As you may have noticed, I'm naming each chapter using a word that ends in the letters tion. Yes, this is deliberate, and yes, I'm running out of such words, so any ideas from readers would be helpful. Thus far I've got preparation, syncopation, alteration, lituration, rendition, formation, translation and replication - not all of which work for the plotIf you submit a word and I decide it has just that right ring to it (ie, Logan looks at it and gets all growly) then I'll slather you with praise and chocolate covered strawberries besides noting your name at the beginning of the chapter with so much praise you'll blush ;-) And onwards we plow... Jo, Tye and I apologize for making so much fun of you, but //tisks// girleen, you need to not show up drunk anymore. Or else. I'll write you in as a Mary-Jane. Grrrrr...

Separation

Why is it that I can always make this lock work when I've plenty of light and time, but it mysteriously creaks, squeaks, and rusts fully shut when I'm sneaking in late at night?

I wince as the door laboriously opens, sliding my body into the dark room and dropping my pack noiselessly as I close my eyes and pray, oh pray, please let Logan be a in a state of deep sleep similar to a coma...

"What're you doin' home late?"

So much for luck. Frickin' A, although perhaps frickin' L would be more appropriate. Some days I feel tempted to see if that whole 'shooting-in-the-head' trick in the movies really does knock the beast unconscious. It would be nice reprieve.

I toss my keys somewhere in the general direction of the couch.

"Stayed out to study. I have a Botany test tommorrow."

Logan snorted, sounding somewhere between miffed and a horse. I look behind him to see that the sink is overflowing with dishes and there are suspiscious streaks of red on the grey countertops. Wolverine moves slightly to the right, blocking my view.

"Logan, what small animals did you murder and eat today?"

He snorts again, and the horse-like quality intensifies. I wonder blearily if I should snort back. I'm really not up for this right now. Small circles that resemble a cross between christmas lights and the plant cells I've been looking at for the past two hours dance in my vision.

Steps behind me echo off the cheap metal staircase that leads to my second story apartment. It must either be my extremely creepy and stalker-like neighbor, who raises and sells hamsters - how wierd is that? - an insane and suicidal salesperson, in which case I'll invite them in and let them see the bloody butcher knife sitting on top of the tv and count how many seconds it takes for them to make it back to their car, or the most likely, option c, Tye.

Another key in the lock answers my question. And by the giggles coming with him, I think I can guess his company isn't masculine. Crap. He's going to kill me if he's brought home a date and the house looks like the chainsaw massacure took place in it.

"Logan, get the kitchen cleaned up now, or I'm writing a het story about you and Scott and posting it tommorrow!"

Wolverine dashs for the kitchen, stopping in the doorway only long enough to give me an evil glare. I throw myself against the door, forcibly preventing Tyrel from unbolting the panel.

"Uh, Tye... we have a little problem in the kitchen right now... a furry, growly problem... give me a sec?" That should work, although it has started the rumor among his past girlfriend's friends that I own a misbehaved toy dog of some sort that is mysteriously never seen.

Another giggle, and the girl says, "Is that your roommate?" in a loud whisper. As if it could be anyone else, bimbo. Tyrel answers back, shushing his companion.

"Golds, it's Jo. She and Andy broke up, and the Fetish Four took her out to 'console' her." The sarcasm is so thick, I can hear it dripping down and overflowing from the balcony under the door. I instantly throw off the deadbolt and chain and swing open the door, just in time to catch Tyrel's sister as she stumbles across the doorway.

The Fetish Four is what Tye calls a group of teens that his younger sister seems to like hanging out with... they're fairly easy to recognize, having hung enough metal from their bodies to sink the Titanic, and hair colors between them to color the rainbow. That, and the fact that they all wear a cloned expression of discontent.

I must add that, beside his hatred of Tyrel, Logan has a distinct and dreadful adoration of his little sister. Calls her 'Marie'. Creepy, I know.

Still, as I lower the girl to our couch, I can see why Josephine dressed as Rogue four halloweens in a row. Long rippled mahogany colored hair coupled with greenish eyes, although nowhere near the vibrancy of Rogue's, make her a close enough look-alike for the uprooted Logan muse's worship.

