(no subject)
The first entry in John's moleskin journal, late Wednesday (June 15)
My parents are dead.
I've been staring at that last sentence for ten whole minutes. It looks wrong. The grammar is perfect, the handwriting is brilliant, not a single smudge or streak. But it's wrong. It can't be true. This pen in my hand can't be the pen that wrote that.
But it is. The ink matches exactly. The handwriting is mine.
I'm sitting in the hallway outside my dorm, hoping no one comes by. Bobby fell asleep a while back, I think. He was waiting up, but... I'm not ready to talk to him. Hell, what do you say? I managed to avoid anyone getting up to the hall. It's after midnight. But tomorrow morning. There will be people around. And there's no way I can avoid everyone all day long until my flight leaves. Even if Bobby can keep the secret that long.
My flight. The ticket's paid for. Graduation present so I could see my parents. And I'll see them in their coffins being lowered into the ground. This weekend. Then what. Can I really stay two weeks there... by myself? What do I do with all their stuff. I shouldn't have to go through their belongings. Hell, who am I kidding. I'm just a kid still.
If I ever catch the guy who did this... I'll burn him to cinders. I swear I will.
Happy graduation, John.
It was a dark and stormy weekday night, post-graduation. Except without the storm, because it's actually a balmy mid-June evening, and like most mid-June evenings on this eastern coast, it stays light until quite late. So not really dark, either, come to notice it. And in the living room are a few of the recent graduates, huddled around a gameboard. John takes up the red dice. "Greenland to Eastern United States," he announces his choice, nudging the defending dice across the board. "Gonna take you /down/, Bobby," he crows, tossing the dice along the floor beside the board. "Hah, two 4's and 6. Beat that."
"Big words from /Greenland,/" Bobby shoots back with a grin as he snatches out a hand for his turn at a roll. His side of the world's not doing so hot, but he seems okay with it: laid-back and chillin' (if not literally) is he. Good thing, too, because the defensive roll comes up short. Grin turns to scowl, and he mutters, "This is boring, anyway. It's not even real. God, let's go outside or something, man. Find something else to do."
She doesn't know how she did it, but.... "I GOT IT! I WON! I WON!" Well, maybe not the entire game, but Jubilee did sweep into Eastern Australia, uniting it with her mini-empire in the west. "Bwahaha! Take /that/ Dingo-breath!"
John scowls at the pair of snake-eyes he rolled for that one, knocking his two remaining armies hovering over Sydney back to his draw pile. "You suck," he says, though whether it's to the dice or to the gleeful Jubilee... well, he looks back to the board now. "Just wait til I have ALL OF ASIA," he glowers. "I'll come back and it won't matter /how/ many armies you stock up against my Siam..." He picks up the dice, hesitating before rolling again. "You have something else in mind, Bobby? Like besides just sitting on the porch? Because at least for the rest of us, it's cooler inside."
Bobby, good boy that he is, tries to look at least a little chagrined at John's reminder of his natural advantage. Then again, he's getting his ass kicked at a stupid board game. And he's a teenager. And a guy. So in the end he smirks and leans back casually, draping an arm over the back of his seat. "Well, the porch isn't that bad, with the right company, right, Jubes? Where /is/ Aly, anyway?"
Jubilee side glances and lifts a brow. "How'm I supposed ta know? Though I guess it /is/ kinda odd. I mean," she continues, voice turning sly as she looks toward John. "He's been here for a whole hour and a half, and she hasn't shown up. Maybe she's been hit by a truck or somethin'?" She shifts, unfolding her legs and grimacing at the sweat pooled behind her knees. Ew.
John frowns slightly. "It's not /that/ bad," he mutters. Ah, yes. That is the sound of denial right there. "I think she had something with her family tongiht. Maybe a birthday or something. Was kinda rushed when I talked to her. She'll be back tonight, though. Wanted to see me off tomorrow."
"With a goodbye kiss," Bobby supplies helpfully, and if his eyes glitter with some sad intensity (where's Rogue, too, for that matter?), he's trying to make a good show of needling his roomie over girl stuff. It's better than just watching the other two players finish their march over his Risk troops, anyway.
Jubilee snickers and rolls her eyes, assuming a hand-clasped, twitter-pated 'girl in love' pose. "Jooooohnie! Don't forgeeeeeeet me!" she croons before pushing to her feet and heading out of the room. "I'm gettin' somethin' cold. Anyone want somethin'? Booooobby!" she squeals, stopping midstep and spinning on the ball of her foot. "Make me a rootbeer slushie? I'll get the 'beer 'n' glasses!"
"Leave the root in the kitchen," John winks at her. "Ah, a DP or coke or whatever. Thanks, Jubes." And with that, he returns to studying the board for his next move. Because he /is/ all about the world domination. "Greenland to Great Britain. See how well those pommies stand up to my Inuit."
