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Post by Rogue on Oct 17, 2006 17:17:24 GMT
”You’re just not doing it right”
Rogue gives him a look that's somewhere between amusement and annoyance. "I do know how y'use a lighter, Johnny. Y'pro'lly jus' used up all th'lighter fluid..." she responds, sticking her tounge out at him. Sure she's not six anymore, but it doesn't hurt to be a little childish once in awhile.
Of course she keeps trying, at least for a little, because she is still stubborn, and all. But it's pretty obvious to her that this is a lost cause, and that there's nothing left in this lighter. Heck, he pro'lly only gave her this one so she'd try in vain to get it working, and forget about his lighter.
Fat chance. She didn't have that short of an attention span. She wasn't a gerbil...
She pushes it into his hands, with an almost distraught, frustrated look. "It's not workin'."
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Post by Pyro on Oct 23, 2006 10:06:23 GMT
He grins as she sticks her tongue out, rolling his eyes as if he’s halfway mature and mouthing whatever before returning his attentions to the contested lighter, deliberately *definitely-not-watching* her over the top of it and trying to supress a chuckle as she tries, fails, and tries again...
< It’s not workin’[/color]
He’d forgotten she could be so childish, become used to her being the next most adult next to him, with Bobby and Josh somewhere beneath them (of course, that’s sort of changed now she and Iceman are the *couple*, making them the *adults* and casting him in the role of surly teenager again), but it’s good to know she’s still got that in her. Rogue’s been so... intense lately. Not that he can blame her for that, but it’s bloody hard work.
John slips almost effortlessly into the *older brother* role (though anyone drawing that sort of comparison would be lucky to escape unsinged), slipping the Zippo back into his pocket and, his tone clearly firmly in the *placating* camp, examining her nemesis (oh... no lighter fluid. Heh. Wonder how that happened?) ”Oh well. Guess that one’s broken”
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Post by Rogue on Oct 23, 2006 19:34:52 GMT
He takes the lighter from her, and she sits back, arms crossed, watching, waiting for him to prove her either right or wrong, almost expecting that he'll somehow make it work, and laugh at her. But no, it's not working, and she grins.
”Oh well. Guess that one’s broken”
"Guess so." she responds in a playfull sort of "duh" tone, still grinning, arching one eyebrow, as if to say "gee, didn't I tell you that already?".
She sits there a moment, wondering just what to do next. She still wants that lighter - his lighter, the one he won't let her touch - but she's not sure it's a good idea to wrestle it out of his pocket. Too much skin, too much risk, all that. Just the fact that he doesn't want her to have it makes her want to have it even more. Just so she can say she'd won, really.
"S', what now?" she questions absently, "While this ain' as borin' as starin' at the cealin' in here by m'self, it's still not up t'par with ya're usual scheming ways. Y'losin' y'touch?"
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Post by Pyro on Oct 23, 2006 20:08:48 GMT
"Maybe" he half-grins, half-yawns, stretching before sitting back. Something keeps nudging at the back of his mind, wanting to play with fire, but he can't risk getting hiis favourite toy out now she's got no reason not to try and swipe it. "Getting old now, y'see. Gotta start being responsible and shit...."
The sarcastic tone is rich... but not quite enough to stop him bursting into another half-laugh at the ridiculousness of his ever being mature or responsible (hell, sometimes even reaching adulthood seems like a wierdly distant dream)... Oh man, he is bored. Very, very bored. And completely devoid of ideas. Not exactly a dream situation.
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Post by Rogue on Oct 23, 2006 20:21:17 GMT
"Maybe. Getting old now, y'see. Gotta start being responsible and shit...."[/color]
She 'tsk's at him, shaking her head almost mournfully, as he starts laughing at his own words.
"Yeah, y'jus' wait. Someday, y'gonna end up serious, an' as borin' as Mr. Summ'rs. M'be y'll ev'n be a teacher..." Her grin turns slightly mischevious. "Y'll be teachin', an' bein' borin', an' there'll b'a kid who's jus' like y'are now t'drive y'crazy.... An' I'll laugh."
Not that she'd likely be present then, but somehow, it's natural to mention herself somewhere nearby the whole situation of the future. Well, it's not like they won't be friends later, right? Hopefully - if she's not forced to stay back in Mississippi after this visit, anyway.
"Ugh. Anyway. You don' come up with somethin' soon, I'll b'forced t'do somethin' rash t'cure th'boredum."
Not that she really has any ideas herself. Aside from getting his lighter - let him think she forgot, then snag it - there're no real plans going on in her mind.
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Post by Pyro on Oct 23, 2006 23:02:45 GMT
”Works both ways, sugah” he grins back ”You’re not going to stay young forever. You’ll grow up like Jean, and...”
Oh. Yeah. She just compared him to Scooter, didn’t she? And even if it’s in jest, there are some places they can’t go even there now, given the Bobby situation. So she can't be Mrs. Scooter.
