"Don't mind if I do," the slender, pretty freshman replied cheerfully, biting into the crunchy dessert. Stopping to brush a few crumbs of toffee-and-chocolate off of her history notebook, the chestnut-haired X-girl wondered out loud, "Do you know where Scott and Rogue are?" Jubilation shrugged her slim shoulders, as she helped herself to a cookie.
"No idea," came the prompt response, before the Chinese girl added, "I think Tabitha had plans to take Rogue along on her Drool Over Lance Working Out At The Gym Mission, but party pooper Scott came along and hauled Rogue off somewhere to stalk Jean, so Tabitha decided to ask Amara instead."
"Really?" Kitty's eyebrows raised several inches upon hearing that, as she stopped cramming--or at least munching on cookies and singing along to Livin' La Vida Loca while half-heartedly trying to memorize Civil War dates. "I didn't think Amara would be the type to be interested in that sort of thing."
"Hey, she might be some princess and all that, but that doesn't mean she doesn't know a hot guy when she sees one," Jubilation pointed out reasonably. After a pause, she added, "That, and I never said whether or not Amara agreed to go along."
"Well, you've got a good point there," Kitty murmured. "Gee, I wonder what Scott has planned for Unsuccessful Mission No. 249 to break up Lance and Jean."
"All I know is, he dragged Rogue off to the dock to chase after the happy couple on their romantic evening cruise," Jubilation spoke up. Kitty arched her eyebrows again.
"Really? Huh, I hope he knows that the cruise has been sold out for quite a while now, and getting on it is pretty much a hopeless cause--" she started to say.
Just then, a furious Evan
stormed into the kitchen, looking like he wanted to murder someone. Kitty
and Jubilation didn't have to guess to twice to know that the particular
someone bore the name of Pietro Maximoff, as Evan stomped around, and snarled,
"Argh! I'm going to kill Maximoff!" while throttling the air around him
as if pretending it was said snide silver-haired youth's neck. Kitty rolled
her eyes, as Jubilation sighed tiredly, before asking, "So what did the
charming Mr. Maximoff do now?"
"You know Roxanne Delacroix?
The girl I've been planning to ask out to the school dance next Friday?"
Evan demanded. Kitty smiled in recognition, as she nodded and chirped,
"Oh, yeah, I know Roxanne. Really pretty, really nice. You'll get a long
perfectly with her. Why?"
Evan balled his hands into fists, as he seethed, "Well, it just so
happens that Pietro pretty much ruined my chances with Roxanne by dedicating
the song Bitch to her in my name!"
At this, Kitty and Jubilation tried to look sympathetic, but it wasn't
long before the two had turned blue from trying desperately to hold their
giggles in, and burst out laughing.
"Oh, gee, thanks a lot!"
Evan huffed, and prepared to stomp out of the kitchen.
"Aw, c'mon, Ev! We didn't
mean to laugh at your pathetic little feud that you're losing against Pietro,"
Kitty coaxed.
"Yeah, don't be so bitchy
about these things," Jubilation cracked, and the two promptly started giggling
again at her bad pun. Evan growled, as he shook a fist threateningly in
the air and vowed, "One of these days, I'm gonna get back at that Pietro!"
Meanwhile, back at the radio
station, Pietro obediently handed over a suitcase full of cash to the DJ.
"Here we are," the platinum-haired
teen boasted confidently. "The second half of the payment for the Bitch
dedication, as promised."
"Great." The DJ took his
payment, and then ventured questioningly, "What? You're not going to mix
up my name this time?"
Pietro blinked innocently, as he demanded to know, "Why on Earth would
I do such a silly thing? I know what your name is, dear sir."
The DJ sighed in relief.
"Finally!" he cheered. "You
know, it's about time you learned my name right, and--"
"It's Bambinii, isn't it?"
Pietro guessed cluelessly. The DJ stopped ranting, and his shoulders slumped
as he sighed, "Never mind! I should have known this time." Meanwhile, Pietro
was blinking in confusion, and asking, "What? You mean it's not Bambinii?
Because I swear, you look like a Bambinii..."
It was a scene right out of a romance novel. Soft, pale moonlight shining on smooth, glassy waters, sparkling stars that shone like diamonds set against the dark velvet that was the night sky, soft twilight breezes whispering across the shores, and a sleek, white cruise ship sitting patiently at dock while hundreds and thousands of well-dressed youths boarded at a steady pace.
Meanwhile, cue over to the
road, where a flashy little red convertible was zipping down at a mad speed
to get to the cruise on time. Seated inside, Rogue clutched the edges of
her seat until her knuckles turned white, holding on for dear life as Scott
shamelessly broke the 45 mph speed limit by going at what felt like more
than double the allotted speed.
"Scott, you know you can
slow down by at least fifteen miles per hour!" Rogue shouted, yelling to
be heard over the whistle of wind. "There's still half an hour left before
the ship leaves the harbor!"
"Must get there...find Jean...hate
Lance's guts...shades about to fly off..." Scott muttered instead, reaching
up to steady his ruby-quartz glasses before the flew off and made him blast
a pothole into the road.
