This is not yaoi. If you want yaoi, go somewhere else.

A.N.: This is a Christmas gift-fic for the wonderful Dr. Meh! Enjoy. :D

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Joy.

I think I'm drunk. There's another word for that – ine- inebri- in- nevermind.

It's all Lazard's fault, though. He really knows how to get a guy depressed. All I did was Firaga Sephiroth's office, and he suspends me for a week! Like some school kid! Doesn't he (hic!) know what this will do to my reputation?

Anyways- did I just say that? Zack says 'anyways.' Not me. Why did I do that . . .?

Oh.

Oh Buddha, I'm so drunk.

Wait, who in Gaia is Buddha? Maybe I'll ask that guy over there . . . I stagger over to him, tipsily weaving my way in and out of the crowd.

Finally, I manage to lurch over to him. He looks at me appraisingly.

"Hey, um, shir, whosh Buddha?" I ask. Why am I slurring my words?

"I dunno, your girlfriend?" he replies. "Say, you wanna enter the contest?"

Contest? What contest? "Shure." Wait, I didn't mean that!

"Great. I'll go enter you. What's your name?" The man looks shiftily at me.

"Geneshish. Geneshish Rhashpodosh." I say unsuspectingly.

"As in the SOLDIER? Yeah, right. Whatever. The drawing's at ten."

What time is it now?

. . . I wonder why they've got three clocks. Seems like just one would do the job.

What was I doing? Oh yes, the time. I think it's 9:45, but I can't tell exactly.

Oh well.

Suddenly, a flash of light! I whip my head around, intent on finding the source of the distraction.

Unfortunately enough for me, the flash of light is caused by the necklace of someone's girlfriend- a necklace that hangs very low.

I stare at it for a while, watching it sparkle.

Oddly enough, the sparkle starts moving towards me.

I feel a strong slap upside my head. "Ouch . . . what wash that for?"

"You pervert!" a high-pitched voice shrieks.

Another slap. Ow.

What did I ever do to you?

"What did you do to me?"

Did I say that out loud?

"What did you do to me? You, you jerk!"

The girl is preparing to hit me again, but just then, something blares over the loudspeakers: "We have a winner! Genesis Rhapsodos, will you please come to the stage?"

Saved by the bell. Swaying slightly, just slightly, I stand to go. "That'sh me."

"You're Genesis Rhapsodos? Oh-em-gee, I slapped Genesis Rhapsodos!" she lets out a shriek of a frighteningly high frequency. Wait, what's that word mean?

The girl is still carrying on. "I'm Tasha! I'm, like, totally your biggest fan! Can you sign my chest?"

"No, I can't. I gotta go." I strut off towards the stage, congratulating myself on my brilliant escape.

"And here he is, the winner of tonight's contest," the MC booms.

I trip on my way up the stairs. Now my arm hurts. "Whadd'I win?"

"Let's see . . ." the MC reaches into a bucket full of little paper scraps. He picks one and holds it up to his face, which is quickly distorted with an evil grin. I do not like that face.

"Ooh, we're lucky tonight! Genesis Rhapsodos, you get to cross-dress!"

I think I'm fainting now. The ceiling fans could use some dusting.

When I wake up, I find myself in a tiny room, surrounded by shrieking women.

Wait, what happened? Why am I . . .

I look down at myself.

Oh dear.

Instead of the plain red and black clothes I came here in, I'm wearing what can only be described as a blue silken nightmare.

I feel my ego drop by several hundred points. I don't want to think about what must have gone on while I was unconscious.

"Wow, he actually looks pretty good in drag," comments one of the women.

"Of course he looks good – it's Genny!"

I bristle. Nobody calls me "Genny." Nobody.

"He looks so cute when he's furious!"

Or cute. Especially cute.

I reach for my sword. Drat, it's not there. Apparently, swords don't go with drag. I grab the first thing that my hand touches, and whip it out in front of myself.

Joy. It's a makeup brush.

"Good point, Genny – we'd better get the makeup on before we run out of time. Hold still!" and with an insipid giggle, the torture begins anew.

Ten minutes later, and I can barely move my face.

One of the women brings a mirror over, and I gape at myself in abject horror.

Not only do I look like a girl, but an attractive girl.

My ego withers and blows away in a cloud of eye shadow and blush.

"Okay, he, like, totally needs to wear stilettos!"

Oh, no. If anyone at ShinRa hears about this, I will never, ever be able to live it down. That is, if they can even recognize me under this layer of colored goop.

Someone grabs my feet and shoves them into strapped torture devices.

And then they command me to walk. With torture equipment strapped to my feet? Who do they think I am, Buddha?

Wait, who was that again . . .?

I suddenly find myself being swept forwards in a myriad of blondes towards the door that leads to the stage.

"Wait, wait!" someone yells, and a pudgy red-head rushes over, carrying something long, shiny and black.

