Disclaimer: "Half of me is all, 'Hurr, be emo for Faye,' and half of me's all, 'Hurr, Faye sucks,' and my liver is all, 'Hurr, get me some more bourbun.'"
(An: Yeah, this is canon, during "Cajun Spice"… how boring. Still trying to find that goddamn groove. It's tapdancing out on a bridge without me somewhere. Seriously. I tried this chapter to three different songs, although all of them involved John and Wanda in a bar... The song is "Sophomore Slump or Comeback of the Year." There is swearing in this chapter because… eh, I dunno. I'm like that. I have no idea what the timeline for the fourth season of Evo is, having never seen it, so I'm just gonna dump stuff together and hope it happened relatively close together.)
Are we growing up Or just going down? It's just a matter of time 'til we're all found out Take her tears Put 'em on ice
Wanda stared at the glass of whiskey in front of her. She knew there was only one, yet every time she blinked, there were at least three there. Which made sense- that was how many glasses she'd had total, even though it was the most disgusting stuff she'd ever tasted.
Really, she couldn't see why people got so excited about being old enough to drink- drinking cheap whiskey in a skeevy bar equated to about the same as drinking cheap beer in a skeevy house. Maybe because there were more people around to hit on her…? Certainly, the bartender hadn't even glanced at her fake ID when she ordered. He had glanced down her shirt, though. Bastard.
She shook her head and suddenly felt very dizzy. She pinched the bridge of her nose, sensing an oncoming headache. Great. She was getting all of the downs and none of the buzz. That seemed to be the pattern of life in general- no one she liked, but an annoying stalker
It was probably because the whiskey was making her think of the Brotherhood. She always had been an introspective drunk. She sighed. One for the road, and then I'm out.
And I need to take a pill to make this town feel okay
John stared at the glass of bourbon in front of him. Bourbon. Bourbon was Remy's drink. Remy was gone. He had considered vodka, but vodka made him think of Piotr, and that was just as bad. At least bourbon didn't burn so much. Didn't get you drunk as fast, either… Fucked both ways from Sunday. "It takes too long for me to get sloshed anyway," he muttered, getting up. He paused, decided not to waste good liquor, and knocked it back. (1)
He walked out into the parking lot and narrowly missed getting barfed on. "Agh!" He jumped away, eyeing the vomit at his feet in disgust.
"Sorry," muttered the girl, wiping her mouth.
John did a double-take. "…I'm not even going to ask what you're doing here, sheila. Your logic is simply enthralling, I'm sure."
"Your ID's just as fake as mine," she replied, frowning in his general direction. "Don't lecture me about compartment."
"I think you mean comportment."
She flapped a hand at him, taking a few steps and leaning on a car to regain her balance. "I think I don't give a shit."
John sighed, shaking his head. "Jeez, who gave you the idea to get drunk? You're not good at it."
"I wasn't aware there was a right or wrong way to get hammered."
"How much beer did you have?"
"Whiskey. Five shots. Or so."
"And whose idea was this?"
"No one told me to do this. I decided all on my own."
"And now you're throwing up in a parking lot," John said, his voice very dry. "Do you feel like a big girl?"
Wanda sat on the hood of the car, giving up all hopes of equilibrium. "Fuck off. I've been having a bad week."
"…Are you expecting sympathy? Because I'm willing to bet that when it comes to angst poker, I win."
Wanda gestured at the adjacent car. "Fire away, Pyro."
"Syngen."
"Whatever."
John rolled his eyes and sat. "You go first. I want to hear what teen angst sounds like."
Wanda glared at him. "I've been having these weird headaches, a freaky little kid came over to ask for my help, and my boss has been turned into a statue. Toad won't stop hitting on me, I just lost my job, and without Mystique, we have no way of paying the bills."
John smirked and started ticking things off on his fingers. "This week, my boss died, my best friend decided to bugger off, and my other best friend decided, out of the blue, to bugger off as well. I am effectively jobless and friendless, and I've had to live off ravioli while I try and find another source of money, since Remy took my paycheck as well as my lucky boxers."
"I guess you win." Wanda shrugged. "Or we could tie and go back and have some more alcohol."
"Judging by the state you're in, you probably already need your stomach pumped, bloody lightweight."
"I can drink Lance under the table," Wanda replied, crossing her arms. "I've just never had whiskey before."
"I was drinking bourbun."
Wanda squinted at him. "…Goddamn, man, can't I have anything?"
"Your virginity. I promise not to date-rape you."
"We'd have to be on a date first. Or speaking terms."
