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FIC: All Foam, No Beer (PG) (6/6)

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  • Jennifer Matarese
    Okay. So the throbbing was gone. Heads weren t supposed to throb, unless they were possessed by B-movie alien creatures. And Mick was pretty sure his wasn t.
    Message 1 of 1 , Dec 3 8:18 PM
      Okay. So the throbbing was gone. Heads weren't supposed to throb, unless they were possessed by B-movie alien creatures. And Mick was pretty sure his wasn't.

      What in the bloody hell was wrong with him? He never could hold his liquor all that well anyways, but did that stop him? No, it most certainly did not. And when he woke up the next morning feeling like a damn freight train had run him down, he goes and wonders why.

      Aw ... hell.

      So, let's take a head count. Who was he in trouble with this morning? Well, Scotty wasn't speaking to him. And there was a good chance Baldy wasn't all too keen on him.

      All righty, then ... so if those were the only ones mad at him, then who was the bugger hiding out in the shadows just outside the kitchen?

      A low roar erupted from the shadows right before a lightning-quick shape leapt out and pounced on him. Before Mick even knew what was going on, Logan had him slammed up against a wall, one fist wrapped up in his clothes while the other one was holding him in place. The two outer claws on that particular fist were right above his ears, while the middle one glistened between Logan's knuckles.

      Mick rolled his eyes. "Oh, it's you."

      Logan ignored him and shook him with the fist that wasn't presently anticipating performing a double Van Gogh on him. "You got her drunk."

      "I didn't get 'er drunk! She jus' 'ad a sip!" Suddenly, Mick frowned. "Wait, which one are we talkin' 'bout?"

      Logan almost looked as if he had to think about that one. "Marie."

      "T'ere was one named Marie? Where the 'ell was I?"


      "Oh." Well, that explained it. Why no one in this bloody house could keep their original name was beyond him. The next thing you know, he'd have to deal with students callin' themselves the Magnificent Rando and Flopsy Mopsy, Destroyer of Worlds. "Well, what are y' pissed about? None of 'em liked the bloody stuff!"

      "I don't want them drinkin'." Logan's middle claw popped out and inched slowly towards Mick's face. "Any of 'em."

      "Right," Mick said, squirming somewhat. Not that he was afraid of getting his head ventilated, but the way Logan was holding him against the wall, his boxers were riding up in a very uncomfortable place. Mick wriggled so that Logan's grip on him loosened and stared him down. "Y' know, I'll bet t'ere's a warm and fuzzy individual in t'ere ju' waitin' t' get out."

      A low growl erupted from Logan's throat.

      "Y' know, 'cause y' swallowed 'im whole."

      Another growl. Mick frowned.

      "Is your engine on?"

      That was greeted with dead silence. Mick didn't know which was worse. Frustrated, Mick sighed and said, "Awright, Logan, let's try t'is. Y' draw yer claw and I'll put me 'ead in yer way, and we'll try t' kill each ot'er like civilized superheroes."

      Logan thought on that for a second, but got distracted by the sounds of a few female students walking by and giggling. Scowling, Logan let him go and said, "I've got a better idea."


      Watching Logan and Mick confront each other was the most intense battle of wills any of the students had ever seen. You could have heard a pin drop. Their concentrations focused, their gazes locked across the table. Logan's eyes narrowed as he rolled his cigar between his teeth.

      "Your move, English," he said.

      Mick barely moved, just glanced down at his cards and said the two words Logan had been dreading.

      "Go fish."

      Logan's only response was a well-practiced growl.


      Returning from grocery shopping, Jean and Rogue pulled up to a house they barely recognized.

      For one thing, it was missing windows. For another thing, there was a hole in the roof. (Well, that was nothing new.) And for a third thing, there were toilets on the front porch. Right in front of where some of those windows used to be.

      And for once, Jean's first thought wasn't, "Gesundheit, Storm."


      The house was quiet. (Yeah, it was too quiet. What of it?)

