Post by Pyro on Jan 11, 2007 17:44:24 GMT -5
John departed the little gathering in the kitchen and headed (unsteadily) off down the corridor, not entirely sure what it was he had said he was going to do.
After he had ended up walking completely the wrong way and finding himself outside in the training area, he sat down on the floor for a minute to steady himself. One glass of bourbon and coke had left him in much the same state as if he had downed seven or eight of them in quick succession. He had wondered, before he'd accepted it, if the change in his powers had improved his physiology's tendency to react badly to toxins.
The answer, apparently, was a resounding 'no'.
Five minutes passed during which the light-headedness let up a little bit and allowed him to walk the right way down the corridor and out into the fresh air. It rolled over him in a welcome wave and he took a few long, deep breaths.
Almost automatically, his feet started carrying him towards the landing strip. He had no idea why, but he just had a hunch...
When Mystique hadn't entered the kitchen behind Aurora, he had been genuinely disappointed. Why hadn't Mystique been as eager to see him as he had been to see her?
Because you're just an angry kid, John.
How he hated his subconscious.
He rounded the corner of the building and stared over in the direction of the landing strip. A rogue breeze caught his hair and lifted it, blowing it around his face. He must have looked, his drunken imagination suggested, like the melancholy anti-hero of some straight-to-DVD drama.
He posed for a few moments, liking this idea.
When the breeze dropped and his hair fell into his eyes, he rather sheepishly brushed it back.
After he had ended up walking completely the wrong way and finding himself outside in the training area, he sat down on the floor for a minute to steady himself. One glass of bourbon and coke had left him in much the same state as if he had downed seven or eight of them in quick succession. He had wondered, before he'd accepted it, if the change in his powers had improved his physiology's tendency to react badly to toxins.
The answer, apparently, was a resounding 'no'.
Five minutes passed during which the light-headedness let up a little bit and allowed him to walk the right way down the corridor and out into the fresh air. It rolled over him in a welcome wave and he took a few long, deep breaths.
Almost automatically, his feet started carrying him towards the landing strip. He had no idea why, but he just had a hunch...
When Mystique hadn't entered the kitchen behind Aurora, he had been genuinely disappointed. Why hadn't Mystique been as eager to see him as he had been to see her?
Because you're just an angry kid, John.
How he hated his subconscious.
He rounded the corner of the building and stared over in the direction of the landing strip. A rogue breeze caught his hair and lifted it, blowing it around his face. He must have looked, his drunken imagination suggested, like the melancholy anti-hero of some straight-to-DVD drama.
He posed for a few moments, liking this idea.
When the breeze dropped and his hair fell into his eyes, he rather sheepishly brushed it back.
