TITLE: Trash
AUTHOR: Mara Greengrass
AUTHOR'S EMAIL: fishfolk@ix.netcom.com. Feedback is better than chocolate.
PERMISSION TO ARCHIVE: Sure, just let me know.
CATEGORY: Gen, humor
RATINGS/WARNINGS: PG for a little bad language
SUMMARY: Who is rummaging through the trash at the school?
DISCLAIMER: The X-Men characters belong to Twentieth Century Fox, Marvel, and
many other people with expensive lawyers, not me. I'm just borrowing them and I
promise I'm not making any profit whatsoever off of fanfic. Heck, I'm lucky my
husband hasn't had me committed yet.
NOTES: This is in response to Minisinoo's challenge to write a story based on
her summary, "Who's been getting into the kitchen garbage at the mansion every
night, dragging out . . . potato peels? The culprit leaves interesting tracks."
Darn if that didn't start me thinking. This was my first X-Fic, so I hope you
like it. Thanks to Minisinoo for the awesomely thorough beta read. I think I've
learned more about writing from her than I ever did in school :)
***********************
"...potato peels all over the kitchen," Scott was telling her when Jean tuned
back in to the conversation. She looked up from the medical journal that had
just arrived in her inbox.
"I'm sorry, Scott, I was distracted, what did you say?" she asked, wondering if
Bobby had kitchen duty again. Scott leaned against her office doorway.
"I said, someone has been rummaging through the kitchen garbage the past few
nights." Scott frowned. "I keep finding potato peels all over the floor in the
morning."
Jean smiled at her fiancé, because she knew how much he hated mess. "Maybe if
you would stay in bed a little longer the potato peels would be someone else's
problem." Scott grinned at her. "Besides, it's probably just some animal."
Scott's grin got wider. "And no, I don't mean a Wolverine."
Scott laughed out loud, but sobered quickly. "And next you'll tell me how an
animal opened the kitchen door, rummaged through the trash, and then left
through the same door? That implies an animal smarter than I want to think
about. Besides, whoever is going through the garbage is leaving very peculiar
tracks."
"You didn't mention any tracks," Jean said.
"Well, not tracks really, more like drips. Drips of milk."
Jean laughed.
*************************
The trash problem irked Scott, and he took it to the Professor after lunch.
Scott found him grading papers in his office.
"Going through the kitchen trash, hmm?" the Professor said.
Scott flushed. "Okay, I know it's not exactly an enemy attack, but it *is*
strange."
"I understand," the Professor said, smiling, "but in a school full of teenage
mutants, I suspect that out-of-control trash is likely the least of our worries.
I'm sure the answer will reveal itself in the fullness of time."
**************************
Now having been mocked by both Jean and the Professor, Scott was determined to
get to the bottom of this mystery. He began asking various students if they knew
anything about it, but got nowhere. Well, he did cause the rumor mill to claim
he had been ingesting hallucinogenic substances, but nobody ever listened to
Jubilee anyway.
"Going through the kitchen trash?" Kitty asked. "Ewww, Mr. Summers, why would
anyone do that?"
Why, indeed? Scott wondered.
"Something wrong, love?" Jean asked at dinner.
"I'm trying to come up with a reason for someone to go through the garbage."
"Maybe something valuable was thrown away," suggested Ororo.
"Several nights in a row?"
"You did ask for *a* reason," Ororo laughed. "I did not say it was the *only*
reason."
"Maybe someone just likes to make a mess," said Logan, stabbing at the T-bone on
his plate, "especially if it annoys you."
Scott glared at the laughing Wolverine, who added, "It's not me, though."
Okay, Scott decided, now it was war. He was going to figure this out if it
killed him.
****************************
Jean flatly refused to help Scott develop a plan. As she left his office, she
muttered something about obsessive-compulsive people. He settled down to plot,
deciding that his best bet was to rig a trap on the garbage can. Perhaps he
would use the traditional pots and pans attached via string, because sometimes
the classics are the best way to go. Down their mental link, Jean sent a
raspberry.
When the kitchen was empty, Scott made his way down to rig up his trap: thin
string, nearly invisible in the dark kitchen, stretched from the lid of the huge
garbage can over the counter to pots and pans draining next to the sink.
After that, he adjourned to the nearby dining room to await the culprit. Jean
sent a plaintive plea for him to come to bed, but he was adamant. This would
teach them to mock him.
