Issue Ten: The Marvel Illustrated Swimsuit Issue/Assistant Editor's Month

Just as Benni manages to move across the dance floor and closer to MinuteMan, the man in white takes his leave of the hero and seems to disappear into the crowd. From her altitude, Benni should fairly easily be able to keep tabs on the man, but he seems to have completely disappeared...

EnergyStar loses track of the man in white after he leaves MinuteMan as well. Only a moment later, she hears "Good evening, my White Night", as the acrid smell of brimstone begins to fill her nostrils. EnergyStar is startled to find the red haired man in the white suit standing right alongside her. How did he get here that fast?

Carol Danvers listens to Agent X's story with only mild interest as her thoughts have now been redirected to the big race tomorrow. Soon after, she takes her leave for the evening, claiming she needs to be well rested for tomorrow.

Blackbird overhears several of the X-Men debating who should pilot the Blackbird tomorrow. Several members present impressive cases in their own favor. Note for Stam

So, does Motya accept the invitation to dance with Blue Marvel?

Jericho...more to come.

Beorn stares into the mirror, mortified. He had ordered a swimsuit, true, and it was his own damn fault for not being specific, but he'd expected something suitably baggy and trunk-like, not this god-awful speedo. True, he was Norwegian, and his people were not typically known for shyness about bathing suits, but he was not a typical man. He was shy.

He stared, his face crimson. Nothing to hide, right? he thought, his heart pounding.

"Well, there's nothing else for it but to go out. Everyone is surely having fun and won't notice me."

A few minutes later, he appeared at the bar dressed in nothing but a most ridiculous silver swimsuit and a pair of sunglasses, trying to sidle in quietly and find a place where he could hide behind a table for a moment. Stuck out of the waist of his suit, for all the world like an exotic dancer, was a crumpled bill of small denomination. It was, at most, going to be enough to buy a sandwich and a beer, but for him it was as much as he could spare.

Benni frowns as the can't find the white suited man, but then shrugs as she has seen plenty of strange stuff. A couple of blue furred people, someone who teleports around, lots of flyers and other things she would never believe if she was home.

The tall tanned woman steps off the dance floor as she heads towards the bar for a drink. She doesn't really need one, but it is polite to the bar to purchase drinks, it pays for the music and dance floor after all. she idly looks around as she sways gracefully towards the bar, taking in all around her.

Motya flushes briefly at the attention and looks around to see whether it is her or someone else that is being asked to dance...and whether she currently looks like someone else.

"Well, if you insist, sir," she said calmly, holding back the disbelief from her face as much as possible. "I am not much of a dancer, I am sorry to say."

Beorn, from behind a potted plant, looked around the bar, his heart sinking. He was told it was a poolside bar. He was blushing furiously and near to skulking back out again, when three lovely young ladies at a nearby table drew his attention. They were dressed to the nines, with painted nails and evening dresses, clearly readying to go out for the evening. His attention was drawn, not by their appearance so much as by the fact that they were looking at him.

He ground his teeth in embarrassment, and looked for a towel or something he could put on while he returned to his room. Before he could, however, one of the young women approached and beckoned him to follow. "Are you Eric Njorssen?" she asked, "The actor?"

It was not a name he was familiar with, but he smiled at her. "No, miss," he replied, "You must have me mixed up with ..."

"It's just that you're so fit." she interrupted. "So strong looking and athletic ..." Her wide eyes blinked up at him and she put a hand on his arm.

Beorn was taken aback, but a little flattered even though the young woman was too far his junior. "Well, I was an olympic .." he began, and then the nearby table of young ladies burst out laughing. One of the others stood up and began making muscle poses, while the third spilled her drink as she laughed. The young woman who had approached Beorn herld out a few moments longer, but then she too burst out in a peel of giggles.

"Nice suit, loser," she said and turned her back, leaving Beorn, half naked and humiliated in the middle of the bar. Casting his eyes around for someone he knew, he spotted any number of Avengers, but the closest was Blackbird, so he headed for cover at the table with him.

"Heh. Hiya." he stammered in greeting. "So, where's the pool?"

Motya, somewhat sheepishly, follows Blue Marvel out to the dance floor. The band begins to play a lively number and the dance floor begins to fill up. Blue Marvel begins to ask Motya about her likes, dislikes, interests, what her childhood was like...a barrage of questions, all personal, but none deeply so. As the song ends, Motya is aware that others around the dance floor are staring at her.
Pausing to look down at herself (and see what form she has taken that has everyone starting at her), Motya is somewhat shocked to find she looks just like...
...herself...
Looking back up at Blue Marvel with a somewhat confused look on her face, the copy-cat hero explains. "I know what it's like for people to look at you and see someone else. I figured if I focused my attention on you, maybe people could have a chance to see you for who you really are instead of what they hope to see in you." Looking around at the eyes on Motya, he continues, "apparently you're a better dance than you give yourself credit for. Thanks for the dance." Blue Marvel then wanders from the floor with the rest of the dancers as the band takes a short break.

