"Ah ha!" Evan leapt over to hog the radio, rubbing his hands in anticipation. Twirling around in their kitchen stools and leafing through equally glossy copies of Seventeen and Cosmopolitan, respectively, Kitty and Jubilation watched him as if he had gone nuts, before Kitty rolled her eyes while Jubilation not-so-discreetly made the well-he's-crazy motion with her index finger. Evan, however, ignored the two girl's less-than-polite reaction, and instead hung on to the DJ's every word as said DJ announced grandly, "Now, Evan has requested that the name of his song dedication be made a secret, but he claims that once you hear this song, you'll be able to immediately recognize it! And here we go..."
And then the radio speakers promptly started blasting none other than a very familiar No Doubt tune, as Evan and the two girls immediately recognized Gwen Stefani's distinctive voice belting out the lyrics to Just A Girl.
"What the...!" Evan screeched, falling out of his chair in shock, while Gwen continued to sing, "Oh, I'm just a girl..." while Kitty and Jubilation collapsed into a giggling fit. Evan fumed, as he growled, "Argh, there must be a conspiracy out there against me!"
"Ooh, and I suppose this is where the eerie X-Files music is supposed to begin?" Kitty teased, rolling her eyes as she and Jubilation giggled again.
"No, I'm serious, man!" Evan protested indignantly, ignoring the dirty looks that Kitty was shooting in his direction for calling her 'man'. "I mean, that Pietro must be paying the radio DJ or something to keep on mixing up my requests!"
"Right," Jubilation mocked. "And I'm sure that right now at this moment, Rogue is singing that stupid Barney theme in the shower!"
Cue
over to the radio station, where Pietro was handing over to the DJ a briefcase
filled to the brim with twenty-dollar bills--never mind where the cash
came from *coughcoughXavier'ssafecoughcough*. As Just A Girl finished
playing and the station went to a commercial break, Pietro could be heard
distinctively saying, "It's been a pleasure working with you, Igor."
"That's
Chris," the DJ spoke up protestingly. Pietro patted him on the back.
"Gotcha,
Oswaldo," he murmured condescendingly, patting the DJ on the shoulder.
"No,
you don't understand, my name is--" the DJ tried to say, when Pietro promptly
cut him off yet again.
"I
know, Iggy Poop, I know," he chattered happily, while the DJ threw up his
hands in frustration and gave up on trying to correct the cocky silver-haired
youth.
Back at the Xavier Mansion, Evan was still moaning about how there must be a radio conspiracy out against him, while Kitty and Jubilation calmly ignored him, having found the topic of how to rate David Duchovny on the Sexiness Scale far more interesting than the evil DJ's who were out to get their teammate.
"...I
don't know, Lance, I mean, the woman's trying to raise three children by
herself, you've got to give her some credit," Jean was saying from where
she was sitting cross-legged on the lakeside bench. Seated next to her,
Lance made a face.
"I
don't care how many children Mrs. Langley's raising, she's still the meanest
Home Ec. teacher I've ever had." He then crossed his eyes and wrinkled
his forehead in an imitation of said Home Ec. teacher. "Alvers! Don't you
even think of ditching class; I'm on to you and your emergency trips to
the restroom that conveniently lead to the student parking lot! Maximoff,
is that a cherry bomb I see in your pocket? Dukes, if I catch your hand
in the cookie jar one more time, I'm going to make you wish you'd never
set foot in Mrs. Amanda Luella Patricia Jones Washington Jefferson Langley's
classroom! Tolansky, you...you...Oh, my God! Don't tell me you actually
washed your hands this time!" And he pretended to flutter to the ground
and faint dead away. Jean giggled at his shenanigans.
"Okay,
so maybe you've got a point, and she is kind of grumpy," the beautiful
redhead finally admitted. "But still..."
Meanwhile,
in the bushes behind the couple, a tall, masculine figure decked out in
combat fatigues crouched in a rather uncomfortable-looking position and
spied--erm, that is, casually observed--Lance and Jean through a pair of
binoculars.
"Subjects
are currently discussing what appears to be politics," Scott murmured into
his walkie talkie. There was the sound of static, followed by a stretch
of silence and what sounded like an accented male voice (very badly) singing
Light
My Fire, so off-key and out of tune that Jim Morrison was surely turning
in his grave right about now (not to mention wishing for a pair of extra
snug earplugs!).
"Subjects
are currently discussing what appears to be politics," Scott repeated,
a bit more irritably at being ignored the first time.
"...Come
on baby, light my fire..." a tinny voice could be heard faintly crooning
over the walkie talkie.
"I
said, subjects are currently discussing what appears to be politics!" Scott
hissed acidly into the walkie talkie.
"My
teacher ate my homework!" Kurt's voice came over the speaker after a burst
static, as Scott rolled his eyes. Fortunately for Kurt, though, before
Scott was to launch into another one of his long, boring lectures, Lance
and Jean got up from their seat and began strolling toward the lake.
"Subjects
are now taking a lakeside stroll," Scott murmured into the mouthpiece of
his walkie talkie.
"It's
my life, and it's now or never..." came the prompt, scratchy response.
"Kurt!"
