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Post by Pyro on Aug 28, 2006 19:33:31 GMT
Christmas 2003, and elaboration on what exactly John never even mentioned afterwards. The title is a Mondegreen (a misheard lyric) from Silent Night, the original lyric being Yon Virgin Mother and Child[/color] **** Christmas. Ho Fucking Ho. Click-clickNeedless to say, John is not a fan of anything vaguely sentimental, and the Holiday Season brings out everything that’s bad about those sort of things and – seeing as how it comes gift wrapped and covered in tinsel and fairy lights – makes it impossible to ignore. And, alongside their general perkiness (which, of course, irritates him no end), people seem to not only get even more demanding than usual when it comes to the ‘expected reaction’ from someone like him but to be unable to pin down what that reaction is meant to be. Having to be both ‘excited because it’s Christmas’ and ‘suffering from poor little orphan angst’ would be a big ask from someone who wants to fulfil expectations… Click-clickNot that he’s lacking in reasons to be pessimistic, then, but this year – his fifth Christmas at the Institute – looks like it’s going to be worse than normal, because on top of everything else Bobby’s not going to be heading back to Boston but moping around, spending his first Christmas (which, of course, he loves… scowl) away from Mr and Mrs Functionality back in Boston. Click-clickNot that he dislikes Bobby, or anything (well, no more than he dislikes everyone else at Xavier’s… perhaps slightly less, if he’s being unusually honest with himself). But spending Christmas Eve with anyone other than Jack (his Christmas present to himself, not that an excuse is ever necessary; he is the token ‘Bad Boy’, after all, and the ‘secret alcohol stash’ is one expectation thereof he’s more than happy to fulfil) was never in the plan.
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Post by Bobby Drake on Aug 28, 2006 22:23:47 GMT
Well... this sucks.
It's a lot like opening the refrigerator door over and over again in the hopes that something interesting like cherry pie has materialized since the last time you looked, Bobby muses. This is the third time he's made the circuit of the Institute since dinner. It's empty. No, it's deserted.
He'd hoped that going for a swim in the lake in the middle of a mid-December snowstorm would at least be entertaining, but without anybody to show off to it really wasn't that much fun. He doesn't even bother to dry off before padding back inside, leaving a trail of wet footprints as he pads through the halls.
Nobody in the Ready Room. Lots of empty X-Man uniforms. Talking to the empty uniforms was fun the first two times, but now it just reminds him that if he still can't control his powers well enough after almost two years here to even be allowed home for Christmas, there's no way he'll ever get to be an X-Man.
And Dr. McCoy is still in the MedLab, but he's learned his lesson about that... if Bobby never gets another impromptu lecture about how he violates the Laws of Thermodynamics, it'll be quite soon enough thank you. Especially since Dr. McCoy manages to make it sound like the police are on their way.
Nobody in the Danger Room. The holograms would be fun, especially since Marie's out of town for the week, but he's still not authorized to use it on his own. John could probably break in, somehow, but... um. No. That would be weird. Besides, there are cameras, and, um. No.
Pastries are still left out in the canteen from after dinner. He grabs another cherry tart, feeling just a little sick to his stomach as he wolfs it down. At another time the decorations and dessert buffet and stuff would be cool, but now it just reminds him that there's nobody else around to scarf them, and nobody cares if he does or not. It's not half as much fun as he and Ronnie sneaking Mom's Christmas cookies out of the kitchen used to be.
Walks through the recroom, enjoying the feel of deep-pile carpet under his bare feet. Doesn't even bother flipping through channels, this time. Not only has he done that twice already (as well as browsed their entire video library and played some halfhearted video games on the Xbox), he'd get the sofas wet if he sat down. (Who would notice? Who would care? That's not the point... he's just not supposed to get the furniture wet.)
Same goes for the library, he thinks as he climbs the stairs to the second floor. That is, the first floor. The one above the first floor. Which is called the ground floor. Bobby doesn't know why. It seems pretty dumb to him, actually. He's gotten used to it, though. He wouldn't even be thinking about it if he weren't so bored. He certainly wouldn't be thinking about it again as he climbed the stairs to the third -- that is, second -- to the damn dorms.
And there he was again, back in his room. Except at the moment it was really John's room, with the heat up in like the 90s or something. Well, maybe it wasn't really that high, but having just come in from outside it sure felt that way. Not that Bobby was ever too cold, granted. The thermometer wars had gotten pretty ridiculous his first winter in the Institute, before he'd learned the trick of regulating his own body temperature.
