- S funny how they don t make signs on the roads that say, Only five miles until BEER. Of course, maybe Mick was the only one who could have used one. AllMessage 1 of 1 , Dec 3, 2000View Source'S funny how they don't make signs on the roads that say, "Only five miles until BEER."
Of course, maybe Mick was the only one who could have used one.
All right, so behind him, he had the mansion. And ahead of him, somewhere in this great big wide world, was alcohol, and lots of it. If only he had beer-dar, that might help ...
Mick wasn't particularly sure how far he was going to have to walk down this road to get to beer, but however long it took, that was how long he would walk. But first, he'd have to wait for the girls to catch up.
Oh, he knew they were back there, somewhere trying to hide in the brush beside the woods. He wasn't telepathic, or psychic, or anything of that lot. He just wasn't stupid.
Or, for that matter, deaf.
"Jubilation Edith Lee! You bring back my Popple right now!"
"Her middle name is Edith?!"
"Just shut up and chase, Rogue!"
"You'll never take me alive, coppers!
"That's the plan, you annoying little punk!"
Mick shook his head and glanced back at the mansion. If this was the sort of superheroing they were teaching at that school, they were going to have a lot of explaining to do to the general population. Especially where Jubilee was concerned. Mick had seen ferrets on heroin with less energy.
The trio crashed through the bushes like a klutzy elephant, falling with a collective shriek upon Mick's poor, overly sober body, which did nothing helpful to his mood.
"Get offa me!"
"You first, Mick!"
A long, drawn-out silence followed before Mick said, "I can't."
"Why not?" Kitty asked.
"Me hand is right stuck down t'ere."
Rogue could have sworn she heard a growl out of Kitty. "Down where?"
Another moment of silence. Then, "If y' value t'at sanitary nature o' yers, y'll leave t'at a mystery, love."
Jubilee squirmed. "Okay. Ewwww."
"Can Ah second that?" Rogue asked.
"I don't see why not," Mick snapped.
It took them all a few long, awkward seconds to get situated and on their feet again, during which time Jubilee's pants made so much noise Mick thought there was a badger in love nearby, Kitty couldn't stop making the "ewwww" face, and Rogue hastily snatched back her DVD before Jubilee could take it back again.
Mick ruffled a leaf out of his hair and plucked one from Kitty's before asking, "Now, which one o'ya wants t'tell me why yer 'ere?"
Kitty frowned. "We weren't following you, honest. We were just out ... stargazing."
Yeah, right. "It's cloudy out."
The girls froze. They all looked at one another, searching for an excuse. Suddenly, Jubilee's eyes went wide.
Immediately, Jubilee realized what a stupid excuse she'd given and smacked her forehead, almost as punctuation. If any of them had ever heard of Victor Borge, it might have actually gotten a laugh. Then again, maybe not.
"So, y' decided t'follow me, huh?"
Well, they certainly couldn't lie at this point. Nodding sheepishly, the trio shrugged. They looked absolutely pitiful, with the exception of Jubilee, who couldn't get the grin off her face. Sighing, Mick said, "Come on, t'en."
This was not good.
Okay, so it might be somewhat good. Mick should have figured that the nearest establishment serving alcohol in the vicinity would be one of those expensive lots where you had to sign over at least three major internal organs before they even started considering your credit history. Of course, that was a big "should have."
In any event, it wouldn't matter in the long run, since Mick wasn't planning on paying.
However, he wasn't too overjoyed with the snooty upper-class rutter running the place. And Mick had thought Scotty had quite the steel rod up his ass. This git probably owned the company that produced it.
"Do you have a reservation, sir?" the snooty bastard said as he smoothed down the front of his elegant suit.
"Well, yeah. I've got t'ese little underage princesses 'ere who wan' t'taste a little o' the grog, and --" As the maitre d' went a deeper and more unhealthy shade of red with every passing second, Mick frowned. "Oh, y'mean ..." He glanced at the reservation book on the stand in front of the git and shrugged. "Well, I suck at undercover," he said.
The maitre d' was not amused.