      That, in Rogue's experience, was never good. Either that, or something hysterically funny was bound to happen at any moment. However, seeing as how the kitchen looked as it would have about five minutes after a boy band had wandered in followed by a Girl Scout troupe, she was going to stick with her first assessment.

      A loud groan sounded from the TV room. Glancing over her shoulder at Jean, who was smiling and shaking her head as she carried a bag of groceries into the house, Rogue walked down the hall and peeked into the TV room.

      Mick sat in the chair nearest the television, where an episode of "Red Dwarf" was playing with the volume turned all the way down. His head resting on the back of the chair and his eyes closed firmly shut, Mick was smiling.

      Which was weird, because his clothes looked as if they'd been attacked by piranha.

      "How you feelin', Mick?" she asked cautiously.

      "I feel," Mick said in a joyful tone of voice, "like someone 'as lifted a great weight off me shoulders and beaten me repeatedly 'bout the 'ead wit' it."


      He did look happy, though. That was good. Or dangerous.

      Something told Rogue, though, that Mick had won. Like ... oh ... say, the roar of Mr. Summers's motorcycle as it drove off into the sunset. Considering that Mr. Summers had gone to the city for the day, it was a pretty safe bet that Logan was about five minutes away from being pulled over for not wearing a helmet.

      "So, ya stayin' here?" she asked. "With us? In the mansion?"

      Mick shrugged, then said, "I s'pose."

      "That's good," she said, right before spinning around, heading towards the kitchen, and yelling over her shoulder, "There's groceries out in the car. Wanna help carry 'em in?"

      Another loud groan sounded. "Can't I jus' make one bleedin' trip and carry the whole car in?"


      "Um ... well, bollocks on y', t'en."


      Mick had never seen a Tigger on crack. But if he had, he imagined it would look exactly as Jubilee did as she bounded into his room.


      Kitty and Rogue ducked into the room behind her. "Jubilee?" Kitty asked.



      It took a second to sink in past all those layers of hair gel and 'N Sync lyrics. "Huh?"

      Kitty ignored her and watched as Mick unpacked his knapsack. "What did your parents say?"

      Mick looked up to speak and caught a glimpse of Logan standing in the doorway. Stupid git. It was that daft prick's fault his favorite shirt was now a napkin.

      Mick turned his attentions back to the girls and said, "'Eat yer vegetables, tell Scotty we said 'ello, and yer brothers and sisters wan' t'know where the line forms for t'is school o' yers.'"

      Kitty frowned. "Brothers and sisters?"

      "Well, t'ere's seven o' us. I'm the oldest, t'en t'ere's the twins, Kenny who runs superfast and Andy who controls animals, and t'en t'ere's Amy Lynn who goes invisible and camouflages and whatnot, and Georgie who does all the underwater t'ings, and Tess who switches powers, and Erin, but 'tain't lookin' good for Erin, who 'asn't gotten 'er powers yet."

      All of a sudden, Kitty's ears perked up. "Back up a sec. Did you say you had a sister who switches powers around?"

      "Yeah, Tess. She takes yer power, and she gives it t'her," he said, pointing to Rogue. "Or 'er." He pointed to Jubilee. "Or 'im." Mick waved his hand in Logan's direction.

      Kitty didn't even glance over her shoulder, even though the others finally noticed him standing there. "So, do you still have it?"

      Mick shrugged. "Y' don't 'ave t' if y' don't want t'. I mean, it only works for an hour, but --"

      Jubilee's eyes went wide, and she latched onto Rogue's arm and jumped up and down excitedly. "Didjahearthat,Rogue?Youcanloseyourvirginitynow!"

      The look Logan gave Jubilee could have melted Velveeta at a hundred paces.

      Mick's green eyes widened, then narrowed. "So, wait a minute. Y' want me t'give me baby sister a ring and tell 'er to come 'ere and shuffle you lot up so t'at Frosty can take Skunk Girl 'ere in the back and give 'er a good rodgering?"

      Jubilee bobbed her head up and down wildly.

      Both Logan and Mick shook their heads and groaned simultaneously.



      What in the hell was Mick doing in bed at 11 bloody 45?

