Mystique-Wanting-Grass
by
Rocky-Cat
Disclaimer: Mystique and Wolverine belong to Marvel. That's all.
The young man loitering near a path in Washington Square Park looked like he could be any one of a thousand NYU students who crossed the park daily on their way to and from classes. He looked very average, too average in fact. And his smell. There was something not quite right about it. Wolverine couldn't put his finger on it but it was there. And Wolverine's nose never lied. This guy would bear watching.
Wolverine settled back on a bench and occasionally stole fleeting looks at the object of his surveillance. The man didn't appear to be a threat to the children in the playground, or anyone else for that matter. He simply stood near a tree, gazing out over the newly green lawns in the early summer sun. Every so often he would glance at his watch or peer down a path as if waiting for someone who was clearly late. Periodically the watcher would be approached by one of the drug dealers still in residence at the park despite the City's mostly successful effort to get rid of them. Each time the young man shook the dealers off, politely but firmly.
Close to an hour later Wolverine was beginning to wonder if his senses had finally failed him. There had to be something better he could do with his time than watch some grad student get stood up by his girlfriend. Just then he noticed a change in the man's posture. Following his attentive gaze Wolverine spotted another equally nondescript man approaching with a determined gait. An older man, the kid's thesis advisor perhaps? Or, Wolverine smirked nastily, his sugar daddy? Neither, it seemed. The two men met and, although Wolverine couldn't hear their brief conversation, he did witness the furtive exchange of a small plastic bag for a plain envelope. The young man slipped the bag in his pocket and the pair split, each leaving the park in different directions. As Wolverine pondered which of the two to follow something about the attitude and stride of the younger man struck him. Suddenly he knew exactly who the kid was. But a drug deal? In public? It just didn't make sense.
Wolverine followed silently and swiftly, quickly closing the distance between them. LaGuardia Place, then Bleeker Street, then south on Macdougal Street. Finally, as they passed the businesses and the streets became more residential and less heavily trafficked, Wolverine silently slipped a claw and deftly sliced at the man's jacket pocket. The fabric parted and the bag in question fell to the sidewalk, riotously spilling its content of small seeds from stoop to curb.
The slight noise alerted the man who reacted surprisingly quickly. The sibilant whisper of indrawn breath was accompanied by a rapid spin and a quick strike that missed its mark only because Wolverine was expecting it. The angry gleam of yellow eyes confirmed his suspicions. He backed off a step to give himself room and fell into a crouch, awaiting the next move. Once again it was exactly what he expected. His enraged opponent recognized him in turn and hissed his name furiously. With a fluidity that never ceased to amaze him the college student morphed into the blue-skinned shape-shifter known as Mystique. Whose side was she on today? One could never tell. The only certainty was that she would always look out for her own interests.
Fury at being thwarted oozed from her every pore. Wolverine couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of disappointment, though, as he surveyed her ruined buy.
"What're ya up to now, darlin'?" he smirked. "Tryin' ta grow yer own 'sense'? Regular weed not good enough for ya?"
"You idiot," Mystique raged, her anger and annoyance almost a palpable presence between them. "Use those animal senses of yours, you lumbering beast! That's not marijuana seed, clod. That's grass seed. Zoysia. An experimental strain, newly developed. It's harmless. It's for growing lawns!"
Skeptical but curious Wolverine reached down, never taking his eyes off the treacherous shape-shifter. He picked up a few errant seeds, examined them, sniffed them, and even tasted one gingerly. Slowly he abandoned his aggressive stance and his face reddened ever so slightly. Clearly the seeds Mystique was carrying were entirely innocuous. But then why the secrecy? Why the stealthy hand-off in the park of something that could be bought in any hardware store across the country?
"Spill it, darlin'. What's with the sudden interest in gardening?"
"Industrial espionage, you dolt. I have to make a living somehow. This is my job and I'm very good at it. My contact is an agricultural engineer who helped develop that grass strain. My employers want to get to market with it first. This grass seed never fades from bright green. Can you imagine how much money this ridiculous thing is going to make for someone?"
Wolverine shook his head in disbelief. This is what people spent their time worrying about? His reverie was interrupted by Mystique's irritated complaint.
"What am I supposed to tell my employers now?"
A slow smile spread across Wolverine's face as he sidled up to Mystique and whispered in her ear. As she listened an equally puckish smile lit up her features. He helped her scoop up some of the scattered seed and they parted with a conspiratorial nod, Mystique headed back towards Washington Square Park, Wolverine satisfied with a day's work well done.
Later that evening Wolverine leaned against the wall at McSorley's, a pint of lager in his hand and a rank cigar clamped between his teeth. He grinned fleetingly as he thought of the scene in suburban America come next spring. Acre after acre of lush lawns densely packed with the greenest Thai stick the DEA had ever seen. . .
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