The quartet ducked past the maitre d' into the main dining room, which happened to be one of those upper-class joints with the fancy dinner napkins in the shape of endangered zoo birds and the violin band in the corner.
Mick hated places like this. Mostly because they served champagne, which was like piss with bubbles.
Mick raised his hands in the air and whistled loudly, catching the room's attentions. "Everybody! Stop eatin' right now!"
Thankfully, everyone had the good grace to stop eating. Well, that was a load off. When they sat there for however bloody long he wanted them to with a mouthful of half-chewed Doritos, it tended to turn the stomach right fast, it did.
As soon as he was sure he had everyone's attention, Mick's eyes flashed that iridescent green, and everyone went still like statues. Even Snooty Guy was frozen in place, one arm extended as he pointed at the quartet with that "I'm going to call the proper authorities!" look in his eyes that Mick recognized instantly.
So that left two people. One was a busboy, who walked into the room from the kitchen, took one look at his surroundings, and swung right back around, heading as fast as his legs could carry him. The other one ... well ...
"All right, don't anyone panic," Mick said without thinking.
A whimper from his right drew Mick's gaze to a shuddering young man cowering in his chair, staring at the scene around him as if he'd quite abruptly lost every single marble he owned. Mick frowned and said, "Well, all right, t'en, you can panic. Y'look like y'could use a good panic."
With that, the young man let out a high-pitched girly yelp not unlike the one Bobby had let out on Thursday when Mick had poured a cupful of fire ants down his shirt and raced for the door.
The girls, meanwhile, were staring curiously at a man sitting at a nearby table, his fork nearly to his mouth and an expression on his face as if he'd just taken a whiff of the Bog of Eternal Stench. Rogue waved her hand in front of his eyes, not looking all that shocked to see him not move a muscle. Jubilee, however, had lost interest in the guy and was currently loosening the tops of the salt shakers and replacing the mushroom on the end of his fork with the escargo from someone else's plate.
Kitty came up behind Mick. "What's up with them?"
"Oh, I froze 'em." He looked down at her and shrugged. "Sort o'," he said, right before spotting the bar on the other side of the room. A wide grin spread across his face as he raced towards it, Kitty and the other two right on his heels. "Like hittin' a switch in t'eir brains. On, off. On, off."
"Sowhataboutthatguy?" Jubilee asked, waving towards the still swinging door the busboy had run out of.
Mick ducked behind the bar, searching for Guinness with one eye while using the other one to set out glasses on the bar. "'E's got t' be a mutant. It don't work wit' mutants."
The girls exchanged a glance before sitting down on the only empty barstools left. "That's yer mutant power?" Rogue asked.
Mick looked almost offended. "T'at's not me mutant power," he said, right before opening a mini fridge and finding what looked to be the mother lode, for this place, anyways. He smiled and pulled out a few bottles of Guinness. Well, at least someone in this bloody place had some taste.
"It'snot?" Jubilee yelped.
"No. It's a power, but it's not the power."
"All right, I'll bite," Kitty asked. "What is your mutant power?"
"I in'erit the mutant ability o' any blood relative what passes away."
There was a moment of confused silence before Rogue said, "So, let me get this straight. One of yer relatives dies, and ya get his powers."
"You'rekidding," Jubilee said.
"Why, is it funny?"
"So, what'd ya get?" Rogue asked.
"Well, the freezin' t'ing comes from me granddad Kit, and the invulnerability and superstrengt' I got from me cousin Bernie, and t'en t'ere's me aunt Peridot --" His expression went as vacant as the Bates Motel for a second, then Mick added, "Bloody 'ell, I almost forgot somethin'." When he noticed the girls staring at him, he shook his head and said, "Never y'mind."
He focused his attention on the Guinness while the girls huddled close on the other side of the bar. "Y'all realize that when Bobby and John find out about this, they're gonna flip," Rogue whispered conspiratorially.
"Sam might not be happy, either."
"I'll just sit over, try to look cute, and intentionally forget to mention the Peters," Kitty added.
"Should I e'en bot'er askin'?"
