TM Prompt 168: Party!
Parties.
*sigh*
Why is it always at a party?
When I first came to the Xavier Institute (I was a skinny little guy back then, wrestling a suitcase bigger than I was up that long, long driveway), it was the subject of most of my first conversations with the other students. I'm not even sure what it's like at regular schools when you're new, but I'm fairly certain that asking your name is in the top three questions. At the Xavier Institute? Not so much.
"What can you do?
"How did you find out?
and
"Have you seen the Blackbird yet?"
And, ladies and gentlemen, I give you the X-Men: least secret secret team in the entire world.
Anyway, the point is, that second question. "How did you find out?" From talking to Xavier and Hank and the other teachers, the consensus seems to be that the X-gene is triggered sometime during puberty. You can be eleven or eighteen, and BANG your entire life is turned on its head. Of course, a lot of other weird things happen during puberty too, but usually you have a little bit more privacy. Getting facial hair doesn't tend to set rooms on fire, and I've yet to meet a girl whose periods blew up buildings (although I have my suspicions about Emma Frost).
Maybe some of the other kids were elaborating a little bit, but almost all of them had discovered their powers at the absolute worst time. You know: the prom; the math final; the time they were trying to get it on with a girl in the back of her car. And at parties. There must be some sort of national database of parties irrevocably seared in the mind as a result of sudden uncontrollable mutant abilities. I dunno, but I think I'd remember that time my best friend turned into a werewolf before my eyes.
For me, it wasn't too bad. I mean, I bitch a lot about my powers not being as showy as some people's, but at least I couldn't hurt anyone.
Want to know what Doug's word of the day was on his thirteenth birthday? Glossolalia, folks. Speaking in tongues. Good thing my parents are on the sceptical end of religiousity, because they took me to the doctor rather than a priest. Okay, so it wasn't so great when he said I probably had brain damage, but at least he didn't work out that, unlike most people who start babbling unintelligably, I was actually speaking a real language.
Anyway, after a while everyone figured that I could still walk and talk and probably wasn't dying, so that was the end of that. Still messed up my day, though. The Professor told me once that extreme stress might trigger mutant powers, in the same way that it can sometimes trigger schizophrenia (not a reassuring comparison).
And that's why it's always at parties.
*sigh*
*sigh*
Why is it always at a party?
When I first came to the Xavier Institute (I was a skinny little guy back then, wrestling a suitcase bigger than I was up that long, long driveway), it was the subject of most of my first conversations with the other students. I'm not even sure what it's like at regular schools when you're new, but I'm fairly certain that asking your name is in the top three questions. At the Xavier Institute? Not so much.
"What can you do?
"How did you find out?
and
"Have you seen the Blackbird yet?"
And, ladies and gentlemen, I give you the X-Men: least secret secret team in the entire world.
Anyway, the point is, that second question. "How did you find out?" From talking to Xavier and Hank and the other teachers, the consensus seems to be that the X-gene is triggered sometime during puberty. You can be eleven or eighteen, and BANG your entire life is turned on its head. Of course, a lot of other weird things happen during puberty too, but usually you have a little bit more privacy. Getting facial hair doesn't tend to set rooms on fire, and I've yet to meet a girl whose periods blew up buildings (although I have my suspicions about Emma Frost).
Maybe some of the other kids were elaborating a little bit, but almost all of them had discovered their powers at the absolute worst time. You know: the prom; the math final; the time they were trying to get it on with a girl in the back of her car. And at parties. There must be some sort of national database of parties irrevocably seared in the mind as a result of sudden uncontrollable mutant abilities. I dunno, but I think I'd remember that time my best friend turned into a werewolf before my eyes.
For me, it wasn't too bad. I mean, I bitch a lot about my powers not being as showy as some people's, but at least I couldn't hurt anyone.
Want to know what Doug's word of the day was on his thirteenth birthday? Glossolalia, folks. Speaking in tongues. Good thing my parents are on the sceptical end of religiousity, because they took me to the doctor rather than a priest. Okay, so it wasn't so great when he said I probably had brain damage, but at least he didn't work out that, unlike most people who start babbling unintelligably, I was actually speaking a real language.
Anyway, after a while everyone figured that I could still walk and talk and probably wasn't dying, so that was the end of that. Still messed up my day, though. The Professor told me once that extreme stress might trigger mutant powers, in the same way that it can sometimes trigger schizophrenia (not a reassuring comparison).
And that's why it's always at parties.
*sigh*