Bobby's smile is genuine for the girl. "I'll frost whatever you bring back," he promises. "And I'm good for a Coke, too. --Oh, come /on,/" he complains on a round back to John and the game. "Are you kidding me? You got Eskimos versus actual guns and airplanes and stuff. /You're/ goin' down, and all your little whaleskin kayaks or whatever, too." He leans forward again, hunching in preparation of defending his lonely, isolated Sceptered Isle.
As long as they leave her Australia alone, Jubilee'd care less if the boys bludgeon each other to death with rocks and sticks. She ambles out of the room, on a hunt for relief from the early-summer heat.
"Man the harpoons," John calls out before tossing out his dice. "Y'know, I need to live in some colder climate where people need /my/ powers to warm their food 'n stuff."
Bobby eyes the attacking dice with some hope: it's not too bad of a roll, but with some luck, he might yet keep England strong and free. Picking up the dice and rattling them thoughtfully, he supposes, "There's always, like, Canada. Or your world power Greenland, dude." He darts up a little grin, then refocuses on the dice. Go, baby, go. "You should totally go to a college up north. Toast up everyone's pizza and popcorn; be a big hit with the girls. Keep /them/ warm, too." And he throws, his other hand fisting and his eyes squinting in concentration. C'mon, big defensive roll!
Jubilee pads back into the room, a glass bottle of root beer under one arm, a trio of mugs held by the handles, and a can of coke and dp under the other arm. "Take 'em out, Bobby," she encourages, settling down. Hey, she'll be nice to Bobby as long as it takes to get a rootbeer slushy. "But... Oo, wait! You sure about that?" Jeez. Cans and glasses are distributed.
"Run awaaaaaay," John says as several of his men fall with the assault. "Fine, keep England." He reorganizes his troups in Greenland, counting how many remain. "Do they even /have/ colleges in Greenland?" The attack thwarted, John contents himself with regrouping his troups to more needed areas. Namely, Siam. "Course, yeah, Canada gets pretty cold in the winter. Nice to be able to keep the chill out," he says, with a wink toward Bobby before reaching across the board for his drink. "You sure you don't want hot chocolate, Jubes?"
Jubilee snorts and pops the top on her bottle, sending it sailing toward John. "I'm a Cali-girl, 'member? This here's downright brisk for me." The rootbeer is splashed intot he mug and handed to Bobby, while she picks up the dice and tosses out another roll. "Um... Okay. What'd I just do?"
Bobby makes a rude noise and pointedly ignores his friend for the moment in favor of the returning triumph of Jubilee and beverages. He grabs his Coke, concentrates a moment until aluminum crackles to the tune of sudden-onset ice, and then does Jubilee's mug. Handing it back to her, he peers at her roll. "I think you just launched a major offensive against Siam. But, hey, don't worry: I've got Indonesia, and I've got your back. You attack him first, and then I will. We'll wear him down eventually," he concludes with happy bloodthirst.
John rubs his hands together, adding a cackle for effect as he reaches for the defending dice. And cue the entry of Jones, resident insomniac and sometimes lackey of John. "Uh, hey John," he calls from the doorway. "You got someone on the phone in your room. Didn't want to answer it, but... they just kept calling back. Sorry." John shugs it off with a "No worries," before scrambling to his feet and letting the dice fall. "Dang," he says, comparing it to hers. "You win. This round, but you won't take Siam. Don't touch them while I'm gone. I /know/ how many men I have. Be right back."
Jubilee compares the rolls as well and shrugs, leaning back against a handy chair with a grin. "Bet its 'lyssa, callin' ta check up on ya, /Jooooooohnie/." she singssongs after him, giving the snowman a wink and bemused roll of her eyes. "You're just tryin' ta pick me off, aren't you. Admit it!"
Bobby looks honestly offended. "No way, Jubes. I mean, look at all the pieces he has there; we gotta team up to take him out." He hesitates, takes a swig from his can. "If you /want/ to take him out, that is. Uh. It's just a game, after all." Right. Yes. Exactly. A game, not the sublimated symbolic conflict between two boys who've probably spent way too much time in way too close quarters over their tenure at the school. No, not at all. He broods at the board, the solemnly arrayed little soldiers, the waiting dice. And concludes, "He's probably gonna finish taking me over anyway. Man, he plays mean. To win, totally."
"Is there any other way ta play?" Not like Jubilee had been. Or maybe that's just what she wants you to think... *shifty-eye* "But yeah. He's gotta go down. Been walkin' round like he'd swallowed a cactus and's been trying ta get it ta come out the other end."
A distinctly un-guy-like giggle -- no, no, a chuckle, really! A veritable manly chortle! -- comes from Bobby's direction. "A cactus! Ha, that's awesome, man. Cool." He licks his lips of stray soda and considers first her then the board. Good boy he might be, but . . . yeah. John's gotta go. Absolutely. "We-ell," he temporizes against a few insistent shreds of conscience, "he said he knew how many pieces he has on Siam, but what about /our/ pieces? We could maybe sneak one of my guys in with yours, from somewhere else on the board. Real quick-like, while he's on the phone, and then play it totally straight, like nothin' happened."
