I don't own, so you don't sue. Got it? Good. We're both happy. !, 122 words, counting only the story. Two hours, give or take.
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Abyssus abyssum invocat - Hell calls hell; one mistep leads to another.
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Even Scott had to admit that the second rule on the new, and very unpopular list, wasn't going to stick very well. Probably worse than the first one - which Logan didn't seem very intent on making sure everyone kept to, either.
Ruby-covered eyes slid down the table - passing the empty chairs easily, as mutants filled them with ease born of living at the mansion for months. Even the Brotherhood had their own chairs, including the brown-haired ringleader Lance - unfortuneatly, said mutants' seat was directly across from Scott's. Pondering if Xavier did this sort of thing to everyone on purpose as the rock-tumble slouched into his chair, the graduate reached for the jug of milk set as a divider between himself and Lance.
If either Scott or Lance had been paying more attention, they might have seen Pietro glance at Jean and shake his head and the redhead return the look - and the both of them scoot a little farther away from their respective leaders. And they also might have seen Jean nudge Kitty and Pietro elbow Freddy, and both of them rolling their eyes and passing the word along to duck and cover.
Even Ororo and the Proffesor, down at the other end of the table - a wisely planned move, considering what usually happened when the boys got into an arguement at the dinner table - were mentally debating having asked everyone to sit where they were. Jean and Pietro could probably have soothed the two hot-headed leaders' tempers, but it didn't look they had a mind to. Of course, they could both actually dodge the splatters of food/blood that inevitably came when Scott and Lance were within three feet of each other.
But Scott and Lance hadn't been paying attention to anything much. They had reached for the milk at the same time, unaware the other was doing so. Hands knocked against the scultped jug as both scarred, large hands tried to pull it towards themselves. Together the two succeded merely in knocking over the jug, which - naturally, as the Fates had decided to be particularily venegeful that day - had accidentally been filled with bright red Kool-Aid that night instead of milk. (Kitty's fault.) And both boys were wearing white shirts, although Lances' did have an oil stain on the hem. (Wanda's fault.) Some would say that the two jumped up with reflexes born from training and experience - but they would have been wrong. The two jumped up with reflexes that knew they would be stuck washing their shirts with bleach three times that night if the red liquid got on them. But it would be a close guess between the two, so one could be forgiven for mistaking them.
By the time Scott and Lance had set eyes on the other, everyone in the room - New Mutants and Alcolytes included - had stopped eating and were glancing, or even blantantly staring at the two. Anticipation and tension was strung throughout the room so thick that Logan could almost smell it. No, wait - that might have been Todd. Or maybe it was Kitty's cooking again. Jean and Pietro had now moved to simply leaning away from the two to sitting on the opposite edges of their espective chairs, studiously hoping, in their own knowingly futile way, that things wouldn't excalate. That the two brunettes' would show some maturity and sit down.
As a tremor rattled the room gently and red flared behind a pair of shades, Jean debated ducking below the table. Pietro actually slunk down in his seat. The usual snarls were exchanged - 'Watch it, Alvers!', 'Me? You're the clutz, Summers!' - a litany known so that even Freddy could repeat it...in his sleep.
And then Scott 'accidentally' let his glasses drop half an inch, and as Lance was thrown across the room, his powers 'accidentally' kicked in and sent a powerfull floor-raising wave towards the bespectacled Summers. Which upended a bowl of washed potatoes that splattered across Jean, Amara, St. John, Todd and Rhane. As the tablecloth caught on fire - John rarely needed prompting to set something on fire, accidentally or not - a spurt of phycic power overturned a platter of jelly and a slimeball hit Bobby on the side of his currently laughing head.
Logan sighed as a peice of ham - frosted over, thanks to the slimed blonde - flew across the room. Then some peas whizzed by his nose, bouncing off a quickly irrate Wanda. So the Canuk wasn't surprised as some gravy was sloughed down the table, dumping into Kitty's lap. Nor was the stout man unprepared when flaming carrots soared from the other end of the table in retaliation. And then something - maybe a peice of turkey, who knew? - exploded and the noise grew exponentially.
And then everyone froze - aside from the teachers.
Logan glanced at Jean, who had a peice of floating chicken aimed at the back of Gambit's unsuspecting head. She looked as surprised as anyone, so the mutant glanced the other way, catching sight of a...well, the only word for it was a pissed Charles Xavier, fingers spread across his temples to help the older man concentrate. Everyone, soon enough, followed Logan's gaze and then glanced down - up - left - right - anywhere but the headmaster of the boarding school.
His voice - deep, compelling, and unusually angry for the bald telepath - brought their attention back to him, however. "Clean this up."
A pause, dark brown eyes alighting on Lance and Scott and nearly raising an eyebrow at the scene - Scott had a hand on Lance's shoulder, ready to shove him away, and the other had a fist in a collision course for the mutants' side. Both looked angry still, though embarresment colored both males' faces - as well as resentment, for being put on the spot and singled out.
"And, Scott - Lance - see me after you two finish cleaning all of the dishes." With that, the telelpath wheeled out of the room, letting everyone have control of their bodies again.
Scott grunted as Lance's fist connect, while Lance was shoved back against the hard edge of his chair, edges biting into the back of his legs.