”Like Jean” – gift of the gab? And then some, my friend, because that’s a pretty neat recovery – ”Only, y’know, married to Drake. With a picket fence, two perfect children and a golden retriever...”
Maybe it’s odd, given how they’re on the threshold of adulthood and all, but the subject of the future isn’t raised all that often. John knows the party line – he’s going to study journalism, Bob’s going to be an accountant, and they’re going to get a flat together and it’ll all be great – but it’s still distant. Somehow (and this never ceases to freak him out) it seems so much more *normal* to think they’ll grow up and be costumed superheroes, the next generation of the leather-clad Super Muties. Which is scary. Still, however he tries to picture the future, it only makes sense that Bob and Rogue’ll be there, right? They’re a sort of family, after all (the sane voice points out that’s hardly the greatest indicator that he won’t run, but whatever. This is different, right?)
< I’ll b’forced t’do something rash[/i]
”Oh yeah?” He cocks an eyebrow, his grin pure mischief. ”Like what, exactly? ‘Cos you’ve got me intrigued now. I’ll be forced to let you get bored so’s I can find out”
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Post by Rogue on Oct 23, 2006 23:33:33 GMT
”Works both ways, sugah. You’re not going to stay young forever. You’ll grow up like Jean, and...Like Jean...Only, y’know, married to Drake. With a picket fence, two perfect children and a golden retriever...”
She wrinkles her nose slightly with a small laugh, and tries not to look anywhere near as hurt as she feels. His whole story ends differently than hers is likely to - how could she marry Bobby - or anyone - or have kids if...she's still like this? She doesn't mention that, though, doesn't want to kill the mood that's still airy and playful. Besides, it wasn't like he meant to bring that up - it was the natural progression of the conversation.
"W'll jus' haf't' see 'bout tha'." she responds simply, still smiling, with a single-shoulder shrug.
”Oh yeah? Like what, exactly? ‘Cos you’ve got me intrigued now. I’ll be forced to let you get bored so’s I can find out”
She shrugs, grin returning. "I don' plan m'rash actions ahead'a time - wouldn' make sense. Rash's spontanious."
And, spontantiously, she picks up one of the smaller pillows on her bed, and pitches it at his head.
"See? Like tha'." She shrugs, and grins.
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Post by Pyro on Oct 23, 2006 23:51:44 GMT
”Oh, right” John, fielding off the pillow with a shield of fists and elbows, draws himself up to his full shortness (it feels ludicrous to even think about calling it full height, scowl), mock-offended. ”You of course realise that this means war, Missy. Rogue? And do not think your charm will save you. There’s no mercy here”
He pitches a smaller pillow at her head in return, and not waiting to see whether it hits home, launches a barrage of playful pummels with a larger one. ”Surrender now, and maybe I’ll let you live.”
Again, it’s childish, foolish, any and everything Summers would disapprove of. But screw all that. Screw the whole sodding world for forcing the pair of them to grow up. Sometimes kids just have to be, well, kids regardless of what the rest of the world has planned, and this is one of those times.
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Post by Rogue on Oct 24, 2006 0:00:22 GMT
”Oh, right. You of course realise that this means war, Missy. Rogue? And do not think your charm will save you. There’s no mercy here”
She ducks, but the pillow still hits, and she refrains from the fairly squealey laugh that wants to come out, and grabs onto it, trying to use it as a shield from the other attacks. He's standing, which gives him the advantage, and the shielding is just not working.
”Surrender now, and maybe I’ll let you live.”
"Never!" she responds, grinning, even as she's being clobbered with a large fluffy object.
She absently wonders if this is a good idea - someone's so going to wake up and hear them - but that's pushed to the back of her mind fairly quickly as she lunges for her own pillow to retaliate with...
But she overshot the lunge, and grabs the very end of the pillow in one hand, falls entirely off her bed, onto the floor on the other side of it, pulling the pillow down on top of her. For a moment she lays there laughing in almost dazed-amusement at what she's just managed to pull of. Then there's a muffled, "Ow." and she pushes the pillow off her face.
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Post by Pyro on Oct 24, 2006 0:14:31 GMT
Who cares if someone hears them? Dare anyone to challenge that she was having a nightmare and he was *helping*. She’s well known for them now, after Liberty, and something which obviously isn’t a pillow fight is far more believable than her ranting in German, or trying to punch through a wall with invisible claws, both of which he had the misfortune to witness before she became Logan’s charge and Bobby’s property, back when he was the most natural choice because they were both night owls, both unshakable (or so he had thought, though she soon put that to the test). Besides, being loud is part of the fun, the thrill that someone might just catch them.
