For my troubles, I get a punch in the face.
I feel like a character from Mike Tyson's Punch Out. Yeesh. Especially nursing a sore face. I'm so glad that it has never been listed as my best attribute.
So, I guess I could sum up what happened since my last entry, or bitch and moan about my sore head. Since bitching and moaning in any audible manner so I could get pity lovin' hurts, I'll sum up. [Also, cause I'm seriously deluding myself that any of the women here are interested in giving me any pity lovin'.]
Like I said in the previous entry, I was going to wait around and "talk" to Rogue about whatever it was that she was doing every night. I was hoping it was something simple like she was addicted to porn and went out to some seedy theatre every night to quench her hunger for flesh flicks. But nooooo, it had to complicated personal stuff with a former X-Man that happened before I ever set foot here.
However, I wasn't alone in waiting for Rogue to return. I had Lucky and Yankton to basically sit back and shoot the shit with. Of course, the fact we were doing this in Rogue's room may have raised some eyebrows, but oh well. When Rogue showed back up, slightly rosy-cheeked I wondered if she looked at the two guys and the puppy and thought this had to be the one of the normalest interventions in superherodom ever.
I will admit that I was glad Lucky was there because he'd been Rogue's teammate for a while and definitely knew her better than me. I had been hoping he would step in if I hit the wrongs buttons.
So after the usual Southern exclamation about finding two guys and a dog in her bedroom, Rogue asks why we're in her room.
Well, since she asked...
I start with no preamble, no preface, or other bidding. I'm not a public speaker. Never plan to be. I tell Rogue that her current obsession is not helping anything. She balked at it being called an obsession, but I plunged forward. I start to tell her how we can possibly handle her recent illicit needs. I think the surprised eyebrow lift she gave me was priceless. I think all at once, I angered her and confused her.
She wanted my definition of illicit. I started, with a bit of a stutter because I wasn't prepared for this sort of questioning and the big speech I had worked up in my head chose that moment to hide where I couldn't reach it, to describe in as unoffensive terms as I could manage flat-footed the act of going to a porn house every night. You have to be very careful when describing this to a woman who is a head shorter than you and only has to bring her arm up slightly to do serious personal damage to the family jewels.
I was told rather quickly: "I'm not disappearing to watch porn! I'm out lookin' for Remy!" Please note exasperation in that text.
I had to switch tracks rather quickly, though I swear I could hear Lucky behind me dying of silent laughter. He had to have been laughing so hard he wasn't making a sound. So I use my embarrassing mistake as means to explain that well, you can't go back in time to fix your mistakes. Albeit I think hers was a tad more serious than porn accusations. I was not too sure because I have never really inquired what happened between the time Bastion cleaned out the mansion and I drove in through the gates for the first time.
Rogue told me she was thankful for the concern but I should get out of her room as soon as possible. Not in those exact words, but you get the drift. This is where I summed up my courage and told a woman who had probably saved the world more times than I can do chin-ups no. Thus, I got the evil glare.
I tried again to point out that she can't fix a mistake on a continent as big as Antarctica or wherever. Whatever happened, happened and if she dwelled on it she had no shot in hell of getting control of her powers, which I believe requires a bit of emotional stability. Rogue stepped toward me looking none too pleased that I was still standing in the middle of her room and told me that what she had done to Remy was more than a mistake. This would be where I wisely chose not to use the phrase "oh, go cry me a river" in front of her. Though, suffice it to say I was sympathetic to her while still appalled at the love-induced obsessiveness, I guess you could say. [This is where Chuckles would mumble something about a pot and kettle and black, I believe.]
Anyway, instead I used the complete sentence: "So, you're going to waste your time and energy by looking for something that isn't there?"
Of course, by this point I could see little steamy wafts of annoyance leaking out of Rogue's ears. She vehemently denied that she was wasting her time. This is really where Longshot would have said or done anything outside of holding Yankton back and quietly watching with a now somber face. [At least Yankton still loved me. She was ready to viciously tear into the ominously approaching Rogue's boot.] If I was wrong Longshot could have said something, and I would have backed out, but he didn't so I persisted.
