"And so, I tell him..." Charles, still talking, reached for the fries between them and hit Erik's hand, that was doing the same. Then it was the horror of the situation that hit both of them : there was only one fry left on the plate.
Like two characters from a Sergio Leone's movie, they stared at each other with determination. They were no cowboys, but it was time to use their own personal weapons.
With a barely perceptible shake of his index finger, Erik took control of a fork from the restaurant's kitchen, which flew across the room to their table. It was about to plunge into that last fry when a stranger removed the plate in one swift move. He gave it to Charles who smiled at Erik triumphantly. The stranger shook his head and blinked a couple of times, wondering what he was doing here, and went back to his seat.
"Sorry, Erik. I can't let you have it," Charles said. He reached for it, but his hand froze mid-air. On his wrist, his watch wouldn't budge from where it hanged in the air. Charles growled. "Let me go !"
"No can do, dear Charles." Erik took the fry and brought it to his mouth, but his lips wouldn't open. He could feel Charles in his head, controling his body like a puppet master. Soon after, his hand opened and the fry fell down on the plate.
Smiling like a loon, Charles reached for it again, but a fat yellow cat proved to be faster than him : it jumped on their table and stole the fry right before his eyes. Once on the ground, it gobbled up the bit of potato and went away.
"What the hell !" Charles said. To which Erik answered : "Mmmh," and Charles realized his friend's mouth was still closed. Just to spite him, he didn't release Erik until dinner.
Ever since that day, mentions of French fries can start a war in the Xavier manor.