"I'd say we're speaking."
"But only because I can't see straight. If I could aim, I'd hex your ass into next Tuesday."
John nodded indulgently. "Of course you would, sheila."
"It's Wanda!"
John patted her on the head. Wanda growled at him. "Look, love, I think you should go home."
"I tell you Wanda, so you switch to 'love'. I'm missing the logic here."
John made a disgusted noise. "I'm trying to reason with you here!"
"So call me by name… besides, I'm drunk. The only logic I'd listen to now is the Makeout Hobo."
"…He does have an awesome van." John paused. "But that's not the point! If you stay here, you're probably just going to get drunker, and then you really will need your stomach pumped." (2)
"Don't lecture me, Johno. You're a burned-out- pardon the pun- mutant terrorist with no future. I've at least got my GED."
John stuck his tongue out at her. "Not that it's any of your business, but I have a very successful writing career."
"So then why are you stuck with cold ravioli?"
John frowned. This was a sore spot. "To be honest, ever since I came to this bloody country, my inspiration's been right down the tubes. It's probably because I get to play with fire so much. I always find writing easier when I'm depressed."
"Well, judging by the week you say you've had, you should be churning out War and Peace right now."
"It ain't that simple!" When Wanda just stared at him, he shook his head. "How about I walk you home?" He offered her his arm.
"You write romance novels, don't you?" John blushed, wondering how the hell she could have guessed that. "It's because no sane man would offer to walk a drunk girl home after establishing he wasn't interested in getting laid, except in romance novels."
"I'm interested in getting laid. Just not with you."
Wanda frowned. "Why not?"
"You're the-" John paused. "Well, technically he's dead now and couldn't kill me, but still. Offer stands, love."
Wanda rolled her eyes and slid off the car hood, slipping her arm through John's.
We're the lifers Here 'til the bitter end Ashamed of the way The songs and the words own The beating of our hearts
"I hate this place," Wanda muttered. She and John had walked three blocks in silence, and now they were standing on the bridge overlooking Bayville Bay.
John glanced at her. Somewhere along the way, he'd slipped his arm around her waist to keep her from falling over. She was leaning against the railing now, so he could have let go. Wanda didn't really want him to, though. It was cold. "Amen to that, love. Second I get the cash, I'm outta here. First plane out. First train, even."
"Not without me, you aren't."
"I don't owe you anything, sheila," he replied, although his voice was amicable enough.
"You deprived me of what could have been a really great buzz."
"You were leaving anyway." Now he sounded amused. Wanda decided that John or Syngen or whatever he was calling himself this week was a pain in the ass. A pain in the ass who was comfortable to lean against, but nevertheless.
"Irrelevant. You're still taking me with."
"I suppose. I'd be fair crushed if you threw up on anyone else's shoes while I was away."
"You mean you'd come back?"
"For five minutes, with enough acetylene to just-" He let go of her for a moment to gesture at the city, mimicking the sound of an explosion. "Whole city burns."
Wanda grabbed his hand and repositioned it on her waist. When John looked at her, his eyebrows raised, she shrugged, her cheeks heating up. Another mark against him: a pain in the ass who could make her blush. Nobody could do that. "It's cold." She sighed, looking back over the bay. "The worst part of this place is how good it looks in the moonlight."
"I know, love. Almost makes you forget who lives here."
"You live here. Hell, I live here."
"Neither of us by choice, though."
"True… do you really want to see the city burn?"
"Burn it down, 'til the embers smoke on the ground," John sang softly. (3)
"You should sing more," Wanda mumbled, resting her head on his shoulder. The fuzziness was starting to wear off, replaced by general exhaustion.
John shook her gently. "None of that, love. I'm walking you home, not carrying you."
"Then let's start walking."
John sighed. "If we must."
We're the therapists Pumping through your speakers Delivering just what you need Well-read and poised We're the best boys
They walked another two blocks. "I notice you didn't list your dad's death," John said quietly. He had his arm around her shoulders now; Wanda, who looked half-dead, was clinging to his chest.
"I know that I should be upset about it, but really, I'm not." Her voice was so utterly devoid of emotion that he looked at her. She raised and lowered one shoulder. "I mean, he was my dad, but… I dunno. It's not exactly like he was a paragon of parenting."
"More than you know, love," John murmured.
Wanda appeared not to have heard him; she was frowning, lost in her thoughts. "I always get angry whenever I think of my dad- not murderous angry, just kind of… annoyed. Like I should be pissed about something, but I can't quite manage it." She shrugged again. "It's not like I'm ever not angry."