I asked when global positioning had become one of Rogue's mutant powers, because she was really going to need something like that to find anything in a giant land mass of white. If it was a recent adaptation, I would gladly add it into the database for Chuckles when he gets back. However, that small bit of wit was lost when she insisted that she would find him.
How far do people have to go to show that when a superhero really wants something for him or herself that it has a snowball's chance in hell of happening? If there's one thing I've learned from hanging around Lucky, it's that good stuff happens for having good motives. The rest is just a crap shoot with the odds stacked against you because there are 6 billion others in line.
Back to Rogue, I should have noticed that pushing her any further would not have been in my best interest for that night. It was nearly 5 in the morning, she was probably exhausted from flying around and looking for the white rabbit in the midst of the snowstorm and she probably needed some sleep. Her fists were tightly clenched at her sides. But I had to go and say the three words she didn't want to hear. "No, you won't."
It was followed by a quick and threatening "get out." I didn't heed this and stepped closer to look down at her and try to use the only physical advantage [my height] I had over her to put a little force behind my words. This Indian learned that if you stepped into a pissed woman's personal bubble, you really ought to be prepared to face the consequences.
I don't clearly remember exactly what happened next outside of my body breaking her door off its hinges. The wall across the hallway was not nice and soft either. So this would be where minor hell breaks loose. Between the bells ringing in my head, the hall spinning in three directions at once, the general throb of my chin where she had to have hit me, and the loud and fevered barking of Yankton, I was willing to just black out. I know that's a really bad choice considering the load of stuff I've had done to me when I was unconscious, so my instinct tries to keep me awake. I try to pick myself off the floor but the hall has only settled down to spinning in only two directions, neither complimentary to the other.
Something wet starts to dribble down my chin. I wiped it away thinking it was the worst time in my life to start dribbling. Well, as I tried to get myself off the floor, part of the cavalry showed up. There's a lot of concern as I'm bleeding from somewhere. I couldn't tell where at the time as the world was still rocking around me. I tried to tell the X-Men they could handle their own shit from now on, but that came out as a unintelligible gurgling to my ears, and I dribbled more down my chin.
After I stumbled into the wall for the third time, Reyes comes on the scene. She put one of my arms around her shoulder and helped me toward the infirmary she and McCoy had set up. I think I heard Rogue say something behind me and I tried to reply that she could take care of her own damn lessons and for somebody to help pack my stuff because I was leaving. All I really think I did was gurgle a bit more and dribble a lot.
The first thing I can clearly remember after that is sitting on the table in the Infirmary and looking into Reyes' eyes. I think she was checking something out.
"You know that's another reason that mouth guards are worm, outside of protecting teeth that is," she says in that doctor tone that says she's going to tell me if I guess it or not.
I play the just in the coherent and still addled guy with a simple: "Oh?"
"Yeah. So you don't bite off some of your tongue."
"Wha?" I looked down and saw that I had not been dribbling saliva but blood and there were red stains everywhere down the front of me. Though more worrying was that I got some on Reyes' shoes. I swear I have some deep, hidden psychological need to mess with her stuff. "Oh shit. I'm sorry about your shoes. I'll get you new ones."
She tells me there's no need; they've been through worse. She then tells me that the bit that I bit off is already starting to grow back and I should be good by noon at the latest. Though it's still bleeding a bit. She said she could staunch the flow so I didn't have to keep spitting out blood. I didn't reply. I just opened my mouth.
Do you know how hard it is to say thank you in English with a mouth full of medical stuff? Though Reyes must have come from a large family because she understood my mouthful speak.
So, here I am now, waiting for my mouth to heal before hitting the sack. I admit I could have handled things better, but I'm not going to lose sleep over it. It's in the past now, and I can't change it. Unless I get some nifty time-traveling powers. But if I get those, I don't think a disastrous argument with an X-Men is going to be my top priority.
I mean, I do have sympathy for Rogue, but come on. Gambit [that is the Remy she's talking about right?] is an X-Man. Or was. Whatever. He's probably still alive and coming this way. X-Men, former or current, are worse than cockroaches. You think they're dead, but they're actually sneakily hiding under your sink.
