TM-247: Write about a mess you've cleaned up.
[OOC: After Hank reads Jean's letter.]
Write about a mess you've cleaned up.
Dearest Jean,
Do you recall the Christmas Eve I spent in my lab, Mr. Clean in hand, wiping cranberry glaze from the walls and ceiling? You were in the kitchen - I believe I heard tale of you telekinetically throwing broccoli at Gambit - and I’d been branching out, attempting to raise my culinary skills beyond the realm of the ordinary. Unfortunately, my fun in experimentation temporarily blinded me to the reactive properties of the ingredients I’d been mixing. (I assure you, I wasn’t adding a dash of nitroglycerin or a teaspoon of napalm, but even the most ordinary of edibles can produce explosive results in the wrong combination.) As the rest of the X-Men rushed into the lab, they found me, my fur and clothes a mess of red, sticky sweetness, shrugging helplessly in the midst of the chaos. But I cleaned up diligently, learned from my mistakes, and for my troubles only suffered jovially as the butt of many a joke from the Xavier’s staff.
You’ve never made cranberry glaze. By which I mean to say, when you’ve done something, or felt something, or experienced something, that you’ve know you’d need to clean up, a paper towel and a bottle of household cleaner has never done the trick. Your methods of clean up have always been disconcerting, or even downright frightening, for those who care about you most. Necessary as they may have been - by whatever subjective standard necessary is measured - we’ve never wanted to see you harmed.
But this time, I’m not frightened. This time, I know that you’ve found a better path. You’ve got messes to clean up, pieces to collect, a fiery, gamey cranberry glaze to wipe off the walls and return to the bowl. But you aren’t going to destroy yourself. And, as your friend, I am more than willing to see you off on your journey and wish you all my best, with that reassurance.
I’ve sent copies of this letter to every location you’ve ever been known to visit. I don’t know for sure if it will find you, which may particularly be the case if you’re currently residing in the cosmos, where terran postal services don’t deliver. But I know in my heart that this will reach you, because I know in my heart that you already know everything I’ve just said.
So au revoir, Jean, and happy trails. Give Lloyd a treat for me, and know that I’ll always be there if ever, and whenever, you should need me.
All my love,
Hank
Write about a mess you've cleaned up.
Dearest Jean,
Do you recall the Christmas Eve I spent in my lab, Mr. Clean in hand, wiping cranberry glaze from the walls and ceiling? You were in the kitchen - I believe I heard tale of you telekinetically throwing broccoli at Gambit - and I’d been branching out, attempting to raise my culinary skills beyond the realm of the ordinary. Unfortunately, my fun in experimentation temporarily blinded me to the reactive properties of the ingredients I’d been mixing. (I assure you, I wasn’t adding a dash of nitroglycerin or a teaspoon of napalm, but even the most ordinary of edibles can produce explosive results in the wrong combination.) As the rest of the X-Men rushed into the lab, they found me, my fur and clothes a mess of red, sticky sweetness, shrugging helplessly in the midst of the chaos. But I cleaned up diligently, learned from my mistakes, and for my troubles only suffered jovially as the butt of many a joke from the Xavier’s staff.
You’ve never made cranberry glaze. By which I mean to say, when you’ve done something, or felt something, or experienced something, that you’ve know you’d need to clean up, a paper towel and a bottle of household cleaner has never done the trick. Your methods of clean up have always been disconcerting, or even downright frightening, for those who care about you most. Necessary as they may have been - by whatever subjective standard necessary is measured - we’ve never wanted to see you harmed.
But this time, I’m not frightened. This time, I know that you’ve found a better path. You’ve got messes to clean up, pieces to collect, a fiery, gamey cranberry glaze to wipe off the walls and return to the bowl. But you aren’t going to destroy yourself. And, as your friend, I am more than willing to see you off on your journey and wish you all my best, with that reassurance.
I’ve sent copies of this letter to every location you’ve ever been known to visit. I don’t know for sure if it will find you, which may particularly be the case if you’re currently residing in the cosmos, where terran postal services don’t deliver. But I know in my heart that this will reach you, because I know in my heart that you already know everything I’ve just said.
So au revoir, Jean, and happy trails. Give Lloyd a treat for me, and know that I’ll always be there if ever, and whenever, you should need me.
All my love,
Hank