"You seemed pretty calm tonight."
"I'm drunk. More or less." She sighed, cuddling up even closer to him, something he hadn't thought was possible. It was nice, in a strange way- it was the closest he'd been to a girl in years, and Wanda was… interesting, to say the least. It was also pretty hard to walk, so he stopped, leaning against a fence. "Sometimes… sometimes I think there isn't anything to me but anger. I mean, there's the surface stuff that makes me happy…" She trailed off.
"Like…"
"This," she replied, putting his arms around her again. "I haven't felt this good in years." She shook her head. "But if I go any deeper than that, there's anger, and fear, and there's not much else. And I don't know why I'm angry or scared or any of it."
"Mmm," said John, resting his head on top of hers. He felt incredibly guilty that he knew why she felt like this when she was so clueless. And he couldn't even explain it to her. Magneto hadn't been specific about what would happen if Wanda's memories were triggered, but he had made it clear it'd be bad.
John looked up, realizing he wanted nothing bad to happen to this girl. Hadn't he started this night out more or less objective? Damn.
Wanda pulled away after a moment, attempting to lead the way. She almost tripped over a crack in the sidewalk, and John rolled his eyes. Here he was, getting attached, and her only reminder of the night would be a god-awful headache.
We're the chemists Who've found the formula To make your heart swell and burst
John's arm was back around Wanda's shoulders; she had one hand resting on his hip. They looked like any slightly crazy couple walking in the moonlight. Except they weren't even really friends. She felt rather wistful. For a pain in the ass, he seemed like good "friend" material. "We're almost at the Brotherhood house," she announced.
John glanced at her. "I know. Do we suddenly need to make a detour or something?"
"Not really. I'm just… disappointed, I guess."
"About what?" He sounded amused again. This was getting annoying.
"I went out to get drunk. I accomplished that, but I ended up depressed instead of feeling good. I also ended up walking with a pyromaniac romance novelist who listens to me whine all night without complaint- encourages me, even- and no pigs flew over my head."
John laughed. "This wasn't exactly how I was looking to spend my night either, love."
"What were your plans, then?"
John paused. "…Get as drunk as possible so I won't have to think about how the only friends I've had in years abandoned me with no second thoughts. Given, they both had family problems, but still. You'd think they'd at least warn me before buggering off… or take me with."
"If I ever get to bugger off, I'll be sure to call you first."
"That makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, sheila, thank you."
"I prefer 'love'."
"I thought you wanted me to call you Wanda."
"But you're not, and 'love' is at least preferable to sounding like you can't remember my name."
"Suppose you got me there, love."
"That's better." She sighed. "Turn this corner and we'll be there."
"Yep. What's with the constant updates?"
"Well… you still haven't done anything."
"I said I wouldn't date-rape you."
"But that doesn't exclude plain old rape."
"Sheila, I'm not that desperate to get laid."
They turned the corner. Eyeing her home, Wanda was suddenly, overwhelmingly desperate for something. Exactly what, she wasn't sure. "What if I said I wanted you to rape me?" she blurted.
John stared at her. He let go of her so he could look her properly in the face. Her shoulder felt frozen in his absence. He wrinkled his nose, pointedly Not Getting It. "Then it wouldn't be rape, now would it?"
Wanda grabbed his shoulders and slammed her lips against his. She was still too tipsy for it to be anything more graceful, much less a real kiss. At least he reciprocated, if the hand tangling in her hair was to be believed.
"The fuck was that?" he demanded when she backed off. He sounded sufficiently hot and bothered, and his hand hadn't left her hair.
"A kiss. I'd figured you knew more about them than me."
John smiled crookedly at her. "A kiss? Frankly, I thought that was a frontal assault."
"I never said I wouldn't rape you."
His smile widened. "Can't rape the willing," he hummed. (4)
Wanda yawned. "I'm going to bed now, before I pass out. I expect you to call me in the morning. We're in the yellow pages, under 'losers'." Before he could respond, she had let go of him and ran for the front steps.
(By far not my best work, but… um… well, at least it was a decent length. And I think I finally found the groove. I can hear you all running in fear. Review!)
(1) I am aware that John spent a good long time laughing it up in the base, but I say this is before that. Wouldn't you be pissed if your only friends (as the Acolytes seemed to be) both ditched you as soon as the boss was gone?
(2) From Questionable Content, a damn hilarious webcomic.
(3) "Your Heart is an Empty Room" by Death Cab for Cutie. One of my favorite songs by them.
(4) John is quoting another song that I heart… "The Willing" by Emanuel.