So, I guess I could sum up what happened since my last entry, or bitch and moan about my sore head. Since bitching and moaning in any audible manner so I could get pity lovin' hurts, I'll sum up. [Also, cause I'm seriously deluding myself that any of the women here are interested in giving me any pity lovin'.]
Like I said in the previous entry, I was going to wait around and "talk" to Rogue about whatever it was that she was doing every night. I was hoping it was something simple like she was addicted to porn and went out to some seedy theatre every night to quench her hunger for flesh flicks. But nooooo, it had to complicated personal stuff with a former X-Man that happened before I ever set foot here.
However, I wasn't alone in waiting for Rogue to return. I had Lucky and Yankton to basically sit back and shoot the shit with. Of course, the fact we were doing this in Rogue's room may have raised some eyebrows, but oh well. When Rogue showed back up, slightly rosy-cheeked I wondered if she looked at the two guys and the puppy and thought this had to be the one of the normalest interventions in superherodom ever.
I will admit that I was glad Lucky was there because he'd been Rogue's teammate for a while and definitely knew her better than me. I had been hoping he would step in if I hit the wrongs buttons.
So after the usual Southern exclamation about finding two guys and a dog in her bedroom, Rogue asks why we're in her room.
Well, since she asked...
I start with no preamble, no preface, or other bidding. I'm not a public speaker. Never plan to be. I tell Rogue that her current obsession is not helping anything. She balked at it being called an obsession, but I plunged forward. I start to tell her how we can possibly handle her recent illicit needs. I think the surprised eyebrow lift she gave me was priceless. I think all at once, I angered her and confused her.
She wanted my definition of illicit. I started, with a bit of a stutter because I wasn't prepared for this sort of questioning and the big speech I had worked up in my head chose that moment to hide where I couldn't reach it, to describe in as unoffensive terms as I could manage flat-footed the act of going to a porn house every night. You have to be very careful when describing this to a woman who is a head shorter than you and only has to bring her arm up slightly to do serious personal damage to the family jewels.
I was told rather quickly: "I'm not disappearing to watch porn! I'm out lookin' for Remy!" Please note exasperation in that text.
I had to switch tracks rather quickly, though I swear I could hear Lucky behind me dying of silent laughter. He had to have been laughing so hard he wasn't making a sound. So I use my embarrassing mistake as means to explain that well, you can't go back in time to fix your mistakes. Albeit I think hers was a tad more serious than porn accusations. I was not too sure because I have never really inquired what happened between the time Bastion cleaned out the mansion and I drove in through the gates for the first time.
Rogue told me she was thankful for the concern but I should get out of her room as soon as possible. Not in those exact words, but you get the drift. This is where I summed up my courage and told a woman who had probably saved the world more times than I can do chin-ups no. Thus, I got the evil glare.
I tried again to point out that she can't fix a mistake on a continent as big as Antarctica or wherever. Whatever happened, happened and if she dwelled on it she had no shot in hell of getting control of her powers, which I believe requires a bit of emotional stability. Rogue stepped toward me looking none too pleased that I was still standing in the middle of her room and told me that what she had done to Remy was more than a mistake. This would be where I wisely chose not to use the phrase "oh, go cry me a river" in front of her. Though, suffice it to say I was sympathetic to her while still appalled at the love-induced obsessiveness, I guess you could say. [This is where Chuckles would mumble something about a pot and kettle and black, I believe.]
Anyway, instead I used the complete sentence: "So, you're going to waste your time and energy by looking for something that isn't there?"
Of course, by this point I could see little steamy wafts of annoyance leaking out of Rogue's ears. She vehemently denied that she was wasting her time. This is really where Longshot would have said or done anything outside of holding Yankton back and quietly watching with a now somber face. [At least Yankton still loved me. She was ready to viciously tear into the ominously approaching Rogue's boot.] If I was wrong Longshot could have said something, and I would have backed out, but he didn't so I persisted.