Rogue looked over at Mick and frowned. "There's two Peters runnin' around the school. There's Peter the British exchange student, and Peter the Russian exchange student."
"Oh, Peter's not his real name," Kitty said. "I mean, it is -- it's Piotr, but that's Russian for Peter, so we kinda Americanized him."
"Yeah, we're working on turning him into a normal, American kid. Last weekend, we locked him in the TV room and made him watch 'Dawson's Creek' and 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' while we stuffed him full of Chicken McNuggets and Doritos and Wild Cherry Pepsi," Jubilee said, then gaped in shock that she'd actually managed to say something in front of Mick and breathe at the same time. (Author's note: Actually, I'm sick of writing literal run-on sentences. And there was no way in hell I was writing that last sentence as one big long word. So sue me.)
Rogue suddenly grinned. "Ya wanna drive him nuts? Turn on ESPN and keep callin' it "soccer." He hates that."
"Both Peters do, actually," Kitty said.
"We're still doin' that next weekend, right?"
A lightning-quick move on the other side of the bar caught their gazes, and all three openly gaped at the cigarette in Mick's hand. Funny, they hadn't thought he smoked. Well, not unless set on fire, that was. "Yousmoke?" Jubilee asked.
"No, but me cigs do"
The girls exchanged a glance and a shrug before looking back across the bar at Mick, who groaned loudly at their reaction. "I can't believe t'is. I get the impression t'at you gits got two mental images of us Brits. Eit'er we're all sophisticated and titled and knowin' the Queen's English and all, or we're low-class and rude and smoke like chimneys and drink like fishes. Where do y' get t'ese ridiculous ideas?" Mick asked, right before taking a drag off his cigarette and a chug off his glass of beer.
Kitty cocked an eyebrow. "Hmm, I wonder."
"Okay, t'en," Mick said, right before pushing three glasses of dark stuff towards the girls.
All three stared at Mick, then at the glasses, then at Mick again. "What's this?" they asked in unison.
"It's Guinness," he said with a wicked smile.
Kitty eyed it suspiciously. "Why's it so dark?"
"Brown food colorin'," Mick said, trying not to laugh. Truth be told, he shouldn't be givin' little girls alcohol, but then again, truth be told, after they'd had a touch of the Guinness, they wouldn't ever touch the stuff again. Not if he could help it, in any event.
All of them lifted their glasses, then cautiously took sips of the stuff. Kitty was the first to go a brilliant shade of green, while it took a few seconds to Rogue to wince and gag. Jubilee, on the other hand, deserved an Oscar. Maybe several. She managed to take a drink from her glass without flinching. Then again, she did have that special, wonderful sparkle in the corner of her eye that said, "Dear God, what was that crap I just drank?"
After a meaningful silence, Mick asked cheerfully, "So? What do y' t'ink?"
All three exchanged a glance, then, as politely as possible, they pushed the glasses towards Mick.
"It tastes like battery acid," Kitty said with a grimace.
Rogue shook her head. "Ah think it tasted like bathroom cleaner."
"I'mstickingwithgasoline," Jubilee said, although she said it with a (very) forced smile on her face.
Mick scowled. "Now, how would you gels know what t'ey taste like?"
"Danny Gorel," they all said at the same time.
Mick shrugged and took a drink from the nearest bottle. "Right," he said.
"Michael Huntly Walton!" a deep voice yelled from the dining room side.
Mick couldn't help it. It was instinct. "Mum?"
He lifted his head to peek over the divider between the bar and the dining room even as the girls ducked, knowing full well the annoyed voice barking from the other side. So while Mick was surprised to see Scotty rather than his order-barking, Laura Ashley-wearing mother on the other side, the girls sure weren't.
"Oh," Mick said with a sigh, "it's you."
Well, there went his weekend.Troll Princess
Grand Poobah of Mischief and Sheepish Lord of Chaos
Go with God, my car's full.
Buffy Summers: What are you doing here, Spike? Five words or less!
Spike: [counting on fingers] Out... for... a... walk... bitch.
-- "Buffy the Vampire Slayer"