Jubilee shrugs and leans over to do the deed herself, keeping the grin off her face until she's sat back and hid it behind her mug. Cue the innocent look.
Bobby grins at her before he too summons up wide-eyed, fresh-faced innocence. His parents probably saw plenty of that back home. While they wait for the Aussie to wander back into their cunning trap, he asks her, "D'you really think he's been that bad? I wasn't sure if it was me, or finals, y'know, or what."
And suddenly, there is John again, coming in from the hallway. He pads across the floor, socked feet not even giving a satisfactory echo, and there he stands over the board a moment. His eyes narrow in on Indonesia. "You guys are cheating," he growls, gaze flickering between the two of them. "CHEATING behind my BACK! I wasn't even HERE, goddamnit!" His voice creeps up, escalating with each word until the last one is shouted, and abruptly his foot smacks the board, sending the idealic roman army-representing numerals flying across the room every which way.
"Hey!" Yeah, we know. Real snappy comback, but hey! ... Er, yeah. Good thing the rootbeer was still in Jubilee's hands, otherwise that would have made her /real/ mad. "Okay. So." she starts, staring at the scattered pieces in a supreme moment of 'eh.' "Guess that takes care of our espionage, Bobbers."
Bobby looks dismayed, and not a little baffled at the sudden display. "Whoa," he says as snappily as Jubilee's comeback, from behind a shield of instinctively raised hands, through which his eyes peer anxiously. "It was just a little fun, John. We would've put it back, you know that. Chill out."
"Fun. Yeah," John glares at him. It's a shame he missed the rootbeer. Cuz that would have been nice to have exploded amongst the aerial armies of the world. "You /can't/ put- them- back." He stares at the wreckage around the room, then eyeing the hall again. "I'm getting out of here." Which maybe he should have just done in the first place.
Okay, see? Cactus. Totally. Jubilee leverages herself up with one hand using the chai behind her. "Well, not now, obviously. Hey! You're the one who made amry-confetti. YOu gotta help us pick it up."
"Yeah, fair's fair, man." Bobby makes sure his own drink is safe from any more rampaging before he climbs down onto his knees to start picking up scattered Risk pieces. From there, he gives John another worried look. "You can't just leave. I mean, well, we'll head out to the porch or whatever as soon as we're cleaned up here, okay? There should be a cool breeze by then, and we can get more soda. Sound good?" He's trying, really trying, even while clearly not getting what the big freakin' deal is.
"Screw cleaning," John scowls. Not one of the ever-present friendly scowly types either. And without further comment, he strides from the room to the hallway, where the sound of the mansion door swinging open against the wall can likely be heard echoing back to the living room.
Jubilee shoots a worried look at Bobby then back at the departing Aussie. "Er... John? Are y--" And he's gone. "--okay? Bobs? What was that all about? Shouldn't you like... ya know... go after him?" Bwak! That's right. It's the roomie's duty to brave the irrate pyro.
Bobby sits back on his heels, baffled again. "Wow. I have no idea, Jubes. He's just -- wow," he repeats, and shakes his head. Then sighs, looking at the board game's mess. "Think he'll still be around if we clean up first? Or should I--" yes, the noble, self-sacrificing roomie; he doesn't even question her on that, the sap "--go get him now? Maybe it was the phone call that got him going. I could try to talk him down, I guess. Or go get one of the profs."
At the moment, John is currently slamming a fist into one of the marble pillars lining the front porch. And the twisted face and bit back curse, followed by a rapid shaking of his arm, would also reveal that he pulled no punch there. Out comes the lighter, and with one practiced motion the top is flipped open and the flames leap to cover his stinging hand like a gloved. And so he stands, back against the dread pillar, flexing finger-by-finger and staring at the engulfing flames in fascination.
"Go on," Jubilee shakes her head. "I'll pick this stuff up an' come fin' ya. 'less you come back with yer britches burnin'. Then we can go find a prof." She cups her hands for the ones Bobby's already picked up, drops them into the box top, and sinks to her knees, setting the emptied rootbeer mug to the side before starting on the remainder of the pieces.
Bobby pats her shoulder awkwardly in thanks, then climbs to his feet. "I just don't get it," he mutters. Sighs. "Oh, well. Jeez, Jubes, if he burns me up, we're just all screwed, and you'd better get out while you can." He tries to make it a joke, but his dark look towards the faint sounds of slamming betrays the real depths of his concern. "Okay. Be right back. I hope. And not burning, either!" Aaaand off he goes, young shoulders squared firmly and head high for the rightness of his cause.
Anyone exiting the mansion right about this time would find John's gauntleted hand again smashing into the pillar. And from the reaction and now bleeding knuckles, it seems that the more recent attempts haven't been any more successful at bringing down the porch. Nor have the flames added any cushion to the blows. BANG. Note to self: Marble does not make a good punching bag.
Jubilee shoots a worried look after the pair and then just gets back to picking up the scattered remains of their game. Shouldn't be too long.