John had barely moved since Bobby had left... still sprawled out on top of his bed in his boxers, still making that annoying clicking sound with the lighter, still wearing those absurd bunny slippers that he refused to explain, still practically huddled around that bottle. Only difference was John's skin was a little more flushed and the level in the bottle was a little lower.
"Hey, Johnny." No response. No surprise. Hadn't been the last three times either. Which is why he keeps leaving again. Only the thought crosses his mind this time that John probably spent last Christmas... except completely alone. Which put the Drake Family Mutant Christmas Catastrophe in some kind of perspective. Not that Johnny'd appreciate the thought. He wants everyone to think he'd rather be alone.
Bobby knows better.
And he's never actually gotten drunk before. Not really.
And he is awfully bored.
So he drapes his still-wet swimsuit over the radiator, dries himself off with the towel he keeps hanging from a hook on his closet door, pulls on a pair of dry shorts, and plops down next to John. "You sharing?"
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Post by Pyro on Sept 5, 2006 9:05:00 GMT
Looks like the silent treatment won’t work this time, though mentally John chalks it up as Bobby losing to mind numbing boredom in trying to prove that circuits of the Institute can amuse him than any triumph over his own stubborn determination to be left the hell alone. Scowling doesn’t seem to deter the Pintsize Popsicle either (though it looks like that nickname’s going to have to be dropped now he, like everyone else, seems set to tower over John’s own pathetic 5 foot 7) – if anything he seems more determined than usual to breech the whole ‘piss off’ front John’s trying to present, because as if he hasn’t invaded enough space already he has to go and sit on John’s bed where it’ll be bloody difficult to ignore him.
You have to love that sort of relentless perky optimism (no, John contradicts, you really, really don’t) though it feels dangerously like the naivety of youth. Because Bobby is still young, unlike John who likes to think of himself as ‘worldly’ on account of the streetsmarts so clearly lacking in his roommate, and though he’s mature with it it’s the wrong sort of mature. It’s not the world weary battle scarred savvy John might go halfway towards respecting. It’s flannel gowns and Werthers Originals, carpet slippers and…
Fuck, slippers. He’s still wearing those ludicrous pink bunnies, because although Rogue’s out of town (how is that, exactly? Not like she’s got anywhere to go… though for some reason he keeps inventing convoluted scenarios which always end up with a sleazy motel and a certain cantankerous Canadian) he doesn’t doubt that a mind cruel enough to inflict that as a forfeit for a lost bet (as if the bet itself wasn’t torture enough, scowl. Not that anyone is going to find out about that either. John’ll never admit to begging for anything. Stupid lighter. Click-click) is more than devious enough to find some way of keeping track of whether he’s fulfilling it. Later he’s going to burn them – set fire to the flopsy monstrosities with his feet still inside – if he can ever be bothered to move. Seeing whether shock and disapproval will stop anyone noticing his ability to control the blaze as he wanders around in them’ll be sort of fun, maybe. Should at least make this a holiday to remember, because all the best holidays are marked with flames instead of snow and trees and all the other crap that makes up Christmas.
”Sharing what, Bobby-boyo?” John takes enough deep draught, repositions himself so he’s staring up at the ceiling, fluffy ears flopping around as his feet hang off the end of the bed feeling oversized and clumsy in their cosy eccentricity. ”The joy of the season? The meaning of life? The deep dark secrets of my soul?”
The last word is drawn out, ending in something halfway between a hiccough and a belch and entirely liquor. Shit, hehe. Though still a long way from intoxicated, he’s drunk more than he…
Hang on (he sits back up). Drink. Isn’t Bobby eyeing up…?
No. Couldn’t be. This is Bobby, after all. A fact he feels the need to underline. ”Surely you can’t mean you want any of this” John waves the bottle slightly before downing some more, the slow burn flavouring his next few words with unusual gravel. ”Because you, Drake, do not drink”
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Post by Bobby Drake on Sept 5, 2006 18:33:12 GMT
Bobby tries not to feel hurt by the edge in John's voice. Jeez... why does he have to be like that all the time? I was just trying to be friendly.
He considers leaving the room again, maybe talking Dr. McCoy into a round of Halo or something. Or maybe just hitting himself over the head with a hammer. Pretty much anything seems like a better way to spend Christmas than watching John drink himself even nastier than his usual self.