”Never? Then prepare to meet your…”
Thump
His first thought is whether she’s okay, which lends his first laugh a slightly nervous edge, but hey, if she’s managed an Ow she can’t be dead, and his hysterics escalate because this is so joyously absurd and just plain brilliant. A moment or two later and he’s got them back under control, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and looking down on her with a mix of pity and amusement. ”I don’t even have to bother trying, do I? You’ll just do all the work for me, y’klutz”
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Post by Rogue on Oct 24, 2006 0:25:42 GMT
He's still laughing up there. She could be dying, and he's laughing...only, if she were dying, she was sure she'd either be unconcious, or making a hell of a lot more fuss about it. No way she was going to just die from falling off her bed. Or without saying some pretty interesting things, none of which would be ow.
”I don’t even have to bother trying, do I? You’ll just do all the work for me, y’klutz”
She sticks her tounge out at him, otherwise not moving. The fall knocked the breath out of her, that's for sure. "Yeah, well...Ugh, you suck."
She sounds playfully pathetic, and the tone carries over to her next words, adding an element of "pity me!" into her voice this time. "Help m'up?" She lifts a hand, then quickly drops it, as she realizes it's the one she'd taken the glove off of to try to get the lighter working, earlier. She instead raises the other one just as quickly, so maybe he won't notice that she almost drained him.
Hm, maybe she could exaggerrate this "wounded" act. Make him feel bad. That would be entertainig, if it worked. Buth e probbably wouldn't fall for it - she wasn't that good of an actress. Still, it was worth a shot. It would sure cure her boredum.
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Post by Pyro on Oct 24, 2006 0:36:32 GMT
There’s a moment’s hesitation – not as she puts out the bare hand, he’s far too ready to take that, but afterwards once he realizes how close a call that could have been. It bugs the hell out of him, having to be on his guard like this, never really being able to slip into the truly instinctual because of the risk of skin-to-skin contact (and how much worse must it be for her? Not going to think about that one. Far too depressing), always having to step back and think Has she got her gloves on?
That moment passes quickly enough not to spoil the mood, however, and he reaches down and takes her hand, his grin simultaneously widening and softening – ”Rescuing damsels is Bob’s division, y’know… I’m more of a pillage and ravish kinda guy” – as he proffers a hand and helps, no, fairly yanks her upwards, ready to steady her if (well, it’s more than likely, but *if* seems more accidental rather than calculated) she stumbles.
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Post by Rogue on Oct 24, 2006 0:49:38 GMT
”Rescuing damsels is Bob’s division, y’know… I’m more of a pillage and ravish kinda guy”
"'M sure you can handle bein' a gentleman f'once, Johnny. Ain' gonna hurt ya."
He pulls her up, and she's mildly startled by the force, and her feet don't get under her properly. She expects to fall on him, and utterly knock them both down, and end up back on the floor again - well, on top of him, anyways. Which would be... bad.
She's not covered, and she wishes she'd thought to pull on a sweatshirt, or something with sleeves, because with her arms bare, and only one glove on, this is really dangerous, more-so than normal, even.
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Post by Pyro on Oct 24, 2006 1:10:38 GMT
Ain’t gonna hurt? That, my dears, is what we call famous last words.
Okay, so maybe it wasn’t so much that she jinxed it. He was as much to blame for the rashness with which he threw himself into it all, and hell, when it came down to it, it's just one of those things…
… problem was, round her, those things tend to be pretty colossal.
Thinking back later, he won’t really be able to remember what happened – it's over so quickly, and what with everything which comes afterwards the details will be one of the early casualties. But the important part? No way he is ever going to forget that; the subtle pull no skin should ever exert, and the feeling that somehow he wasn’t quite as securely him… like nothing else… like burning, only cold, and not really like that at all. Only the briefest of touches, one which between anyone else would hardly merit noticing and probably pass without either being aware of the brush of skin on skin, but it’s enough. More than enough, and not enough, and way too much.
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Post by Rogue on Oct 24, 2006 1:26:09 GMT
She's come to regognize, and dread, this sensation, the feling of being flooded by another person's mind. She was sure she would overload every time it happened, but, so far, she never has. She pulls back sharply, with a sound she's not aware of making, but sounds somewhere between a whimper and a growl.
He's in her head, now, and there's a compulsion there, that she hasn't felt before, and the memories...she pushes them away from the forefront of her mind, into the back where she always pushes them.
"Shit." she mumbles, and looks to John. He's down, he's not awake, and she's sure he killed him a moment, before she realizes he's breathing. She shies away for a second, grabbing her glove from the bed, and moving to the closet, yanking out a sweatshirt she hasn't packed away for the trip, pulling both on, in a fairly frustrated, clumsey manner.
Once properly covered, she moves back over near John, and half-drags him up, onto the bed, because leaving him on the floor seems...mean, almost. She's gotten a boost of strength, a little one, because he's stronger than she is, normally, so it wasn't that hard to get him up there.
"...Shit." she mumbles again. She's not usually one to swear - had to be John's influence. She notices something shiny on the ground, and looks at it a moment, before bendign and retrieving it. His lighter. It must have fallen out of his pocket when he passed out. Absently, she perches on the edge of the bed near him, playing with it, watching him. Hopefully he'll wake up, and she won't have to get him to the medlab and explain what she'd done.
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