Waking up hurt.
Waking up hurt for so many reasons that Jonothon spent days, at first, just telling himself not to start listing them off. If he started, he pointed out, he'd just never stop. And then he'd be stuck inside his own head just telling himself all of the reasons that he ought to be miserable.
(
After a while, boredom won. )
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But he was Cable, and he never did quite manage to keep from interfering, and he had a whole host of little calendars about a whole lot of little things that might need him to step in some day.
He was Cable, and he didn't wear an X - he wore dusty traveling clothes, a cloak, and a hat, and he was leaning the bulk of his weight into the dusty wall of some abandoned dwelling as he waited.
The hat tipped forward nicely over his eyes.
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A change of clothing. A place to stay. A phone, to call for help, should he change his mind about wanting the entire bloody world to just naff off. So he wandered. Wandered until the housing looked decidedly less classy, until uncomfortable gravel gave way to broken glass that he occasionally even bothered to step around. Until the lower-class housing leaned more towards condemned.
That was more his price range, at the moment.
He was barely three steps toward a house with boards in the windows before he noticed the rather large figure leaning up against it. And for a moment, he considered backstepping, thought about just turning and walking away. The moment was brief. He had nowhere to walk to. "You know," he muttered, looking down, "you already missed the party. ( ... )
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Time travel. It had a habit of royally screwing up your calendar.
"I hope you gave my love to Slade."
Deadpan, that.
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Oh, the lips. The LIPS.
( ... )
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Awwwwwwwww, Jono.
X-Men, you *suck*.
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WELCOME BACK, JONO!
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