Said growly and at this time bloody muse is banging pots in the kitchen, and from the sounds emerging therewith, has decided mopping is in order as well. Exuberant mopping, if the water creeping over the threshhold is any indication.

"Is he in?"

Tye nudges me and asks the question a second time before I respond.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. That's the noise from the kitchen."

Nodding, he turns away and heads for the bathroom, leaving me alone with his sister.

Jo giggled, somehow melding a hiccup into the mix. "Hehe... someone's in the kitchen... you have soft hands. Why's your hair blue?" She points a somewhat dirty finger past my head towards the doorway.

Henry is standing there. Doctor Hank McCoy, in all his furry blue glory, is standing in my doorway. Did I mention the fact that it's drizzling outside, so it is in fact a wet furry blue mutant dripping on my welcome mat?

"Oh no. You have the wrong house. Henry, Logan's already here."

Hank smiles. "Why else would I come so expediantly? Logan summoned me hither for a plot twist. It was my understanding that you were in concordance with this invitation." His smiles droops, blue eyesbrows creasing together. "Stars and garters, why is that child drunk?"

I groan and yell for Tye to hurry up with the puke bowl we keep in the bathroom. I cannot handle another muse right now.

"Look, Henry, can you go stay with someone else for a couple weeks? Come to think of it... why aren't you with Taylor right now?"

The shaggy hair drifts rebeliously into his equally blue eyes. "Taylor has asked me if I might take a short sabbatical while she recuperates from my continuous presence. I believe her words were 'bugger off' as a matter of record."

I groan again, louder in the hope that Tyrel will get the message and hurry up before Jo has an accident. "You didn't mention buying Twinkie stocks again, did you?"

The blue brows crease together in thought. "I may have mentioned the vague thought in passing, but did not make a definate plan towards the goal, no."

Tye shows up again, and looks over at the open door, tossing me the stainless-steel mixing bowl.

"Why's the door open?"

Holding Jo's head over the bowl, I examine her carefully before answering. She may be drunk, but I'm not sure if she's drunk enough to throw up.

"Dr. McCoy stopped by for a short... visit..." The blue doctor has dissapeared. "Shite. Tye, take the bowl. I need to go chase him out of the house."

Jo giggles again. "He's cute." The door, still open, reveals an equally wet Remy LeBeau.

"NO!"

Tye leaps to his feet, and slams the door, locking it. I blink in consternation, only to jump as Logan greets Henry in the kitchen with a roar and the sound of very manly and bruising back thumping.

"Tye... what...?"

I'm confused. I'm so confused that the word confused can't begin to describe the feeling of floorlessness I'm currently experiencing.

Tyrel throws the deadbolt and chain. I roll my eyes. It might keep Scott out... heaven forbid that that stuck-up doorknob shows tonight as well... but Remy doesn't really pay attention to locks.

He does pay strict attention to windows however.

"So, p'tite, when ca' we star'?"

I turn to slap the irritating Cajun back into place with some well-placed sarcasm and a biting Cajun epiteth, but to my astonishment, Tye beats me to it.

"We're not interested salaude, got it?"

Tyrel. Remy. I think I need some air. Did Tye just call Gambit a bastard, or was I hallucinating from the beer fumes currently rising off Jo?

"You can see him?"

I ignore Jo's giggles, followed by a small retch. Guess she is drunk enough. Hopefully the Fetish Four only had alcohol tonight. I'm really not interested in a trip to the emergency room right now, although... it might be a good place to ditch Henry.

Tye looks sideways at me. "No, but I can smell his cologne."

At my look of disbelief, he rolls his eyes and closes the window, Remy sidestepping out of the way. "I lived with Alicia, 'member?"

Oh. Yeah. Alicia had quite the 'affair' with Remy, didn't she? Tye would doubtless become aware of the presence of Remy's cologne when he was living with the smell 24/7.

Back to ditching Henry. I'm thinking the hospital is my best bet... hmmm... who can I take to the emergency room as a cover?