I asked when global positioning had become one of Rogue's mutant powers, because she was really going to need something like that to find anything in a giant land mass of white. If it was a recent adaptation, I would gladly add it into the database for Chuckles when he gets back. However, that small bit of wit was lost when she insisted that she would find him.
How far do people have to go to show that when a superhero really wants something for him or herself that it has a snowball's chance in hell of happening? If there's one thing I've learned from hanging around Lucky, it's that good stuff happens for having good motives. The rest is just a crap shoot with the odds stacked against you because there are 6 billion others in line.
Back to Rogue, I should have noticed that pushing her any further would not have been in my best interest for that night. It was nearly 5 in the morning, she was probably exhausted from flying around and looking for the white rabbit in the midst of the snowstorm and she probably needed some sleep. Her fists were tightly clenched at her sides. But I had to go and say the three words she didn't want to hear. "No, you won't."
It was followed by a quick and threatening "get out." I didn't heed this and stepped closer to look down at her and try to use the only physical advantage [my height] I had over her to put a little force behind my words. This Indian learned that if you stepped into a pissed woman's personal bubble, you really ought to be prepared to face the consequences.
I don't clearly remember exactly what happened next outside of my body breaking her door off its hinges. The wall across the hallway was not nice and soft either. So this would be where minor hell breaks loose. Between the bells ringing in my head, the hall spinning in three directions at once, the general throb of my chin where she had to have hit me, and the loud and fevered barking of Yankton, I was willing to just black out. I know that's a really bad choice considering the load of stuff I've had done to me when I was unconscious, so my instinct tries to keep me awake. I try to pick myself off the floor but the hall has only settled down to spinning in only two directions, neither complimentary to the other.
Something wet starts to dribble down my chin. I wiped it away thinking it was the worst time in my life to start dribbling. Well, as I tried to get myself off the floor, part of the cavalry showed up. There's a lot of concern as I'm bleeding from somewhere. I couldn't tell where at the time as the world was still rocking around me. I tried to tell the X-Men they could handle their own shit from now on, but that came out as a unintelligible gurgling to my ears, and I dribbled more down my chin.
After I stumbled into the wall for the third time, Reyes comes on the scene. She put one of my arms around her shoulder and helped me toward the infirmary she and McCoy had set up. I think I heard Rogue say something behind me and I tried to reply that she could take care of her own damn lessons and for somebody to help pack my stuff because I was leaving. All I really think I did was gurgle a bit more and dribble a lot.
The first thing I can clearly remember after that is sitting on the table in the Infirmary and looking into Reyes' eyes. I think she was checking something out.
"You know that's another reason that mouth guards are worm, outside of protecting teeth that is," she says in that doctor tone that says she's going to tell me if I guess it or not.
I play the just in the coherent and still addled guy with a simple: "Oh?"
"Yeah. So you don't bite off some of your tongue."
"Wha?" I looked down and saw that I had not been dribbling saliva but blood and there were red stains everywhere down the front of me. Though more worrying was that I got some on Reyes' shoes. I swear I have some deep, hidden psychological need to mess with her stuff. "Oh shit. I'm sorry about your shoes. I'll get you new ones."
She tells me there's no need; they've been through worse. She then tells me that the bit that I bit off is already starting to grow back and I should be good by noon at the latest. Though it's still bleeding a bit. She said she could staunch the flow so I didn't have to keep spitting out blood. I didn't reply. I just opened my mouth.
Do you know how hard it is to say thank you in English with a mouth full of medical stuff? Though Reyes must have come from a large family because she understood my mouthful speak.
So, here I am now, waiting for my mouth to heal before hitting the sack. I admit I could have handled things better, but I'm not going to lose sleep over it. It's in the past now, and I can't change it. Unless I get some nifty time-traveling powers. But if I get those, I don't think a disastrous argument with an X-Men is going to be my top priority.
I mean, I do have sympathy for Rogue, but come on. Gambit [that is the Remy she's talking about right?] is an X-Man. Or was. Whatever. He's probably still alive and coming this way. X-Men, former or current, are worse than cockroaches. You think they're dead, but they're actually sneakily hiding under your sink.