      Oh. Setting a good example. Right.

      He'd argued on the subject, no doubt about it. The same way Logan had about the whole "early to bed" deal, he'd heard later on. Of course, Mick had the slight advantage of not being, in his own words, "the stupidest git this side o' Manchester." Although, Mick having been the stupidest git on the other side of Manchester up until a few weeks back, it was assumed that he was merely sizing up the competition.

      But, as always, he'd failed miserably and was reduced to sleeping the hours of a nun rather than sleeping with a nun.

      Umm ... forget he'd thought that.

      But seeing as he had managed to finagle a bed out of that Xavier chap, Mick was feeling cocky of late.

      And he had his own room. Bloody hell, this was heaven, it was. His own room, in a flippin' mansion, of all places. He certainly hadn't had one at home. Scotty didn't even have one here. He had to share a room with his fianc-- oh.

      Mick wasn't even going to warrant that thought with a dirty mental image. Lucky bugger.

      But while he was daydreaming ... night-dreaming ... whatever. While he was dreaming, he might as well start thinking about what it'd be like on the team. After all, they'd seen him in action. How could they not ask him to join, right?

      Not that he would, of course.

      Then again, Scott was still trying to figure out a way to pay off that plane ticket, so he supposed he wouldn't be seeing any invitations for quite some time. But still, he was the perfect candidate to be the next X-Man. All right, so as of right now, he was too old to be a student and too young to be a teacher. So he wasn't a member of the team, and the way it was looking, he'd never even make it to Official X-Waterboy.

      Not that he cared. Of course.

      But, he did have a bed. Plus, he could be loyal, resourceful, intelligent, and had absolutely no qualms about going out in public dressed somewhat like a kinky rent boy.

      Well, okay, maybe some qualms.

      A few. A few qualms.

      What in the bloody hell was a qualm, anyway?

      Oh, never mind.

      He switched off his light, but had to wait until the rest of the lights in this wing went out to truly be in total darkness, what with all the bloody holes in the walls. A few in his, a few in the boys' rooms ... enough so that getting dressed these days required either a bathroom trip or a lot of patience and a lot of very small curtains.

      Of course, it was his fault there were holes in the wall, so he'd be the last one to complain. He really needed to aim a little better next time.

      Heh ... no wonder Xavier had disliked him since that little tiff with Logan. Seemed only fair, really. It's a wonder he'd gotten a bed at all.

      Well, to be honest, it wasn't much of a wonder, what with Scotty havin' those handy-dandy negatives and whatnot. But, he digressed.

      Slowly, one by one, the rest of the lights diminished. It was right after the last light went out that it started.

      "G'night, Sam."

      "G'night, Bobby."

      "G'night, Peter."

      "G'night, Mick."

      And then, all at once ...

      "G'night, St. John-boy."

      Mick groaned loudly and cursed the very existence of TV Land before shouting out, "If you insufferable lot don't shut yer traps, I will get up out o' this bed and make y'shut yer traps!"

      Annoying little bastards ... why was he staying here again?

      Oh, yeah. No cockroaches or steel toilets.



      Author's note: Okay, that's the end. Finally. In any event, it's not the "end" end, because the Waltons are definitely coming back. I've got no choice in the matter, really. The characters have crawled into my brain and set up shop. Kenny and Andy are having an incredibly loud argument behind my left ear, all of my Cheetos have disappeared and Amy Lynn's fingers are orange, Tess and Mick won't stop playing Diablo so I haven't gotten any sleep in three days, George's favorite song is one which never ends, and Erin has discovered that I'm ticklish. Damn.

      So. They're coming back, whether you or I like it or not. (Although I'm hoping you guys liked Mick, at least, because if you thought he was bad ... user shakes her head) Besides, there is one particular crossover that I'm dying to do. Don't say I didn't warn you ... ;P (And who knows? By the next story, Jubilee might actually learn how to breathe when Mick's around. She'd better. The writer in me wants to smack her around for making me write literal run-on sentences ...)

      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"
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