Bobby's head pops out the door first, swinging this way and that until he spots his roommate by the pillar. Only then does he ease around the frame, hands thrust into pockets to make his elbows waggle out at an uncomfortable angle, and shuffle a little in place in on the threshold between inside and out-. "Hey. Uh. What's up, man?" As if there weren't blood and flames in the scene before him. He's a Xavier's guy; you just get used to the crazy after a while and go with the flow. Yup.
"Rack off, Bobby!" John snaps at him. "I don't- want to talk- to y--" and damn that voice cracking at the absolute worst place in John's entire life. The flames sizzle out, and John turns away, his face all twisted up. Can-not-cry. He leans over the railing, staring at the bushes beneath. "Go... away..." he manages to get out. See, even for a pyro, smoking does tend to give one a dry throat. Yeah, the smoke is why he's all choked up, of course.
More shuffling, but now it brings Bobby a few feet closer. "Hey," he says again, more softly, his face all scrunched up with sympathetic woe. "C'mon, John. We're sorry, wicked sorry, honest to God. I don't know what we were thinking, but it was stupid and wrong, and . . . yeah. I'm real sorry. You -- you okay?" 'Cause, again: blood, flames, and now choking up. The very ingredients of 'okay,' but give the boy credit for trying to find a way to reach him.
"It's... a stupid game," John mumbles. He's slumped over the rail now, just staring at the lighter as he flicks it open and closed. Open and closed. "Just a little flame..."
"Hey, you rhymed; you really are a writer." As uncomfortably angled as his elbows is Bobby's smile. Trying /real/ hard. A couple more shuffled steps closer. "You, uh, wanna talk about it?"
"No!" John doesn't crack a smile, though he does try to bite down on the last of that response. Try, at least. "I... uh..." he pauses, running a hand through his hair, not daring to look up or make eye contact. "That... was my aunt. From back home."
Cool as his codename, Bobby's staring out at the landscape beyond the porch, idly flapping his elbows as if to summon up that hoped-for breeze. He's all posed, casual indifference -- maybe some craftiness he got from Professor Summers. "Yeah?"
We all need a little indifference. But in John's case it just might give him the ability to continue talking. "They've... been trying to get ahold of me since Sunday. Finally got my number tonight."
"Good to hear." Bobby's eyes stray to his roomie, then snap back. Right: cool and indifferent. He can do that. Elbows flap; weight shifts from one foot to the other. "You talked with her much since you got here?"
"Never," John says, shaking his head. Slowly here now. "Only... met her a couple times. She do-esn't get along with my mom. Dad's sister." Short explanations. "The... police call--ed her."
Bobby sucks in a sharp, short breath. "Oh."
For the first time, John lifts his head up from his examination of the foliage to actually look at Bobby "There... was an accident." He takes a long, slow breath, always in contrast to this all-American roommate of his, then continues in as steady a voice as he can manage. "There was an accident and... my... parents ... are dead."
"Oh," Bobby says again, quiet, and he studies his feet. Then peeks at John, just a little, his face freshly scrunched. "That's . . . jeez. Maybe, uh, maybe you should talk a little with Dr. Grey? About -- yeah. You know." Shuffle, shuffle. In his distraught distraction, a film of ice is starting to creep around his feet in a ghostly nimbus.
"Not yet," John replies. The worst of it past, there's a coolness now in his voice that even Bobby might envy. "Drunk driver. American. It was late. He was on the wrong side of the road. But... The preliminary police report... doesn't believe they died in the collision. It... was a gas leak. And explosion. My parents... died in a car fire." There, he's said it. It's out in the open, and John just stands there on the porch, face drawn and expressionless.
Bobby gives up all pretense at cool indifference, or most anything else, really, 'cause he's just gaping at the other young man. "No way. --I mean," he scrambles desperately for better verbal purchase, "/man,/ that's terrible. That's awful!" And not a pyrokinetic around to do anything about the flames-- The unintended ice crinkles and starts to melt around his feet, running off down the porch in happy, mindless obliviousness.
Is John forgiven for destroying the worl-- er, the RISK game now? Oh, for happy, mindless oblivion. "I... I think I need to be alone for a while. Go for a walk or something. But... don't tell anyone anything, please?" Not that any of the local telepaths or empaths are likely to have missed the fireworks anyways. For just a second, it's a lost little boy there, then back to the steely eyes. "I... need some time to think first before people... start talking, y'know."
Bobby regards him steadily, somberly, and nods. "Yeah. You got it, John. Whatever you want, okay? And--" shuffle "--I'm here, too. Whenever. Wh-whatever. Y'know, if you . . ." He shrugs, tries to smile, and just looks pale and wretchedly impotent. "I'd better go see what Jubes is up to, anyway. Can't leave her alone for too long, right?"
John slumps slightly at that. "Thanks. Uh, tell her... tell her Said... m'sorry--andI'lltalktoher--later." The words finally tumble out. "I'll... cya later." With that, he steps around and off the porch, hesitating a moment at the path to the woods or to the road. And finally chooses the road. Less people to listen in outside the mansion walls.