He doesn't, though. Maybe it's because he's started to figure out that there's more going on under that scowly exterior than John wants anyone to know about. But probably it's just that he's more alone than he's ever been in his life, and if it takes sharing a bottle of whatever-that-is with his delinquent roomie to earn some company, he's willing.
"Yeah, that's true. I don't." An evil grin spreads across his features. Well, what Bobby thinks is an evil grin. Which actually looks more dyspeptic than diabolical, which is about what you'd expect from a kid whose experience of evil, like his experience of most everything else outside of suburban sprawl and the Institute, is pretty much nonexistant.
Still, he does try, even though he's not really sure why. Just tired of being treated like a kid, he supposes. "Then again, Allerdyce, you don't wear fuzzy pink bunny slippers." He chortles. "I won't tell if you don't..." he sing-songs, reaching for the bottle.
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Post by Pyro on Sept 7, 2006 1:13:47 GMT
”You’re not going to torch my side of the room if I tell anyone you’ve touched the demon drink” he counters, sliding the bottle away before Bobby can grab it and cocking an eyebrow at his ‘evil’ grin, the sheer absurdity of someone that wholesome trying to be evil raising a dismissive grin and headshake… which doesn’t exactly make things any less amusing, since here he is being worldly and, erm, old, like he’s seen it all before. Which he has, of course. He probably could very well ‘tell him a fine tale about how it really works, because he doesn’t know he’s born… kids these days’ yada yada but he’s not, because that just ain’t natural.
… Okay, no more drink for him either.
Then again, he is bored.
And corrupting straight-laced little golden boy Bobby would be…
No. Definitely not. Even if the old ghosts are silenced by the weight of whisky pressing down on them so he misses the irony of him corrupting innocent little boys, that’s just… pathetic. No way he’s that bored yet. No way he’ll ever be bored enough to need Bobby to break the boredom. And no way he’s giving away his stash.
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Post by Bobby Drake on Sept 7, 2006 2:45:51 GMT
Bobby clambers on top of John for a second, reaching for the bottle, then realizes that's more likely to get whisky spilled on top of everything than anything else, and sits back on the side of the bed.
> "You’re not going to torch my side of the room if I tell anyone you’ve touched the demon drink"
"'course not, I wouldn't do..." he starts, glibly enough, then stops. "oh. You mean you would, if I tell anyone about the bunny slippers? But, I mean, Marie knows! She might --" except somehow Bobby knows she wouldn't. He doesn't understand John and Marie's weird relationship, but he's started to grasp some of the simpler rules of it, and one of them seems to be that what happens between them stays between them.
Not that he cares. Except he does. It's like being their little brother or something, tolerated but not really included. And yeah, he may be younger, but... humph!
Bobby's pretty sure he's pouting. In fact, he's almost certain he's wearing the same expression Ronnie used to wear when Bobby went out with his friends and Ronnie wasn't invited. Which is just unacceptable. Time for another tack.
He sits and thinks for a while. It occurs to him the tip of his tongue has worked its way out between his teeth in that way he always thought made him look thoughtful but Mom always said made him look like a demented garden gnome, and he pulls it back and frowns and thinks some more.
Finally, he has it. "I'll give you twenty bucks for the bottle!" he crows with a grin.
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Post by Pyro on Sept 8, 2006 19:17:18 GMT
John’s senses are just dulled enough (because he’s tired and pissed… off. Yes, pissed off. Not pissed. Because he knows how to handle his drink. Mm-hmm) that by the time he goes to push Bobby’s already back on the side and the only one going anywhere is Jack, trickling down his wrist. Which doesn’t exactly improve his mood. Really, Bob is such a fucking kid… who doesn’t really understand, well, anything.
< Course not, I wouldn’t do…
His words only prove how little comprehension Snowboy has. Not that John would be so crass as to say that straight out… A withering glance is much more his style.
< But, I mean, Marie knows!
John replies around a mouthful of wrist, because he’s not letting good drink go to waste.
”Yes, M…” – he checks himself, remembering that officially they’re not close enough for that – ”Rogue knows. But you’re her boyfriend, or whatever” (definitely ‘whatever’. That way no one gets hurt. Not like Bob’s got any real claim beyond the cutesy title because they haven’t even touched yet) ”and she didn’t see fit to fill you in, did she?”
