we did anything wrong. We love each other. We've forged a life together. Why not make a family together?"

     "Perhaps the fact that he's your brother?"

     The stare-off between the two women continued for a few seconds longer as Jean looked back and forth between Wanda and Pietro, wondering if she was hearing things. She'd known the twins when they were all younger, back when Erik and Charles had a common goal and they were all one happy mutant family in Westchester. Granted the two had always been on the quiet and private side, preferring each others' company over all others, but shouldn't she have seen or heard… something… if this was as long-standing a thing as it sounded? And how had she missed hearing about Wanda's pregnancy and the birth of her children? When Emma knew. How did Emma even know the Lehnsherrs, come to think of it? Jean's ponderings were interrupted as Wanda's eyes landed on her, more out of a desire to avoid Emma's accusing gaze than anything else. "Okay, so maybe we've let things cross the line a little bit over the years, but-"

     Emma let out a choked laugh of disbelief at that. "A little bit?" Sliding her chair away from Jean's, the blonde gestured down at the floor between them. "Wanda, darling, here's the line. Conceiving children as part of a long-term incestuous relationship? Somewhere in low Earth orbit."

     "At first I thought it was sick, insane, and horrifically unnatural. Now?" Miriam took another sip from her drink before shrugging. "It's kinda like watching the Jerry Springer Show. They make me feel better about myself. Because no matter what's going on in my life, I'm not as screwed up as them." Raising her free hand, Miriam made a beckoning gesture and a glass bottle with a thick metal band wrapped around it floated over, coming in for a landing on the table in front of her. "I break this out when I know they're coming over. I usually need it. Want some?"

     While Jean generally wasn't the drinking type… she'd been sent on a fool's errand to the mouth of Hell because a sixteen-year-old girl had somehow managed to outwit her and Xavier, she'd woken up this morning to find herself naked and snuggling another woman twice in two days, and her time travelling future daughter had revealed herself to be the product of a union between Jean and said same woman. Now she was sitting at the breakfast table with an openly incestuous pair of fraternal twins who had evidently given birth to at least two children. Having a drink seemed like a perfectly reasonable response. Perhaps the only reasonable response to recent and current events. "Hit me."

     Chuckling, Miriam whistled softly before pantomiming drinking. A servant hustled over with a lowball glass that had two ice cubes in it, placing it in front of Miriam so she could fill it a third of the way up with liquor before pushing it toward Jean. "Careful, 151 is something like seventy-five percent alcohol by volume. Do you want me to have Maria bring you some juice to mix it with, maybe do a Caribou Lou, or are you just going to sip-" Picking up the glass, Jean chugged the contents in one long pull, feeling the alcohol burn its way down her throat as she slammed the glass back down on the table. Miriam's eyes widened at the display. "Or you could do that."

     "Hit me." Jean watched as Miriam tentatively refilled her glass, motioning impatiently for the green-haired woman to pour faster. Considering she wasn't much of a drinker and her stomach was empty, she was fairly certain that this was a horrible idea… but she couldn't bring herself to care. As soon as the glass was full, Jean summoned it to her hand telekinetically. She rolled her wrist in a slow circle, listening to the ice cubes clink delicately against the glass, before bringing it to her lips and chugging the entire thing. Letting out a mighty belch, she rolled her glass across the table toward Miriam, scattering ice across the tabletop. "Hit me."

     The glass made it about two-thirds the way across the table before abruptly righting itself and flying back through the air toward Jean. Well, not quite toward Jean. She turned her head and watched it pass neatly between herself and Emma, tracking it all the way until it slapped against her daughter's hand. Her daughter, who was standing next to Emma's daughter, who was Rachel's half-sister because her daughter was Emma's daughter too. "We're back. Turns out that you can make a breakfast run pretty damn fast when you're with someone who can teleport." Moving closer, she used her mind to gather the runaway ice cubes and return them to the glass before setting it down on the table. Rachel hesitated for the barest fraction of a second before turning and taking a seat on Emma's lap. "So, why's Mom channeling Mother this morning?"

     Emma let out what was probably the closest to a genuine laugh Jean had ever heard, lifting a hand and swatting Rachel upside the head. "Ahem. I don't drink to get drunk. I drink because I like alcohol. And I prefer slightly more sophisticated fare than cheap over-proof rum. If anything, she's drinking like Lo-James." Sniffing, she frowned before grabbing at Rachel's left arm, pulling it out from behind the redhead. "Speaking of more sophisticated fare… what on Earth is this?"

     "Breakfast burrito. A meaty one, to be precise." Rachel brought her right hand up, petting the burrito softly before taking a great big bite out of it. "Tommy wanted to go to Jack in the Box and, well, I've never been to a fast food joint before. Future-You wouldn't let me. Something about the quints, 'food of the commoners', embarrassment… I generally tune you out when you get going on that rant. So I decided to take advantage of Future-You being nineteen years away - and Now-You being busy teasing Jean - and see what all the fuss is about. And you know what?" Taking another bite of her breakfast, Rachel moaned softly. "It's fucking amazing."