My parents are dead.
I've been staring at that last sentence for ten whole minutes. It looks wrong. The grammar is perfect, the handwriting is brilliant, not a single smudge or streak. But it's wrong. It can't be true. This pen in my hand can't be the pen that wrote that.
But it is. The ink matches exactly. The handwriting is mine.
I'm sitting in the hallway outside my dorm, hoping no one comes by. Bobby fell asleep a while back, I think. He was waiting up, but... I'm not ready to talk to him. Hell, what do you say? I managed to avoid anyone getting up to the hall. It's after midnight. But tomorrow morning. There will be people around. And there's no way I can avoid everyone all day long until my flight leaves. Even if Bobby can keep the secret that long.
My flight. The ticket's paid for. Graduation present so I could see my parents. And I'll see them in their coffins being lowered into the ground. This weekend. Then what. Can I really stay two weeks there... by myself? What do I do with all their stuff. I shouldn't have to go through their belongings. Hell, who am I kidding. I'm just a kid still.
If I ever catch the guy who did this... I'll burn him to cinders. I swear I will.
Happy graduation, John.
It was a dark and stormy weekday night, post-graduation. Except without the storm, because it's actually a balmy mid-June evening, and like most mid-June evenings on this eastern coast, it stays light until quite late. So not really dark, either, come to notice it. And in the living room are a few of the recent graduates, huddled around a gameboard. John takes up the red dice. "Greenland to Eastern United States," he announces his choice, nudging the defending dice across the board. "Gonna take you /down/, Bobby," he crows, tossing the dice along the floor beside the board. "Hah, two 4's and 6. Beat that."
"Big words from /Greenland,/" Bobby shoots back with a grin as he snatches out a hand for his turn at a roll. His side of the world's not doing so hot, but he seems okay with it: laid-back and chillin' (if not literally) is he. Good thing, too, because the defensive roll comes up short. Grin turns to scowl, and he mutters, "This is boring, anyway. It's not even real. God, let's go outside or something, man. Find something else to do."
She doesn't know how she did it, but.... "I GOT IT! I WON! I WON!" Well, maybe not the entire game, but Jubilee did sweep into Eastern Australia, uniting it with her mini-empire in the west. "Bwahaha! Take /that/ Dingo-breath!"
John scowls at the pair of snake-eyes he rolled for that one, knocking his two remaining armies hovering over Sydney back to his draw pile. "You suck," he says, though whether it's to the dice or to the gleeful Jubilee... well, he looks back to the board now. "Just wait til I have ALL OF ASIA," he glowers. "I'll come back and it won't matter /how/ many armies you stock up against my Siam..." He picks up the dice, hesitating before rolling again. "You have something else in mind, Bobby? Like besides just sitting on the porch? Because at least for the rest of us, it's cooler inside."
Bobby, good boy that he is, tries to look at least a little chagrined at John's reminder of his natural advantage. Then again, he's getting his ass kicked at a stupid board game. And he's a teenager. And a guy. So in the end he smirks and leans back casually, draping an arm over the back of his seat. "Well, the porch isn't that bad, with the right company, right, Jubes? Where /is/ Aly, anyway?"
Jubilee side glances and lifts a brow. "How'm I supposed ta know? Though I guess it /is/ kinda odd. I mean," she continues, voice turning sly as she looks toward John. "He's been here for a whole hour and a half, and she hasn't shown up. Maybe she's been hit by a truck or somethin'?" She shifts, unfolding her legs and grimacing at the sweat pooled behind her knees. Ew.
John frowns slightly. "It's not /that/ bad," he mutters. Ah, yes. That is the sound of denial right there. "I think she had something with her family tongiht. Maybe a birthday or something. Was kinda rushed when I talked to her. She'll be back tonight, though. Wanted to see me off tomorrow."
"With a goodbye kiss," Bobby supplies helpfully, and if his eyes glitter with some sad intensity (where's Rogue, too, for that matter?), he's trying to make a good show of needling his roomie over girl stuff. It's better than just watching the other two players finish their march over his Risk troops, anyway.
Jubilee snickers and rolls her eyes, assuming a hand-clasped, twitter-pated 'girl in love' pose. "Jooooohnie! Don't forgeeeeeeet me!" she croons before pushing to her feet and heading out of the room. "I'm gettin' somethin' cold. Anyone want somethin'? Booooobby!" she squeals, stopping midstep and spinning on the ball of her foot. "Make me a rootbeer slushie? I'll get the 'beer 'n' glasses!"
"Leave the root in the kitchen," John winks at her. "Ah, a DP or coke or whatever. Thanks, Jubes." And with that, he returns to studying the board for his next move. Because he /is/ all about the world domination. "Greenland to Great Britain. See how well those pommies stand up to my Inuit."
