This little piece of sillyness is dedicated to my dearest author friend, DarkSabretooth,
to help him get over one of the rough patches in life.
Disclaimer: Yawn. All Marvel. No sue.
Summary: Logan, Hank, flowers-eh? Just read and smile...
Reviews: Many. Lots. Please.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Just a spoonfull of sugar to your medicine...
"Oh..my stars and..hm-garters..!"
The amused tone in Hank's voice was as thick and obvious as his blue fur,
but the sight was simply too grotesque, to remain serious:
Sitting on the edge of the examination bed, Logan had his patented
'close-to-berserker-rage'-look on his face.
A face, that was tinted green with purple dalmatian spots.
His normally shaggy, black hair flowed in a wave of blue and ruby locks all the way to his waist,
and cute little daisies blossomed in his generous sideburns.
"So?" he grunted, afraid to say anything more, because talking caused a vast spray of
forget-me-nots to come out of his mouth.
Grabbing hold of the test results, Beast tried to retain an air of professionality,
when he announced:
"Yes, well it appears, that your-erm, condition was really caused by that particular
fertilizer I designed especially for Storm's garden flowers, though I am sincerely confused,
why your bio-system-"
"Cut the crap, Hank, and rid me of this stuff! Do you think, I want to go fighting like 'this'?"
The thought of how Sabretooth, the Brotherhood, and every other villain dead or alive
would react to the orange mushrooms sprouting between the emerald curls on Logan's chest
flashed through Beast's mind, and suddenly, it was too much, even for the compassionate
doctor.
Instead of an answer, a loud
"Bwahahahahahahahahahaaa!" exploded into the feral's face, then Hank, laughing tears,
fell backwards off his stool and, holding his sides, pounded the floor with his
large feet in helpless merryment.
For a moment, Logan was stunned.
Then, shooting up from his seat, he released his claws, and yelled:
"Ya think that's funny? Let's see, how funny you'll find it, when I punch a
new set o' holes in..yer...bu-but-wha-?"
Incredulous, Logan stared at his claws, as a slightly panicked look appeared on his face.
And then he let out a loud, girlish shriek, that made Beast pause his laughter.
"Hank, my claws, lookit my clawsmyclaws, cripes, crap, look what'cha did to
my claws,myclawsclawshankclaws..."
His insane babbling made Beast worried, so he got up to inspect the aforementioned items-
and burst out laughing as hard as before:
Instead of the shining, deadly adamantium weapons six red-and-white striped candy canes
protruted from between Wolverine's knuckles, which were coated with moss.
Finally, Beast recovered enough, to help Logan lay down back on the bed, went away for a
few minutes, and returned with a ominous, large, square-shaped white plastic jug.
With a large syringe, he pulled up some of the clear, turquise liquid, mixed some of it
with the content of a small bottle, then plunged the whole thing into one of Logan's veins.
Blinking a few times, Wolverine tried to ignore the slight, tingling feeling
cursing through his body, before he croaked through a cloud of petals:
"What did ya give me there, doc? Think it'll help me?"
Shrugging his shoulders, Hank took off his glasses and scratched his head.
"Well, to be honest, I simply merged a wideband antibiotic with..ahum-a customary herbicide..."
Logan gave him a disbeliefing look.
"A *what?"
No blossoms escaped his lips, and Logan beamed.
"Hey! It worked! I'm healed! Thanks, doc, you're the best!"
Jumping off his bed, he pulled at his sideburns, and grinned, as the daisies fell off.
Smiling, Beast stopped his rush, and advised him, to remain the rest of the day
in his room, until all symptoms had worn off.
As enthusiastic as he was nodding, Logan would have probably even promised him to
stay away from beer and cigarettes, then he rushed out the med-lab like a blur.
"Is it save?"
With a cautious glance around, Storm stepped in, a phiole in her hand.
"Yes, our local feral will revert to average status in approximately three hours."
Satisfied, Ororo gave him back the bottle and stated:
"I suppose, he will stay away from my flowers now, will he?"
"With the upmost certainity, he will, since I do not presume, he yearns to endure
this anguish again. Though I can not understand, why his claws turned to batons of
colored, artifically flavoured polysaccharines."
Bending down, Storm asked:
"And the pictures?"
Hank pointed to a large microscope at the far end of the med-lab, and she nodded grim.
"Very well. This will teach him, to roll around in my roses."
Storm left, and Beast giggled a little.