     Letting out an exasperated sigh, Emma released Rachel's wrist and allowed the redhead to return to her breakfast as she shot a glare at Wanda and Pietro. "Why am I not surprised that your children share in your glorious absence of sophistication?" Shaking her head, she glanced back over her shoulder and Jean followed her gaze to where Ivette was still standing between a white-haired boy she assumed was Tommy and a brunette who was the spitting image of Wanda in her teens. "Although it could be worse, I suppose. At least she's not eating a hamburger for breakfast. What is the matter with you, child?"

     "What? I figured Rachel had the right idea. The closest I've gotten to a burger is experiencing it secondhand through Esme when she sneaks into town to hang out with her little flatscan friends. Wanted to know what all the fuss is about." Frowning, Ivette turned the oversized hamburger in her hands to and fro, examining it from all angles. "Don't worry, I'm probably not going to have another one. Ever. They had a poster with nutritional information on the wall and I looked up a Jumbo Jack while we were waiting. It's nowhere near tasty enough to make it worth how bad it is for me. Swear I can feel my arteries clogging up a little bit more with each bite I take. You know, kinda like that time you dragged us to Paula Deen's Christmas party?"

     Emma shuddered at that. "I still think you can get diabetes just from standing near that woman's food. But that's a discussion for another time. We have a lot to do today, and not much time left to do it in if we want to return to Westchester at a respectable hour." Wiggling her leg until Rachel rose and wandered back over to the other teens, Emma pulled out her smartphone and began tapping out a message as she resumed speaking. "Ivette, you'll work with Michelle to collect hair from all the girls that show up at the meeting Cordelia is organizing. I'll have Betsy collect some from Gwen and then make her way over to the school by way of Alexander's house. Assuming she can find some a decent sample, I'd love to see what Bruce finds when he compares Alexander's DNA to Michelle's. Rachel, you'll be coming with me to meet Mister Giles." Finishing what she was doing, Emma tucked her phone back into her pocket before humming softly and looking over at… "Anya, would you mind going with Ivette?"

     Looking from Emma to her parents and back, the teenage Wanda - and really, Jean thought, what kind of person named their daughter after their dead sister - shrugged awkwardly. "I… could. I guess. Why?"

     "Thomas is going to be in a room with close to two dozen attractive teenage girls. Someone needs to be there to keep an eye on him." Emma's words made Anya chuckle and nod even as her twin brother let out a scoff. Considering there was no need for Tommy himself to be there, Jean somehow doubted that was the real reason Emma wanted the brunette to attend but since Anya didn't seem inclined to question it, she'd let it go. Mostly because Jean knew that nagging the blonde for answers would get her nowhere. Although speaking of attending… "And you, Jean… hmm. Look this way? Okay, now follow my finger with your eyes but don't move your head." Confused, Jean did as instructed, staring at the tip of Emma's finger as it wandered back and forth, then up and down. Sighing, Emma rose to her feet before reaching out to pat Jean on the head as she offered the redhead a condescending smile. "Delightful. I think you'll be staying right where you are, and we'll come back for you when we're done."

     Wait, what? Jean surged to her feet… or at least attempted to. In reality, she got about halfway up before tipping sideways, slamming her hip into the table and then stumbling back in the other direction before falling to the floor. "…I think I'm drunk."

     "Well, I'm glad we're on the same page now, darling."



November 21, 2011
Ditchik Household - Gwen's Room
Sunnydale, California




     Propped up against the headboard of her bed, Gwen frowned as she watched Betsy rush around the room, muttering quietly to herself as she tugged pants up her legs. Without bothering to shower first, even. Gwen had made the offer, of course, but Betsy had declined because she was in a great big hurry to go off and do… something. That wasn't with her. Her frown grew. While she hadn't been under the impression that this was anything more than a one-time thing, there were better ways to handle the morning after. "So that's it? Wham, bam, and not even a 'thank you, ma'am'?"

     Betsy stared at her incredulously for a few seconds before letting out a bark of laughter. "What, the four orgasms you had last night weren't thanks enough? Fine. Thank you ever so much, Gwendolyn Ditchik, for allowing me to shag you rotten last night. There. Do you feel better now, luv?"

     "Oh, fucking ecstatic." Hands fisting in the sheets, Gwen glared at Betsy. "Would it kill you to be a bit more… I mean, who knows how often you do something like this, but it's new to me. I didn't think we were going to date or anything, what with me living here and you going back to New York, but-"

     Zipping and then buttoning her jeans, Betsy raised an eyebrow as she met Gwen's eyes. "But what? How do one-night stands work in your head? Oh! Do you want to friend me on Facebook or something? Or follow me on Twitter? Same username for both: violet.butterfly. All lowercase, period in between, no spaces. Once you've got the two of those, you can follow me around on foursquare, check out what I'm watching and reading with GetGlue, and see random snippets of my life on Instagram… that last one is actually kinda cool because I post some pictures from powers practice when I can." Summoning her blue, police box-themed t-shirt to her hand, Betsy tugged it over her head and then pulled it down to cover her purple leather leotard. "Seriously, if anyone has the right to be upset about last night? It's me. After all, I wasn't the one thinking about another girl half the time."

