Whispers.
Giggles.
A loud shush.
A giggle.
The sound of a loud slap.
And a loud sigh, coming from their subject. A buff subject, hairy, wearing a wife beater and dark pants. Shoeless. Sockless. A large claw extends, large and metallic, and stabs an apple viciously with it.
Some of us jump unwillingly.
"Good luck." Roberto whispers into my ear before pushing me into the kitchen and shutting the door.
More giggles are heard.
"Y'know, pipsqueak, the professor let them stay here for the night because you've got that emotional stuff going on with you. Having friends is therapeutic and shit like that." The hairy man turned to me and rose an eyebrow, "Do you really want to push it?"
"Hah. Funny. Hi. My name is Emily."
"Logan. Mr. Logan to a pipsqueak like you."
"Wolverine, right?"
"If you're gonna fight me, yeah."
"Um..." Noo thank you, Mr. Deadly Claws of Doom.
"So what're you here for? Root beers in the cupboard. Get me one too."
Okay, I guess I'm getting root beer.
I sat next to him, twisting open mine, wincing at the pain that the little ridges gave me. And it wasn't that good, either. I mean, it was good, but it was room temperature. Everyone knows that the worst drinks are room temperature. It's either chilled or scalding.
"The first time I met Iceman--Past the territorial introduction," Had no clue what he meant by that, so he elaborated for my benefit, "He chilled my hand. To the bone. Anyway, it was late. Couldn't sleep. The two of us sat in these two chairs. Drinking root beer. He blew in it and it was ice cold. And then Stryker stormed the mansion, stole all the kids, and him and the rest of us saved the world."
"Why are you telling me this?" I asked nervously.
He gave me a look.
"When your folks got arrested, you stayed at the house for a year. One-Eye--You've met him before, he's the dad of the chick who fucked with your head--He was thinking of taking you in, too. But he could barely handle his one kid. Wife died. He was a complete wreck. And then Storm was gonna raise you. She's motherly as shit. If you're anything like your mother, you'd have hated being raised by her. And so Kitty said she couldn't have babies, John said that he trusted them, and after a year you were officially a Drake."
"Okay."
"I just thought a kid should always know their background. Your parents prolly didn't have time to tell you shit and you were too young to remember things right."
"Oh. Thank you Mr. Logan." Ah, now things are going to get awkward.
"Mr. Logan?"
"Yeah pipsqueak?"
"Is it illegal for a girl my age to be with someone eighteen or older?"
A moment of silence.
An eruption of giggles from behind the door.
"I thought that tough looking kid you brought over was around your age."
More giggles.
Kill me now.
"Gosh darn it!" I exclaimed cheesily, snapping my fingers, and ran out the door, leaving behind my root beer.
Logan sighed, taking a sip of his root beer and wishing it were real beer.
"Fucking kids."
"God, who's idea was it again? Find the nearest staff and ask them that stupid question? Fucking a, man, I'm going to kick somebody in the fucking throat. Bitches."
"Emily, you're blushing so much!" Layla laughed lightheartedly.
"Oh yeah. It was you." I said calmly. Hippie was evil underneath those righteous moral standards.
Die!
"Oh fuck!"
"Emily, stop struggling so much!"
"Shit! She elbowed me!"
"Suck it up and help hold her down!"
"Relax, Ems! It's Truth or Dare! Truth! Or! Dare!"
"Damn!"
"You bit me, bitch! I'm your best fucking friend and you fucking bit me! Bitch!"
"Frack! She bit me too! That's kinda hot."
Warren, kind of tired of hanging onto her arm boredly while the other guys were grabbing onto her while she was his to touch, and not theirs, grabbed her around the waist and swooped her up into his arms. She went limp after a few fists to his back and instead just glared at Layla.
"Your time is coming, Tree Fucker." I threatened.
"I find that offensive!" Layla exclaimed.
"I find your face offensive!" I bit back.
"Real original." Magenta huffed.
"So is your mom in bed." I stuck my tongue out.
"Ooh baby." Janice laughed, "I want a slice of that action!"
This is why we are best friends.
"So. Whoever this bottle lands upon will be the next victim. The next victim of this merciless game of truth or dare. You can either pick truth, dare, or the sprint of shame! Strip down to one article of clothing and run wild through the hallways! Strip and wreak havoc! Streak! Get it!?" Janice laughed wildly.
Red Bull kills brain cells.
I spinned the bottle, being the last one to go and embarrass myself publicly, and watched as it spinned, and spinned, and spinned.
And landed on Janice herself.
"You reap what you laugh insanely at!" I exclaimed loudly, pointing at her obnoxiously.
"Fine, fine. Truth."
"Pansy."
"Bitch. Gimme the truth."
"Fine. Who do you like!?" I waggled my eyebrows cheesily and made a silly dance out of it while everybody groaned.
"Come oooonnn." Janice whined.
"What? Pansy."
"Bitch."
"Pansy."
"Bitch."
"Pansy bitch."
"Bitchin'... Bitch thing! I'm going streaking!"
"Oh. Okay then."
Some erupted into insane laughter.
Janice shapeshifted into a blank silhouette. Like something out of Garbage's Push It video.
"Dammit, she can protect her modesty!" Quinn pouted.
Janice threw a slipper at his head.
He dodged.
She threw another one.
He compared himself to George Bush.
We laughed.
Ha ha ha. Stupid former president. You got shoes thrown at your head.
Author's Note: So I'm going to try and put all the suggestions into the Night of Mayhem. Ones that won't boost the rating of the story. Actually, I have no idea what the rating for this story is. Something that tolerates my sailor mouth. The Night of Mayhem will probably be a bit long. But it's mindless fun, so that's okay.