He sat down to wait with a flashlight and the new Asimov biography to wait. The
silence was punctuated with the normal sounds of the school: giggling girls, the
occasional "bamf" or "paf" of students using their powers, water flowing through
pipes, nothing unusual. Eventually, and perhaps inevitably, Scott became
absorbed in his book.
Without any warning, the quiet was pierced by the sound of all those pots
cascading onto the floor. CRASH! Scott eagerly jumped out of his seat and rushed
toward the kitchen. He threw open the door and rushing in, tripped over the pots
to land on his hands and knees.
"Oh shit," a voice above him said.
"I second that," said another.
Scott slowly rose, reached behind him and turned on the kitchen lights to
confront Marie and Betsy. Betsy winced slightly at the look on his face. Marie
just gave him that scared puppy look that always worked so well on Logan. The
effect was lessened, however, by the trash can lid in her hand.
Stepping over the remaining pots, Scott leaned against the nearest counter and
crossed his arms. "I'm sure there's a good explanation for why you were in the
garbage. I'm just waiting to hear it."
Marie looked at Betsy, who sighed in resignation. "Well, you see, there's this
wild cat that lives in the woods..."
Scott sighed, "...who probably just had kittens."
"Yes, sir, and we've been trying to lure her close enough to get a kitten, so
we've been trying all kinds of scraps and milk. We didn't want to take food out
of the refrigerator because we thought people would notice."
"And you didn't think that we would notice potato peelings on the floor?"
Marie and Betsy stared at him in confusion. "Mr. Summers," Marie said slowly,
"we didn't leave any potato peelings on the floor."
Scott blinked at them a few times. "Good lord, don't tell me there are two
groups of people going through the garbage?" The girls looked confused and he
waved them out the door. "Put the milk back in the fridge, and in the morning
you can go see the Professor about going to the pound to get a pet."
Marie and Betsy skittered out the door without another word. Scott slowly picked
up the pans and replaced them on the counter. He thought for a few moments,
reset his trap, and went back to the dining room.
It took two hours for the next miscreants to decide the coast was clear. Scott
was getting bored, but refused to give up his post. Then, CRASH! rang out again,
and Scott made a second dash to the kitchen. This time, he opened the door and
reached inside to hit the light switch. Seeing no pots in front of him, he took
a step forward and...once again landed on his hands and knees.
"Oh shit," came a voice.
"Yeah, what you said," another responded.
Scott blinked at the déjà vu and slowly stood up, wobbling slightly on the icy
floor. This time he was facing St. John and Bobby--the latter no surprise given
the icy floor. "John, could you please melt the ice?"
"Oh yeah," John said.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Summers, I didn't mean to ice the floor, you just startled me,"
Bobby said nervously.
"It's okay," Scott said. He took a deep breath. "But why have you been rummaging
through the garbage at night? You *are* the ones leaving the potato peelings on
the floor, right?"
"Damn it, Bobby, I told you to check the floor was clean," John muttered.
"Well, you could've done it yourself, ya know," Bobby responded, jabbing his
friend with his elbow.
"I'll repeat my question, although at this point I'm not sure I want to know the
answer. Why have you been going through the garbage at night?"
The two boys looked at each other, trying to decide who should answer. John
lost.
"Well, sir, you see, we wanted to practice using our powers. But I needed stuff
to set on fire and Bobby needed stuff to freeze." John was getting into his
explanation now. "And we got this idea to test how our powers worked by
experimenting on different organic stuff, and seeing how long it took to freeze
and thaw and flame and...." John trailed off, realizing Scott wasn't quite as
excited by the scientific prospects.
Scott stared at the two earnest faces for a few moments, then sighed. "If you
were looking for organics, why didn't you just go outside and...no, don't answer
that, you'll just make my headache worse. Get out of here and go talk to the
Professor in the morning about getting materials to experiment with. Don't leave
a mess in the kitchen next time."
Bobby and John took off without another word. Scott squelched his way across the
damp kitchen floor to pick up the pots again, and put them on the counter. Then
he went to bed.
Jean curled up against him as he climbed into bed, laughing quietly when she
read the events of the evening in his mind.
*Satisfied now?* she asked.
*Yes, thank you. Go back to sleep.*
And as he drifted off, he heard yet another faint crash from the kitchen. He
muttered "To hell with it," and rolling over, went to sleep.