Everyone else: Is that Blue Marvel and Motya out on the dance floor??

As Benni approaches the bar, she hears another female voice call out with an element of surprise, "My lord, Odinson? Do mine eyes deceive me? Your absence on Midguard has been felt as surely as it has in Asguard! It does my heart good to see you, surely the tales of your absence must..."

Here, the man in sunglasses with the silver speedo sitting at the bar next to Benni turns to see who is prattling on behind him, secretly hoping that the nearby voice is not addressing him.

Brunhilde the Valkyrie, stalwart pillar of the Defenders, stops mid-sentence, her jaw remaining open for the second or so it takes her to recover. "Forgive me", she says, addressing Beorn, "you are definitely not Thor Odinson". The armor-clad woman quickly turns on her heel and heads directly away as quickly as possible.

Benni arches her an eyebrow as the armor clad woman marches away and then turns wondering who she mistook for .. Thor.. whispering to herself, "gods exist here.. gods exists here.." Her eyes open wide as she recognizes Beorn, mainly by his apparently permanent blush. "oh, hey Beorn! Long time no see. How have you been doing?" She asks as she turns to face the other Bostonian Avenger who is always getting lost. "And did she just mistake you for Thor??"

Beorn was confused and taken aback by being spoken to by a Valkrie (an actual Valkrie!) even though had been in this world longer than Benni. "Ummm... no, miss, ummm ... you have me confused with ummm ... a god?" He ground his teeth and looked down, but his shoulders went back a little in pride.

When Benni approached, he looked sheepish again and grinned, "Oh my goodness, Benni. Didn't they say it was to be a pool party? I feel ridiculous. And um ... yes, I suppose she did. It must have been my accent. (Although I didn't think I really still had one after all these years). I guess I'd better go change again. What is everyone doing? Maybe I can meet you later?"

Chris kind of upset with the way that things just turned out. He gets up and walks over to the bar. He then puts his sport coat on Beron's shoulders. This sport coat is gigantic on beron. It is like a kid wering his dad's suit coat. It is both covering and a little dis-heartening. This should help you with keeping cover. I think I might have a suit your size upstaiers with my stuff. Well my plans for this evening have just ended. They have unfortunately come to a quick and short end. Well my friends how has your time in the sun been. Chris orders a Vodka stinger and sips as he watches the party go on. Comic code Looking for

Lenny laps it all in like some hungry jungle cat as makes his way to the photo and illustration shoot. Keeping his pecs and upper arms flexed, he tries to wave and smile as he walks over to the superwomen. The six ladies sit in director’s chairs as makeup people do some last-minute touches to their porcelain faces and symmetrically perfect bodies. Marc Silvestri, Adam Hughes, Alan Davis and a slew of other illustrators station themselves close by with their sketchbooks and art utensils.

“We’re just getting dolled up before we start,” Thundra says as someone powders her nose.

“Seems pointless if you ask me,” Lenny says. “You all look great as you are.”

“Aw, thanks, cutie,” Spider-Woman coos. A cosmetologist applies a long plastic fingernail to her pinky.

“Yes, thank you for the compliment,” Medusa says. “But with these spotlights and this prolonged exposure to the African sun, my complexion is at the mercy of coverup and generous artists.”

“You should be using that apricot and aloe masque I made for you,” Shanna the She-Devil insists. “It works.”

“Ha! You sound like Karnilla or Amora with those concoctions," Valkyrie counters. "Even the Mona Lisa needs restoration.” Her makeup artist takes advantage of the moment and quickly applies lipstick to her pouting lips.

“Ooo, is that the Ruby Woo or the Pink Nouveau,” Hellcat asks. Even behind her wide-brimmed, Audrey Hepburnesque sunglasses, one could see her eyes virtually stalking the Asgardian maiden’s mouth as they admire its glossy, accentuated shape with predatory delight.

Lenny listens to the ladies exchange words in utter silence and awe. Part of him feels like a fanboy in a wet dream who does not want it to end, but another part of him sees a paradoxical absurdity about the whole event. Nudity has been banned as completely taboo at this resort and shoot, but he can clearly see how these women are dressed - how he is dressed. Everyone might as well be naked. Every curve, every bulge, every inch is public domain here.

With the slightest shrug, he decides to continue as is and lap it all in.

More to come ...