Bobby's smile is genuine for the girl. "I'll frost whatever you bring back," he promises. "And I'm good for a Coke, too. --Oh, come /on,/" he complains on a round back to John and the game. "Are you kidding me? You got Eskimos versus actual guns and airplanes and stuff. /You're/ goin' down, and all your little whaleskin kayaks or whatever, too." He leans forward again, hunching in preparation of defending his lonely, isolated Sceptered Isle.
As long as they leave her Australia alone, Jubilee'd care less if the boys bludgeon each other to death with rocks and sticks. She ambles out of the room, on a hunt for relief from the early-summer heat.
"Man the harpoons," John calls out before tossing out his dice. "Y'know, I need to live in some colder climate where people need /my/ powers to warm their food 'n stuff."
Bobby eyes the attacking dice with some hope: it's not too bad of a roll, but with some luck, he might yet keep England strong and free. Picking up the dice and rattling them thoughtfully, he supposes, "There's always, like, Canada. Or your world power Greenland, dude." He darts up a little grin, then refocuses on the dice. Go, baby, go. "You should totally go to a college up north. Toast up everyone's pizza and popcorn; be a big hit with the girls. Keep /them/ warm, too." And he throws, his other hand fisting and his eyes squinting in concentration. C'mon, big defensive roll!
Jubilee pads back into the room, a glass bottle of root beer under one arm, a trio of mugs held by the handles, and a can of coke and dp under the other arm. "Take 'em out, Bobby," she encourages, settling down. Hey, she'll be nice to Bobby as long as it takes to get a rootbeer slushy. "But... Oo, wait! You sure about that?" Jeez. Cans and glasses are distributed.
"Run awaaaaaay," John says as several of his men fall with the assault. "Fine, keep England." He reorganizes his troups in Greenland, counting how many remain. "Do they even /have/ colleges in Greenland?" The attack thwarted, John contents himself with regrouping his troups to more needed areas. Namely, Siam. "Course, yeah, Canada gets pretty cold in the winter. Nice to be able to keep the chill out," he says, with a wink toward Bobby before reaching across the board for his drink. "You sure you don't want hot chocolate, Jubes?"
Jubilee snorts and pops the top on her bottle, sending it sailing toward John. "I'm a Cali-girl, 'member? This here's downright brisk for me." The rootbeer is splashed intot he mug and handed to Bobby, while she picks up the dice and tosses out another roll. "Um... Okay. What'd I just do?"
Bobby makes a rude noise and pointedly ignores his friend for the moment in favor of the returning triumph of Jubilee and beverages. He grabs his Coke, concentrates a moment until aluminum crackles to the tune of sudden-onset ice, and then does Jubilee's mug. Handing it back to her, he peers at her roll. "I think you just launched a major offensive against Siam. But, hey, don't worry: I've got Indonesia, and I've got your back. You attack him first, and then I will. We'll wear him down eventually," he concludes with happy bloodthirst.
John rubs his hands together, adding a cackle for effect as he reaches for the defending dice. And cue the entry of Jones, resident insomniac and sometimes lackey of John. "Uh, hey John," he calls from the doorway. "You got someone on the phone in your room. Didn't want to answer it, but... they just kept calling back. Sorry." John shugs it off with a "No worries," before scrambling to his feet and letting the dice fall. "Dang," he says, comparing it to hers. "You win. This round, but you won't take Siam. Don't touch them while I'm gone. I /know/ how many men I have. Be right back."
Jubilee compares the rolls as well and shrugs, leaning back against a handy chair with a grin. "Bet its 'lyssa, callin' ta check up on ya, /Jooooooohnie/." she singssongs after him, giving the snowman a wink and bemused roll of her eyes. "You're just tryin' ta pick me off, aren't you. Admit it!"
Bobby looks honestly offended. "No way, Jubes. I mean, look at all the pieces he has there; we gotta team up to take him out." He hesitates, takes a swig from his can. "If you /want/ to take him out, that is. Uh. It's just a game, after all." Right. Yes. Exactly. A game, not the sublimated symbolic conflict between two boys who've probably spent way too much time in way too close quarters over their tenure at the school. No, not at all. He broods at the board, the solemnly arrayed little soldiers, the waiting dice. And concludes, "He's probably gonna finish taking me over anyway. Man, he plays mean. To win, totally."
"Is there any other way ta play?" Not like Jubilee had been. Or maybe that's just what she wants you to think... *shifty-eye* "But yeah. He's gotta go down. Been walkin' round like he'd swallowed a cactus and's been trying ta get it ta come out the other end."
A distinctly un-guy-like giggle -- no, no, a chuckle, really! A veritable manly chortle! -- comes from Bobby's direction. "A cactus! Ha, that's awesome, man. Cool." He licks his lips of stray soda and considers first her then the board. Good boy he might be, but . . . yeah. John's gotta go. Absolutely. "We-ell," he temporizes against a few insistent shreds of conscience, "he said he knew how many pieces he has on Siam, but what about /our/ pieces? We could maybe sneak one of my guys in with yours, from somewhere else on the board. Real quick-like, while he's on the phone, and then play it totally straight, like nothin' happened."