AUTHOR: Mara Greengrass
AUTHOR'S EMAIL: fishfolk@ix.netcom.com. Feedback is better than chocolate.
PERMISSION TO ARCHIVE: Sure, just let me know.
CATEGORY: Gen, humor
RATINGS/WARNINGS: PG for a little bad language
SUMMARY: Who is rummaging through the trash at the school?
DISCLAIMER: The X-Men characters belong to Twentieth Century Fox, Marvel, and
many other people with expensive lawyers, not me. I'm just borrowing them and I
promise I'm not making any profit whatsoever off of fanfic. Heck, I'm lucky my
husband hasn't had me committed yet.
NOTES: This is in response to Minisinoo's challenge to write a story based on
her summary, "Who's been getting into the kitchen garbage at the mansion every
night, dragging out . . . potato peels? The culprit leaves interesting tracks."
Darn if that didn't start me thinking. This was my first X-Fic, so I hope you
like it. Thanks to Minisinoo for the awesomely thorough beta read. I think I've
learned more about writing from her than I ever did in school :)
***********************
"...potato peels all over the kitchen," Scott was telling her when Jean tuned
back in to the conversation. She looked up from the medical journal that had
just arrived in her inbox.
"I'm sorry, Scott, I was distracted, what did you say?" she asked, wondering if
Bobby had kitchen duty again. Scott leaned against her office doorway.
"I said, someone has been rummaging through the kitchen garbage the past few
nights." Scott frowned. "I keep finding potato peels all over the floor in the
morning."
Jean smiled at her fiancé, because she knew how much he hated mess. "Maybe if
you would stay in bed a little longer the potato peels would be someone else's
problem." Scott grinned at her. "Besides, it's probably just some animal."
Scott's grin got wider. "And no, I don't mean a Wolverine."
Scott laughed out loud, but sobered quickly. "And next you'll tell me how an
animal opened the kitchen door, rummaged through the trash, and then left
through the same door? That implies an animal smarter than I want to think
about. Besides, whoever is going through the garbage is leaving very peculiar
tracks."
"You didn't mention any tracks," Jean said.
"Well, not tracks really, more like drips. Drips of milk."
Jean laughed.
*************************
The trash problem irked Scott, and he took it to the Professor after lunch.
Scott found him grading papers in his office.
"Going through the kitchen trash, hmm?" the Professor said.
Scott flushed. "Okay, I know it's not exactly an enemy attack, but it *is*
strange."
"I understand," the Professor said, smiling, "but in a school full of teenage
mutants, I suspect that out-of-control trash is likely the least of our worries.
I'm sure the answer will reveal itself in the fullness of time."
**************************
Now having been mocked by both Jean and the Professor, Scott was determined to
get to the bottom of this mystery. He began asking various students if they knew
anything about it, but got nowhere. Well, he did cause the rumor mill to claim
he had been ingesting hallucinogenic substances, but nobody ever listened to
Jubilee anyway.
"Going through the kitchen trash?" Kitty asked. "Ewww, Mr. Summers, why would
anyone do that?"
Why, indeed? Scott wondered.
"Something wrong, love?" Jean asked at dinner.
"I'm trying to come up with a reason for someone to go through the garbage."
"Maybe something valuable was thrown away," suggested Ororo.
"Several nights in a row?"
"You did ask for *a* reason," Ororo laughed. "I did not say it was the *only*
reason."
"Maybe someone just likes to make a mess," said Logan, stabbing at the T-bone on
his plate, "especially if it annoys you."
Scott glared at the laughing Wolverine, who added, "It's not me, though."
Okay, Scott decided, now it was war. He was going to figure this out if it
killed him.
****************************
Jean flatly refused to help Scott develop a plan. As she left his office, she
muttered something about obsessive-compulsive people. He settled down to plot,
deciding that his best bet was to rig a trap on the garbage can. Perhaps he
would use the traditional pots and pans attached via string, because sometimes
the classics are the best way to go. Down their mental link, Jean sent a
raspberry.
When the kitchen was empty, Scott made his way down to rig up his trap: thin
string, nearly invisible in the dark kitchen, stretched from the lid of the huge
garbage can over the counter to pots and pans draining next to the sink.
After that, he adjourned to the nearby dining room to await the culprit. Jean
sent a plaintive plea for him to come to bed, but he was adamant. This would
teach them to mock him.