It’s probably not mentioning Marie which does it, but something breaks through the haze and reminds him just how plain wrong it is for him to be sitting there licking alcohol off his palm with a half-naked Bobby (hell, he’s not exactly dressed himself… oh boy, this is weird), but the kid seems caught up in his facial contortions (which doesn’t do much to make things any more comfortable, because now he really looks childlike, all blue-eyed, blonde and pouting…) and John slips back into a more normal scowly slouch before Bobby makes his triumphant announcement
<I’ll give you 20 bucks…
Is that a good offer? John has no idea, the mysteries of American money – or at least how it works outside of the backstreet economy – still somehow eluding him, because he’s not really needed, nor had the inclination, to buy anything much for himself, especially not alcohol where the 5-finger discount rules his transactions. Hopefully Bobby is just as clueless, though, and trusts that John knows somewhat more, because he’s still not planning on parting with the bottle… and can probably get a hell of a lot more money out of Bobby in exchange for his ‘services’ (as a life tutor, he adds quickly. Nothing else).
Educating Bobby… not a bad mission for the evening. Something to do, at least, even if it does prompt a few flashbacks to the dumping ground.
”For the bottle? That’s a fucking insult. 20 bucks buys you…” – exactly how bored is he? ”A round or two of ‘I never’ ”
Bored enough, it seems, that stupid drinking games seem a good place to start (though it’s not as if he craves that interaction. He doesn’t. No need to confide in anyone, certainly not to use stupid games as a mask for it. The only reason 'I never' spings to mind is that the rules are simple to explain... he's not quite sober enough to try Bobby's not ready for anything complicated). It’s not as if Bobby’ll make it past about 3 shots, really, so there’s not much he can find out about John in that amount of time. Nothing to lose. And hey, it might just be entertaining. Maybe.
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Post by Bobby Drake on Sept 8, 2006 19:48:56 GMT
> Rogue knows. But you’re her boyfriend, or whatever, and she didn’t see fit to fill you in, did she?”
Bobby stares fascinated as John sucks the whisky off his wrist, wondering if he's playing some kind of drinking game Bobbys never heard of where every shot gets sucked off a different body part, or something.
Then he winces at the 'whatever' crack. Which hurts, because it's true... Marie hasn't "seen fit" to do very much with him, really, and it's not that she's under any obligation to or anything, but... well... it's just frustrating, is all. He wonders sometimes why she goes out with him in the first place. Probably because she thinks I'm safe, he grouses privately.
> 20 bucks buys you a round or two of ‘I never’
Bobby thinks about that for a second. His guess is that 'I never' will mostly involve John doing the drinking... is there anything Bobby's done that John hasn't? But that might be fun, too. John's a nasty drunk... but then again, that's not too different from what he's like sober, except he's more likely to drop his lighter when he tries to click it. Which is funny.
And it's not like he's particularly looking to get drunk, he just wants to do something. And, heck, if it gives him a way to slip John some cash without making the guy feel like crap, so much the better... he's tried just handing money over when John is obviously broke, which is most of the time, and gotten his head handed to him.
So he nods. "OK... deal. You start."
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Post by Pyro on Sept 8, 2006 20:26:13 GMT
John grins, probably for the first time since the fairy lights went up. Of course there’s a risk in it, because Bobby’s so green it’s going to be a challenge finding anything he’s done, but John thinks he’s up to the challenge and hey, without danger it would just be boring (why, exactly, the risk of spilling some small part of the real him to a guy who’s meant to be his best mate is dangerous is probably best not considered). This way, too, John doesn’t have to feel pathetic about taking money from Bobby because it’s not a pity-payment, it’s something adult and manly… sort of.
That in mind, he’s not stupid. He knows full well how easy it is to use the combination of alcohol and fake-intimacy to convince someone else that there was never any cash involved, having been on both ends of that particular one. And while Bobby’s probably not especially devious, it makes sense to start this from the point of not-trusting, rather than from anything half-way friendly. No point having any delusions. ”Money first, Bobs”
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Post by Bobby Drake on Sept 8, 2006 20:40:20 GMT
> "Money first, Bobs"
Bobby pulls the $20 out of his wallet, then pauses. What stops John from taking the money and then shutting him out again? Which he totally would.
Not that he cares about the money. Mom and Dad are so excited by Bobby's "scholarship" to this "elite private school" they practically throw money at him... especially if it keeps him from coming home. But it's the principle of the thing... Bobby would give John the money, but he hates being cheated.