Jubilee shrugs and leans over to do the deed herself, keeping the grin off her face until she's sat back and hid it behind her mug. Cue the innocent look.
Bobby grins at her before he too summons up wide-eyed, fresh-faced innocence. His parents probably saw plenty of that back home. While they wait for the Aussie to wander back into their cunning trap, he asks her, "D'you really think he's been that bad? I wasn't sure if it was me, or finals, y'know, or what."
And suddenly, there is John again, coming in from the hallway. He pads across the floor, socked feet not even giving a satisfactory echo, and there he stands over the board a moment. His eyes narrow in on Indonesia. "You guys are cheating," he growls, gaze flickering between the two of them. "CHEATING behind my BACK! I wasn't even HERE, goddamnit!" His voice creeps up, escalating with each word until the last one is shouted, and abruptly his foot smacks the board, sending the idealic roman army-representing numerals flying across the room every which way.
"Hey!" Yeah, we know. Real snappy comback, but hey! ... Er, yeah. Good thing the rootbeer was still in Jubilee's hands, otherwise that would have made her /real/ mad. "Okay. So." she starts, staring at the scattered pieces in a supreme moment of 'eh.' "Guess that takes care of our espionage, Bobbers."
Bobby looks dismayed, and not a little baffled at the sudden display. "Whoa," he says as snappily as Jubilee's comeback, from behind a shield of instinctively raised hands, through which his eyes peer anxiously. "It was just a little fun, John. We would've put it back, you know that. Chill out."
"Fun. Yeah," John glares at him. It's a shame he missed the rootbeer. Cuz that would have been nice to have exploded amongst the aerial armies of the world. "You /can't/ put- them- back." He stares at the wreckage around the room, then eyeing the hall again. "I'm getting out of here." Which maybe he should have just done in the first place.
Okay, see? Cactus. Totally. Jubilee leverages herself up with one hand using the chai behind her. "Well, not now, obviously. Hey! You're the one who made amry-confetti. YOu gotta help us pick it up."
"Yeah, fair's fair, man." Bobby makes sure his own drink is safe from any more rampaging before he climbs down onto his knees to start picking up scattered Risk pieces. From there, he gives John another worried look. "You can't just leave. I mean, well, we'll head out to the porch or whatever as soon as we're cleaned up here, okay? There should be a cool breeze by then, and we can get more soda. Sound good?" He's trying, really trying, even while clearly not getting what the big freakin' deal is.
"Screw cleaning," John scowls. Not one of the ever-present friendly scowly types either. And without further comment, he strides from the room to the hallway, where the sound of the mansion door swinging open against the wall can likely be heard echoing back to the living room.
Jubilee shoots a worried look at Bobby then back at the departing Aussie. "Er... John? Are y--" And he's gone. "--okay? Bobs? What was that all about? Shouldn't you like... ya know... go after him?" Bwak! That's right. It's the roomie's duty to brave the irrate pyro.
Bobby sits back on his heels, baffled again. "Wow. I have no idea, Jubes. He's just -- wow," he repeats, and shakes his head. Then sighs, looking at the board game's mess. "Think he'll still be around if we clean up first? Or should I--" yes, the noble, self-sacrificing roomie; he doesn't even question her on that, the sap "--go get him now? Maybe it was the phone call that got him going. I could try to talk him down, I guess. Or go get one of the profs."
At the moment, John is currently slamming a fist into one of the marble pillars lining the front porch. And the twisted face and bit back curse, followed by a rapid shaking of his arm, would also reveal that he pulled no punch there. Out comes the lighter, and with one practiced motion the top is flipped open and the flames leap to cover his stinging hand like a gloved. And so he stands, back against the dread pillar, flexing finger-by-finger and staring at the engulfing flames in fascination.
"Go on," Jubilee shakes her head. "I'll pick this stuff up an' come fin' ya. 'less you come back with yer britches burnin'. Then we can go find a prof." She cups her hands for the ones Bobby's already picked up, drops them into the box top, and sinks to her knees, setting the emptied rootbeer mug to the side before starting on the remainder of the pieces.
Bobby pats her shoulder awkwardly in thanks, then climbs to his feet. "I just don't get it," he mutters. Sighs. "Oh, well. Jeez, Jubes, if he burns me up, we're just all screwed, and you'd better get out while you can." He tries to make it a joke, but his dark look towards the faint sounds of slamming betrays the real depths of his concern. "Okay. Be right back. I hope. And not burning, either!" Aaaand off he goes, young shoulders squared firmly and head high for the rightness of his cause.
Anyone exiting the mansion right about this time would find John's gauntleted hand again smashing into the pillar. And from the reaction and now bleeding knuckles, it seems that the more recent attempts haven't been any more successful at bringing down the porch. Nor have the flames added any cushion to the blows. BANG. Note to self: Marble does not make a good punching bag.
Jubilee shoots a worried look after the pair and then just gets back to picking up the scattered remains of their game. Shouldn't be too long.