They tie it around my waist and lace it up . . .

Wait, I can't breathe! Help!

They don't.

Instead, they shove the last part of my doom into my hands.

A purse. It's blue. Genesis Rhapsodos does not wear blue. Genesis Rhapsodos does not wear blue purses. In fact, Genesis Rhapsodos doesn't do any of the things that I've done in the last two hours. But, apparently, drunk Genesis Rhapsodos does.

And then I'm on the stage. I find new meaning to the phrase 'blinded by the light.'

The MC comes over, brandishing a microphone and grinning that evil grin for all he's worth. "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Genesis Rhapsodos, cross-dresser extraordinaire!" He grabs my hand and yanks me down into a bow, nearly sending me over the edge of the stage into the lap of. . .

No. Oh, Gaia, no.

I just nearly fell into the lap of Lazard Deusericus while wearing a blue kimono, a black half-corset, three-inch stilettos, and holding a little blue purse. Remind me again why people get drunk?

"Hey, ya know, you make a pretty good chick!" shouts the MC, nearly bursting my eardrums.

"Shut up," I mutter, and try not to look at Lazard.

The MC continues mocking me, while the crowd eggs him on. Did I mention he's shouting at a decibel level previously unknown to man?

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, the torture is over, and I'm allowed to go backstage. Thank the goddess.

On second thought, curse the goddess.

A swarm of fans are lying in wait for me, armed with cameras and camcorders.

Ignoring my shrieked pleas for mercy, they descend upon me, pitilessly snapping photos and recording my agonized writhings.

Eventually, I escape from their clutches, dignity – or the few microscopic shreds of it that remain – completely shattered. I stumble back into the dressing-room, glad to find it devoid of women.

I find my rumpled clothes lying in a corner, covered in dust. Buddha knows where it came from.

My head begins to throb. Who the hey is Buddha?

Think about it later, I sternly remind myself. Right now, I need to get these clothes off!

Easier said than done. How does one remove a corset?

Oooh.

Obviously, not that way- note to self, don't pull hard on strings without testing them first.

Now, just let me catch my breath.

It takes me almost a half-hour, but I manage to get the infernal corset loose enough to slip out of it. The rest of clothes are comparatively easy enough to remove, though the stilettos do put up a bit of a fight.

Once back in my own – most definitely masculine – clothes, I feel a good deal better.

Wait. How am I going to get the make-up off?

Cursing loudly, I pick up a mirror someone conveniently left on the dressing-room's countertop. Maybe it won't be bad.

I need to stop giving myself false hope. I'm wearing pale blue eyeliner and blush . . . let's not even mention the mascara and lipstick.

Why me?

The lipstick comes off easily enough, but the eye makeup stubbornly refuses to come off. And now it's smudged. I look like that demented clown from that one horror movie . . . Polter-something or other. My head is spinning too much for me to really remember . . .

After spending what feels forever trying to get it off, I give up and call for help.

No one answers me.

Timidly, I walk shakily over to the door and peek out. It's pitch black in the hallway- the club must've closed!

Rejoicing in my good fortune, I bolt out of the club as if Chaos himself was after me.

Uggggggghhhhhhhhhhhh.

My head feels like it's going to explode- explode like that one Wutaian base I oversaw the bombing of.

I don't want to think about that metaphor right now. It hurts too much.

Oh, joy. The phone is ringing now.

Shut up. My head hurts. You're not helping.

However, the workaholic, masochistic part of me that thinks it might be an important call drags me out of bed and over to the phone. My hand, moving completely independently of my will, picks the handset up.

"Hello," I hear myself mutter. WAIT! I don't want to talk! STOP!

Of course, it has to be him.

"Hello, Genesis," his smug, arrogant voice replies. "Do you plan in coming in to work today, or did the . . . adventures . . . you had last night leave you incapacitated?"

I swear, I would kill anyone right now if I was only allowed to wipe the smirk he most definitely is wearing right now off of his face.

"I'm staying home," I force through gritted teeth, fantasizing about choking the life out of him.

Blissfully ignorant of my murderous rage, he had to put in one last comment.

"I have to say, Genesis . . . you do make a very pretty girl."

That was the last straw. I exploded.

"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you! How dare you, you . . . you-"

I was cut off when Lazard hung up, chuckling the entire time, as if my rant didn't faze him. It probably didn't, but I pretended like it did.

It was going to be one of those days.

A.N.: Ahem. Time for a little rant. Humor me.

I don't think Genesis is a cross-dresser. This was written for someone who hates Genesis, so I put him in an extremely awkward situation. Please don't flame me because 'OMG you made Genny-kins cross-dress! I hate you!11!1!"

Incidentally, when I mention 'Oh-em-gee' in the fic and 'OMG' above, I mean 'oh my Gaia', not the other, blasphemous, version. :)

That being said (and thank you for reading it!), wanna review?