He puts the wallet back in his pocket and thinks a moment, then the solution comes to him. He grabs the trash can from next to their desks, pulls out the plastic bag of trash, drops the $20 inside the bin, and concentrates hard while the bin fills with ice and freezes over.
"There," he says, looking smug. "You can melt it out when we're done."
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Post by Pyro on Sept 11, 2006 9:33:57 GMT
”Cute, Bob.” he says, deadpan on the surface though mentally somewhat stunned by Bobby’s apparently sudden ‘wise-up’ (his influence, of course. There had to be some positive side effects to this room-sharing thing), continuing without the merest hint of irony ”You’re lucky you caught me in a good mood.”
So, drinking games it is, then. Well, there are worse ways to waste time.
John sits up, fishes in the oddly Spartan chaos of his bedside table (all the while hugging the bottle close, because now he’s not so sure Bob’s above just swiping it) and retrieves two… well, officially they’re *tea light holders*, since that’s how Rogue got them passed as an *art project*, but it’s pretty obvious they’ve never held candles (hmm, drinking game with candles… could be interesting. Maybe later, when the ice-boy is properly drunk, because setting fire to the mansion would make this holiday half-way happy). The one he sets in front of himself has a shark – or what a shark would look like drawn by the sort of two year old who sees people as a collection of lines and circles, since Rogue’s never going to be the next Matisse – and Bobby gets a silver spiderweb (John has no idea what that’s about. Probably just something she could draw) which, squinting, looks sort of like a snowflake, so that’s all good. Shots are poured. And John’s fairly sure he has his first statement ready.
It’s a little risky, really, because Bobby’s got the sort of bleeding heart which threatens to take what he’s about to say and turn it into a *conversation* about John’s ongoing *issues*… but it’s a way for him to get the first shot inside the golden boy and hey, maybe that’ll be enough.
”Right.. I never spent Christmas with my parents” His half-shrug and oddly light tone add the footnote and I'm totally okay with that, making the words themselves as trivial and mundane as talking about the weather, which in John's world they are.
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Post by Bobby Drake on Sept 11, 2006 17:24:21 GMT
>"You’re lucky you caught me in a good mood."
Bobby snorts. "I'd say 'Man, if this is a good mood I'd hate to see a bad one,' except I already have."
He's actually somewhat surprised that John has shotglasses at all, let alone two of them. Or, well... they're kinda shotglasses. Maybe. Anyway, that seems to be what John uses them for, which makes them shotglasses now.
With weird drawings on them, that look vaguely familiar though Bobby can't quite place why.
Bobby'd always thought John drank alone, but if that were true he wouldn't need two shotglasses, would he? He wonders who John's normal drinking buddy is. Maybe Logan? Or... his mind skitters away from that line of thought, seizing on John's question as a distraction.
> "I never spent Christmas with my parents"
Bobby blinks in surprise, then nods and takes the shot. Whenever he's seen this done on TV, it's drunk all at once, so that's what he does... then manages by sheer effort of will to avoid a massive coughing fit as it explodes in his throat.
Dear God... why does anyone drink this stuff?
Then he feels it burn down his throat and fill him with heat from the inside out, feels himself float a little free of his own body, and starts to get it.
Meanwhile, John's comment is floating through his head. It's not that he'd thought otherwise, of course... he knew some things about John's life before coming to the Institute, even if his roomie wasn't much for talking about it. He'd just never really thought about it.
And it's not that Bobby has the best family relationship in the world, but they're family, and that's something. Heck, that's a lot. A lot more than John has, anyway.
And sure, he's probably just being overly sentimental because it's his first Christmas away from his own folks. There was always something about this time of year, about everybody at least making an effort to act like a family. Like, however screwed up they might be, at least they all cared enough to show up.
Except this year. And it occurs to Bobby in some vague part of his mind that part of why he's been so restless is to avoid having to think too much about that. Because he really wants to believe that if he ever did come out to his folks as a mutant, they'd accept him anyway, because that's what families do.
And to believe that, he has to pretend last Christmas never happened. And he's managed that pretty well for a year now, but it's harder now. He wonders, not for the first time, whether the Professor would be willing to wipe Bobby's memories the way he did his folks'. He's always been afraid to ask... afraid to find out that he'd already wiped the really bad stuff.
"Home is where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in," he quotes, a little startled to realize he's said it out loud.