     Gwen's eyes widened at the jab before narrowing. Oh no. There was no way she was going to let Betsy turn this one back on her. After all, she wasn't the one behaving atrociously. Betsy was. And there was nothing wrong with passing thoughts - even if they were frequently passing through her head - and she refused to feel guilty for having them, even if she'd had them while around someone who could hear them as easily as spoken words. "First of all, I wasn't thinking about Michelle that much last night. But even if I was? You still went and had sex with me. A lot. If my wandering mind was such a big fucking problem, why'd you do it?"

     "Because I was randy as all hell and you wouldn't stop molesting my arse with your eyes?" Betsy's blue eyes slid about a foot south, landing on Gwen's sheet-covered chest. "You have bloody luscious tits, too. The only girl at Xavier's with a pair like yours… well, even if she didn't have a boyfriend, going to skin-to-skin with her ends with you in a coma. I'll take yours any day."

     Bringing her arms up to cover her chest, Gwen stared at the tops of her breasts as she tried to figure out how to respond to that. Because… it wasn't really a compliment, was it? "Gee, thanks. I rank higher than ending up in a coma. What other compliments are coming my way? 'I coulda looked up Britney or Lindsay while I was here in SoCal but fucked you instead because you're better than a STD'?"

     Betsy rolled her eyes at that before stalking over, twirling a strand of Gwen's hair around her finger before tugging hard and yanking it free. Before the blonde could even ask, she was being supplied with an answer. "Frosty's orders. She's doing DNA testing to see how many more Willows and Janets are hiding in your little group of friends. Oh, and for the record? One of my classmates can heal pretty much anything with a touch. I could have a fivesome with Britney, Lindsay, Pam Anderson, and the world's most disease-ridden porn star, and be clean in time for Tuesday's classes."

     "But he can't cure a coma?"

     "Oh, I'm sure he could. But then I'd have to deal with him making fun of me, Marie's boyfriend being angry, my boyfriend being pissy… your tits are coma-free, mockery-free, drama-free, and you enjoyed it a lot more than Marie would have. That's like, win-win-win-win." Staring at her finger, Betsy furrowed her brow before shrugging. "Not sure they thought this one through. I don't exactly carry glass vials to collect samples in or anything. Mehh. I'll go over to the school, drop yours off, and see if they still want me to go over to Xander's house. Wait a second. I don't even know where Xander's house is. How was I supposed to… ugh. Idiots." Looking up, Betsy met Gwen's gaze again for a moment before sighing. "Anyway, it's been fun. Seriously, it has. If you think you can be cool about this… violet dot butterfly. It really is my name on Facebook and Twitter. Look me up. Maybe we can hang out if you ever make it to my neck of the woods. If not… yeah. It's been fun. Ta."

     Gwen offered a mocking little wave in response. "Ta. Oh, and I'd appreciate it if you made yourself useful on the way out. My parents don't need to remember you being here. Make them think they heard me puking this morning or something; suddenly, I'm really not in the mood for Career Week." That earned her another sigh and roll of Betsy's eyes but the purple-haired girl nodded before turning and walking out of the room.

     Flopping back down on the bed, Gwen groaned as she rolled over on the bed and buried her face in her pillow. She stayed like that for a moment before recoiling as the scent of Betsy's perfume hit her nose, scrambling upright and glaring at the traitorous pillow. Ugh. Between that and the stench of their fun the night before, her bedding definitely needed a washing. But how could she sneak that past her mom, who would soon be under the impression that Gwen was violently ill?

     Raising one hand, Gwen extended two fingers and let out a soft hum as she looked back and forth between them and the bed. Well, it would fit with her excuse for staying home from school, wouldn't it? And while she'd never tried it before, it couldn't possibly be that hard to pull off given the average IQ of the bulimics on the squad with her…

     No, Gwen decided, while one's first time ending with regrets and vomiting was pretty much par for the course among Sunnydale High's cheerleaders, there was no need for such drastic action. Her mom would inevitably leave the house for… something. All she had to do was wait until that point, and then scamper downstairs and shove her stuff in the washer before her mom returned. It wasn't like her mom was going to go all Laundry Police and open the washer in mid-cycle to check the water for signs of puke or anything. Yeah, that would solve the bedding problem nicely.

     As for the larger mistake that had led Gwen to this point? She could let something like this bring her love life to a screeching halt and seriously dent her self-esteem, but she wouldn't. She refused to be like her peers, defining herself by what others thought of her and how they treated her. There were nice guys and douchebags. It stood to reason that there were nice girls and cruel bitches, too. In the future, if she chose to keep exploring her burgeoning interest in girls, she'd just have to do a better job of telling which category a potential partner fell into so she didn't end up with another Betsy.

     Wait a second. Didn't most magazines say that the best relationships came from having a significant other who was also your best friend? Her best friend, who she did tend to think about in a more-than-platonic way on a regular basis. Who was definitely a nice girl, and who had been a nice guy before that. Well, a nice guy to everyone but Cordelia and Harmony, who'd definitely deserved it for the way they treated him…

     Hmm…
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