He decided, to keep his mout shut about the parsley growing in Logan's pants...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mail me, what you think. I take whatever I get(grin)!
to help him get over one of the rough patches in life.
Disclaimer: Yawn. All Marvel. No sue.
Summary: Logan, Hank, flowers-eh? Just read and smile...
Reviews: Many. Lots. Please.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Just a spoonfull of sugar to your medicine...
"Oh..my stars and..hm-garters..!"
The amused tone in Hank's voice was as thick and obvious as his blue fur,
but the sight was simply too grotesque, to remain serious:
Sitting on the edge of the examination bed, Logan had his patented
'close-to-berserker-rage'-look on his face.
A face, that was tinted green with purple dalmatian spots.
His normally shaggy, black hair flowed in a wave of blue and ruby locks all the way to his waist,
and cute little daisies blossomed in his generous sideburns.
"So?" he grunted, afraid to say anything more, because talking caused a vast spray of
forget-me-nots to come out of his mouth.
Grabbing hold of the test results, Beast tried to retain an air of professionality,
when he announced:
"Yes, well it appears, that your-erm, condition was really caused by that particular
fertilizer I designed especially for Storm's garden flowers, though I am sincerely confused,
why your bio-system-"
"Cut the crap, Hank, and rid me of this stuff! Do you think, I want to go fighting like 'this'?"
The thought of how Sabretooth, the Brotherhood, and every other villain dead or alive
would react to the orange mushrooms sprouting between the emerald curls on Logan's chest
flashed through Beast's mind, and suddenly, it was too much, even for the compassionate
doctor.
Instead of an answer, a loud
"Bwahahahahahahahahahaaa!" exploded into the feral's face, then Hank, laughing tears,
fell backwards off his stool and, holding his sides, pounded the floor with his
large feet in helpless merryment.
For a moment, Logan was stunned.
Then, shooting up from his seat, he released his claws, and yelled:
"Ya think that's funny? Let's see, how funny you'll find it, when I punch a
new set o' holes in..yer...bu-but-wha-?"
Incredulous, Logan stared at his claws, as a slightly panicked look appeared on his face.
And then he let out a loud, girlish shriek, that made Beast pause his laughter.
"Hank, my claws, lookit my clawsmyclaws, cripes, crap, look what'cha did to
my claws,myclawsclawshankclaws..."
His insane babbling made Beast worried, so he got up to inspect the aforementioned items-
and burst out laughing as hard as before:
Instead of the shining, deadly adamantium weapons six red-and-white striped candy canes
protruted from between Wolverine's knuckles, which were coated with moss.
Finally, Beast recovered enough, to help Logan lay down back on the bed, went away for a
few minutes, and returned with a ominous, large, square-shaped white plastic jug.
With a large syringe, he pulled up some of the clear, turquise liquid, mixed some of it
with the content of a small bottle, then plunged the whole thing into one of Logan's veins.
Blinking a few times, Wolverine tried to ignore the slight, tingling feeling
cursing through his body, before he croaked through a cloud of petals:
"What did ya give me there, doc? Think it'll help me?"
Shrugging his shoulders, Hank took off his glasses and scratched his head.
"Well, to be honest, I simply merged a wideband antibiotic with..ahum-a customary herbicide..."
Logan gave him a disbeliefing look.
"A *what?"
No blossoms escaped his lips, and Logan beamed.
"Hey! It worked! I'm healed! Thanks, doc, you're the best!"
Jumping off his bed, he pulled at his sideburns, and grinned, as the daisies fell off.
Smiling, Beast stopped his rush, and advised him, to remain the rest of the day
in his room, until all symptoms had worn off.
As enthusiastic as he was nodding, Logan would have probably even promised him to
stay away from beer and cigarettes, then he rushed out the med-lab like a blur.
"Is it save?"
With a cautious glance around, Storm stepped in, a phiole in her hand.
"Yes, our local feral will revert to average status in approximately three hours."
Satisfied, Ororo gave him back the bottle and stated:
"I suppose, he will stay away from my flowers now, will he?"
"With the upmost certainity, he will, since I do not presume, he yearns to endure
this anguish again. Though I can not understand, why his claws turned to batons of
colored, artifically flavoured polysaccharines."
Bending down, Storm asked:
"And the pictures?"
Hank pointed to a large microscope at the far end of the med-lab, and she nodded grim.
"Very well. This will teach him, to roll around in my roses."
Storm left, and Beast giggled a little.
He decided, to keep his mout shut about the parsley growing in Logan's pants...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mail me, what you think. I take whatever I get(grin)!