Bobby's head pops out the door first, swinging this way and that until he spots his roommate by the pillar. Only then does he ease around the frame, hands thrust into pockets to make his elbows waggle out at an uncomfortable angle, and shuffle a little in place in on the threshold between inside and out-. "Hey. Uh. What's up, man?" As if there weren't blood and flames in the scene before him. He's a Xavier's guy; you just get used to the crazy after a while and go with the flow. Yup.
"Rack off, Bobby!" John snaps at him. "I don't- want to talk- to y--" and damn that voice cracking at the absolute worst place in John's entire life. The flames sizzle out, and John turns away, his face all twisted up. Can-not-cry. He leans over the railing, staring at the bushes beneath. "Go... away..." he manages to get out. See, even for a pyro, smoking does tend to give one a dry throat. Yeah, the smoke is why he's all choked up, of course.
More shuffling, but now it brings Bobby a few feet closer. "Hey," he says again, more softly, his face all scrunched up with sympathetic woe. "C'mon, John. We're sorry, wicked sorry, honest to God. I don't know what we were thinking, but it was stupid and wrong, and . . . yeah. I'm real sorry. You -- you okay?" 'Cause, again: blood, flames, and now choking up. The very ingredients of 'okay,' but give the boy credit for trying to find a way to reach him.
"It's... a stupid game," John mumbles. He's slumped over the rail now, just staring at the lighter as he flicks it open and closed. Open and closed. "Just a little flame..."
"Hey, you rhymed; you really are a writer." As uncomfortably angled as his elbows is Bobby's smile. Trying /real/ hard. A couple more shuffled steps closer. "You, uh, wanna talk about it?"
"No!" John doesn't crack a smile, though he does try to bite down on the last of that response. Try, at least. "I... uh..." he pauses, running a hand through his hair, not daring to look up or make eye contact. "That... was my aunt. From back home."
Cool as his codename, Bobby's staring out at the landscape beyond the porch, idly flapping his elbows as if to summon up that hoped-for breeze. He's all posed, casual indifference -- maybe some craftiness he got from Professor Summers. "Yeah?"
We all need a little indifference. But in John's case it just might give him the ability to continue talking. "They've... been trying to get ahold of me since Sunday. Finally got my number tonight."
"Good to hear." Bobby's eyes stray to his roomie, then snap back. Right: cool and indifferent. He can do that. Elbows flap; weight shifts from one foot to the other. "You talked with her much since you got here?"
"Never," John says, shaking his head. Slowly here now. "Only... met her a couple times. She do-esn't get along with my mom. Dad's sister." Short explanations. "The... police call--ed her."
Bobby sucks in a sharp, short breath. "Oh."
For the first time, John lifts his head up from his examination of the foliage to actually look at Bobby "There... was an accident." He takes a long, slow breath, always in contrast to this all-American roommate of his, then continues in as steady a voice as he can manage. "There was an accident and... my... parents ... are dead."
"Oh," Bobby says again, quiet, and he studies his feet. Then peeks at John, just a little, his face freshly scrunched. "That's . . . jeez. Maybe, uh, maybe you should talk a little with Dr. Grey? About -- yeah. You know." Shuffle, shuffle. In his distraught distraction, a film of ice is starting to creep around his feet in a ghostly nimbus.
"Not yet," John replies. The worst of it past, there's a coolness now in his voice that even Bobby might envy. "Drunk driver. American. It was late. He was on the wrong side of the road. But... The preliminary police report... doesn't believe they died in the collision. It... was a gas leak. And explosion. My parents... died in a car fire." There, he's said it. It's out in the open, and John just stands there on the porch, face drawn and expressionless.
Bobby gives up all pretense at cool indifference, or most anything else, really, 'cause he's just gaping at the other young man. "No way. --I mean," he scrambles desperately for better verbal purchase, "/man,/ that's terrible. That's awful!" And not a pyrokinetic around to do anything about the flames-- The unintended ice crinkles and starts to melt around his feet, running off down the porch in happy, mindless obliviousness.
Is John forgiven for destroying the worl-- er, the RISK game now? Oh, for happy, mindless oblivion. "I... I think I need to be alone for a while. Go for a walk or something. But... don't tell anyone anything, please?" Not that any of the local telepaths or empaths are likely to have missed the fireworks anyways. For just a second, it's a lost little boy there, then back to the steely eyes. "I... need some time to think first before people... start talking, y'know."
Bobby regards him steadily, somberly, and nods. "Yeah. You got it, John. Whatever you want, okay? And--" shuffle "--I'm here, too. Whenever. Wh-whatever. Y'know, if you . . ." He shrugs, tries to smile, and just looks pale and wretchedly impotent. "I'd better go see what Jubes is up to, anyway. Can't leave her alone for too long, right?"
John slumps slightly at that. "Thanks. Uh, tell her... tell her Said... m'sorry--andI'lltalktoher--later." The words finally tumble out. "I'll... cya later." With that, he steps around and off the porch, hesitating a moment at the path to the woods or to the road. And finally chooses the road. Less people to listen in outside the mansion walls.