It's funny how often Frost quotes seem appropriate. Bobby has actually been thinking about taking "Frost" as a codename if he ever gets his powers under control enough to join the X-Men, though everyone seems to be getting into the habit of calling him "Iceman". Which is a goofy name, really... though heck, it beats "Marvel Boy".
Anyway... he's getting maudlin, and the point of all this was to keep him from thinking, right? Because Bobby's way to young to have learned yet that troubles not only float when you try to drown them in a bottle, they have a way of bobbing to the surface and smacking you in the head.
He ignores the growing queasiness in his stomach and sticks the shotglass (or whatever it is) out for a refill and mutters "OK... your point. Next?"
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Post by Pyro on Sept 13, 2006 21:01:19 GMT
He can’t not burst into mad laughter at Bobby’s reaction to the shot. It’s like a kitten after it sneezes – all bewildered and sort of trippy while trying to look sophisticated and failing miserably – though of course John doesn’t see that sort of simile, merely Bobby making an ass of himself. Which is a welcome change considering how straight laced the guy is most of the time. Nothing like alcohol for levelling… although it tends to do it with a sledgehammer, a fact John’s beyond remembering just now.
He’s not to drunk yet, however, to be hit by the moment. Because it has… something. Something he thinks he might have missed out on at some stage, and while he’s not going to get sentimental or anything it’s… sort of nice, this – well, whatever it is. Normality, maybe. Two friends playing stupid drinking games without any of the crap which separates his normal life from this.
< Home is where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in[/color]
The laughter subsides… just in time to spark up again at Bobby’s ‘words of wisdom’. Because laughing at the absurdity is easier than listening and passing some sort of comment based on his not-exactly-wealth of experience… any comment beyond the ”If I still talked to my.. erm, the folks, I’d pass the message on.” which slips out before he can check it.
Maybe that’s where his lot went wrong. They never *had* to take him in – a fact which, it seemed, was constantly held up, even if no one realised they were doing it…
Nope. Stop that line of thought now, thanks. Back to less depressing things.
< OK... your point. Next?[/color]
”What weird bastardised version of ‘I never’ is this?” he grins, refilling the glass. ”American rules, right? Trust you lot to manage to fuck up something so simple. In the proper game, it’s your turn.”
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Post by Bobby Drake on Sept 13, 2006 21:40:18 GMT
> "In the proper game, it’s your turn."
Bobby blushes and ducks his head reflexively before picking up the refilled shotglass. He really doesn't want to admit to never having played this game before, so he shrugs and nods. "Yeah, I guess so. It's OK, though, we can way your play - um, play your way, I mean." He giggles.
It occurs to him that the first shot has gone straight to his head. Is that supposed to happen? It doesn't seem to affect John that way... Though John has a lot more experience. Which makes this difficult... what's something John's never done that Bobby has? I haven't done hardly anything!
"I, um..." he's still flailing, he realizes, and John is looking at him like he's going to laugh again, and Bobby's getting tired of being laughed at.
"I've never..." Think, Bobby! Um... never gotten drunk, but of course John has... never done drugs, but he's probably done that too... never had sex, hah! It occurs to him that he's going in the wrong direction, he should be heading away from the illicit stuff, go for 'never spent an afternoon picking blueberries' or something like that. Except now he's curious... just what has John done?
Bobby's managed to piece a few things together from comments over the last year or so, but he knows he hasn't even managed to fill in the corner pieces of his John jigsaw puzzle. This might be a chance to pick up a few more pieces.
"I've never been arrested?" He's annoyed that it turned into a question. Of course, that's really what it was, but he hadn't intended to admit that.
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Post by Pyro on Sept 24, 2006 18:51:54 GMT
”That’s nice. Neither have I” John replies, deadpan. And it’s not a lie, oddly enough; sure, maybe he should have been, but the fact remains he’s damn good at avoiding people trying to catch him (with the exception of a certain wheelchair bound psychic, but that’s just not natural and therefore hardly a failing).
This is going to be easier than he thought... too easy, almost. Not that he can blame Bobby for jumping to the obvious. He’s far too sheltered to go for anything else, can’t possibly build up anything like a decent picture of what exactly John might or might not have done (certainly not off the scraps he’s been grudgingly fed). But still, it’s going to be a disappointment, sigh. Can’t even liven it up with the usual forfeit for posing a failed statement, since Bobby’s hardly wearing enough clothes for that (just, he notes – with no interest whatsoever, of course – a pair of shorts, which sort of kills that idea dead).
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