Scott nearly hollered, before remembering that neither Jean nor Lance were
supposed to find out that they had an unseen chaperone.
"My
neighbor's sister's daughter's cat ate my homework!" Kurt retorted, before
remembering that he was no longer in old Mrs. Schbeicker's arithmetics
class, and let out a guilty tee hee. "Oh, oops. Sorry, I'll try to pay
attention next time."
"Good!"
Scott hissed angrily. "Subjects are still strolling by the lake. Subjects
are now skipping pebbles across the water. Subject A is now handing over
a wildflower to Subject B, grrr! Subject B is now kissing Subject A on
the cheek, double grrr! Subjects are now..."
Just
then, an object tapped Scott across the shoulder, and had there been a
ceiling, Scott would have surely hit his head on it from jumping so high.
"Aiiieee!"
the brave, fearless leader of the X-Men screeched in a disturbingly girlie
squeal. Thankfully for Kurt, he was too busy pretending to be Matchbox
20 frontman Rob Thomas to pay any attention to the walkie talkie, and thus
did not get his eardrums popped by Scott's girlie scream. Scott swung around,
binoculars still in hand, and found himself focusing on a bare midriff
covered by a sheer green silk blouse. He swung the binoculars higher, and
it wasn't long before the tall senior recognized the familiar face of none
other than Rogue, who was staring down questioningly at him.
"Oh,
Rogue," Scott mumbled guiltily. "Um...would you believe me if I told you
I was bird watching?"
"...Sweet
dreams are made of...something!" Kurt was hollering, bopping his head along
to the eighties rock tune, as Rogue dragged a camouflaged Scott through
the glass sliding doors.
"I
told you, I wasn't stalking them!" Scott insisted, as he walked over to
the refrigerator and took out a bottle of lemonade. "I was just...keeping
a watchful eye on Lance. You know, to make sure that he didn't do anything."
"Right,"
Rogue drawled patronizingly. "Don't worry, Scottie, I believe you."
Scott shot her a nasty look, but just as he was
about to spit out his comeback, Jean and Lance bounded into the room, holding
hands.
"Hi,"
Jean greeted cheerfully. Lance carefully avoided making eye contact with
Scott, and instead focused his attention on Rogue. Scott grumpily muttered
something under his breath, and Jean seemed to sense that something was
up with him, as an uncomfortable stretch of silence passed between the
two.
"So..."
Jean's voice trailed off uncertainly.
"It's
a beautiful day!" Kurt screeched out over Bono's far more pleasant voice,
and Jean grimaced before quickly propelling Lance out of the room.
"Trust
me, you don't want to stick around when Kurt starts doing his Bono impression,"
she murmured, as she and Lance exited the room.
"Bye,
Lance," Rogue called out, receiving an absent two-finger wave from the
tall, dark-haired senior.
Rogue
turned around in her stool...and found herself face-to-face with Scott,
who was now gazing intently at her. Rogue felt a blush coming on, and quickly
dipped her head, flustered and desperately avoiding eye contact.
"What
are you looking at?" she demanded, hoping to get rid of her blush as quickly
as possible.
"Rogue,
I'm going to ask you a question, and I want you to answer as honestly as
possible," Scott began seriously.
"Um,
okay," Rogue agreed shyly, carefully keeping her eyes on the floor. Scott
took a deep breath, before popping the question.
"Did
you have a relationship with Lance when you were in the Brotherhood?" he
wanted to know. Rogue snapped up.
"WHAT?!"
she hissed, cheeks flaring an angry scarlet. Scott, however, was happily
oblivious to her ire.
"There's
no need to be ashamed of it, I mean, I saw the way he looked at you when
he came into the room, and how you went out of your way to get his attention
and remind him you were still there when he was about to leave with Jean,"
he rattled on. Rogue looked like she wanted to slap the seriousness right
out of him.
"The
only reason he focused on me was because he didn't want to talk to you!"
she snapped. "After all, you are the one who's been unsuccessfully
trying to break up his relationship with Jean!"
Scott looked crestfallen.
"Oh,"
he murmured. "For a while there, I was hoping you could be the key to breaking
up Lance and Jean...Wait a minute! You can still help me break those two
up!"
"WHAT?!"
Rogue hollered, outraged, but Scott happily ignored her outburst.
"No,
really," he murmured. "Picture this: We tear those two apart, shatter their
relationship into a million tiny little pieces...and keep those pieces
for ourselves! What do you say?"
"I
say you're one of the nicest guys to ever grace our pitiful little lives,"
Rogue replied dryly.
"....Beautiful
stripped meeeeeeah!" Kurt shrilled out. Scott and Rogue both turned around
to openly gawk at their blue-furred friend, who blushed and ducked his
head.
"Sorry,"
Kurt eeped meekly.
Ta da! And the second installation of They Love Us, They Love Us Not is now finally complete, after about enough bite-size mini-brownies to make Cindy Crawford balloon up to a size fourteen and with It's My Life cranked up to ninety decibels, loud enough to make the neighbors deaf so that they can't call the police! ^_^ Me evil. Me also tired. Me gonna take a break from the computer to ogle the Rolling Stone issue with Creed on the cover. Me gonna prepare to wipe off drool. -_-