He sat down to wait with a flashlight and the new Asimov biography to wait. The
silence was punctuated with the normal sounds of the school: giggling girls, the
occasional "bamf" or "paf" of students using their powers, water flowing through
pipes, nothing unusual. Eventually, and perhaps inevitably, Scott became
absorbed in his book.
Without any warning, the quiet was pierced by the sound of all those pots
cascading onto the floor. CRASH! Scott eagerly jumped out of his seat and rushed
toward the kitchen. He threw open the door and rushing in, tripped over the pots
to land on his hands and knees.
"Oh shit," a voice above him said.
"I second that," said another.
Scott slowly rose, reached behind him and turned on the kitchen lights to
confront Marie and Betsy. Betsy winced slightly at the look on his face. Marie
just gave him that scared puppy look that always worked so well on Logan. The
effect was lessened, however, by the trash can lid in her hand.
Stepping over the remaining pots, Scott leaned against the nearest counter and
crossed his arms. "I'm sure there's a good explanation for why you were in the
garbage. I'm just waiting to hear it."
Marie looked at Betsy, who sighed in resignation. "Well, you see, there's this
wild cat that lives in the woods..."
Scott sighed, "...who probably just had kittens."
"Yes, sir, and we've been trying to lure her close enough to get a kitten, so
we've been trying all kinds of scraps and milk. We didn't want to take food out
of the refrigerator because we thought people would notice."
"And you didn't think that we would notice potato peelings on the floor?"
Marie and Betsy stared at him in confusion. "Mr. Summers," Marie said slowly,
"we didn't leave any potato peelings on the floor."
Scott blinked at them a few times. "Good lord, don't tell me there are two
groups of people going through the garbage?" The girls looked confused and he
waved them out the door. "Put the milk back in the fridge, and in the morning
you can go see the Professor about going to the pound to get a pet."
Marie and Betsy skittered out the door without another word. Scott slowly picked
up the pans and replaced them on the counter. He thought for a few moments,
reset his trap, and went back to the dining room.
It took two hours for the next miscreants to decide the coast was clear. Scott
was getting bored, but refused to give up his post. Then, CRASH! rang out again,
and Scott made a second dash to the kitchen. This time, he opened the door and
reached inside to hit the light switch. Seeing no pots in front of him, he took
a step forward and...once again landed on his hands and knees.
"Oh shit," came a voice.
"Yeah, what you said," another responded.
Scott blinked at the déjà vu and slowly stood up, wobbling slightly on the icy
floor. This time he was facing St. John and Bobby--the latter no surprise given
the icy floor. "John, could you please melt the ice?"
"Oh yeah," John said.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Summers, I didn't mean to ice the floor, you just startled me,"
Bobby said nervously.
"It's okay," Scott said. He took a deep breath. "But why have you been rummaging
through the garbage at night? You *are* the ones leaving the potato peelings on
the floor, right?"
"Damn it, Bobby, I told you to check the floor was clean," John muttered.
"Well, you could've done it yourself, ya know," Bobby responded, jabbing his
friend with his elbow.
"I'll repeat my question, although at this point I'm not sure I want to know the
answer. Why have you been going through the garbage at night?"
The two boys looked at each other, trying to decide who should answer. John
lost.
"Well, sir, you see, we wanted to practice using our powers. But I needed stuff
to set on fire and Bobby needed stuff to freeze." John was getting into his
explanation now. "And we got this idea to test how our powers worked by
experimenting on different organic stuff, and seeing how long it took to freeze
and thaw and flame and...." John trailed off, realizing Scott wasn't quite as
excited by the scientific prospects.
Scott stared at the two earnest faces for a few moments, then sighed. "If you
were looking for organics, why didn't you just go outside and...no, don't answer
that, you'll just make my headache worse. Get out of here and go talk to the
Professor in the morning about getting materials to experiment with. Don't leave
a mess in the kitchen next time."
Bobby and John took off without another word. Scott squelched his way across the
damp kitchen floor to pick up the pots again, and put them on the counter. Then
he went to bed.
Jean curled up against him as he climbed into bed, laughing quietly when she
read the events of the evening in his mind.
*Satisfied now?* she asked.
*Yes, thank you. Go back to sleep.*
And as he drifted off, he heard yet another faint crash from the kitchen. He
muttered "To hell with it," and rolling over, went to sleep.