Finally (and, for Rogue,
blessedly), the convertible arrived at the harbor, just in time to see
the captain of the ship standing by to greet the guests coming on board.
Slamming his foot down on the brakes and screeching to a halt, Scott quickly
leapt out of his car and dashed down the wooden dock toward the ship, leaving
a queasy-looking Rogue to dazedly stumble and totter her way about. When
Rogue had finally caught up to Scott, she found him arguing heatedly with
the captain, and sighed, wondering what could possibly be the matter now.
"But you don't understand!"
Scott was saying. "I'm not here to enjoy some stupid romantic cruise with
a girlfriend, I'm here to keep an eye on my future girlfriend, who's here
with this idiotic pretty boy!"
The captain, meanwhile, was shaking his head, emphasizing firmly what
he had previously told Scott.
"I'm sorry, young sir, but
if you don't have a ticket, we can't let you in," he spoke, softly but
sternly. Scott looked like he didn't know whether to slap his own forehead--or
to slap the captain--but finally, he gave in, and started reaching reluctantly
into his back pocket.
"All right, fine," he grumbled.
"How much for two tickets?"
"Two hundred dollars apiece,"
came the prompt response, and Scott's eyebrows nearly flew off his forehead.
"Two hundred dollars--that's
crazy!" he screeched, and several couples boarding the ship turned to gawk
at him. Scott, meanwhile, wasn't paying any attention, as he continued
to argue with the captain.
"I'm sorry, but that's the
way it is," the captain was saying. "I don't make the prices. Now, the
ticket booth's that way if you still want to come onboard, if not, go away
and stop pestering myself and my guests."
Scott growled something incomprehensible under his breath, then muttered,
"Fine! I'm going to the ticket booth!" and stomped off. Rogue hurried to
chase after him.
Scott stormed over to the
ticket booth, and started to growl, "Two tickets please...do you take Discovery?"
Just then, the freckled, redheaded teen behind the booth began to roll
down a metal sheet over the ticket window.
"Sorry, hon, we're closed,"
she called out, seeming more fascinated in her chewing gum than in the
look of despair that suddenly adorned Scott's face.
"No! I have to get into
that stupid ship and stalk--um, I mean, casually observe--my future wife--um,
I mean, future girlfriend!" he hollered. The redheaded girl shrugged, before
snapping her gum and shrugging carelessly.
"Do your stalking somewhere
else, we're sold out," she replied. "Tough luck, kid."
Scott looked like he wanted to tear his hair out.
"Well, uh, guess we won't
get to stalk Lance and Jean tonight, what a shame..." Rogue began to say,
immensely relieved. Scott, however (not to mention unfortunately!), wasn't
ready to give up that easily.
"Come on," he muttered,
and started to storm back to the ship.
"Hello, and welcome to the
St. Mary, thank you for traveling with us, and please enjoy your cruise..."
the captain was happily greeting his guests, when he recognized a familiar
pair of ruby-quartz shades, and turned around to face Scott.
"Got your tickets?" he wanted
to know.
"You're all sold out!" Scott
grumbled in response. At this, the captain could only shrug helplessly.
"Tough luck, kid," he sympathized,
echoing the ticket girl's words. "Try again next year."
"But you don't understand,"
Scott started to argue. "My future bride--um, I mean, girlfriend--is here
on this cruise with some American Badass wannabe, and I need to stalk them--um,
that is, casually observe them--tonight, or else...!"
Just then, a bunch of people
dressed up like gangsters made their way over to the ship. The man in the
lead, a short, stout guy with a backwards red baseball cap, swaggered over
to the captain and shrilled out, "Yo, waddap Homie G, dis be dat gig we're
playing, right?"
"Huh?" Scott looked dumbfounded,
as the captain forced a smile on his face before murmuring, "Right this
way, Mr. Durst," and leading the group toward the ship entrance.
"Hey!" Scott hollered indignantly.
"How come you let a bunch of men who scream obscenities into the mike walk
in for free, while a good, noble, tax-paying-as-soon-as-he's-eligible citizen
like myself has to buy two-hundred-dollars-apiece tickets that have already
been sold out!"
The captain shrugged.
"What can I say," he muttered.
"The guy's a rock star. Those type of people expect to get special treatment."
"Hey yo!"
The indignant screech caught the captain's attention, who turned around
and found Fred Durst unable to get into the ship, due to his being lodged
at the entrance way from the twenty layers of gangsta clothing he was wearing.
"Now, if you'll excuse me,
I've got to go and help push Mr. Durst into our ship," the captain muttered,
and scurried off, leaving Scott staring in bemusement (not to mention,
amusement) at the rather comical sight of the men trying to push a lodged
Fred Durst into the ship. Rogue, meanwhile, gave a sigh, before attempting
to tug Scott away and toward his car.
"Come on, Scott, let's just
get out of here," the Southern belle muttered tiredly. Scott, however,
refused to budge, as a lightbulb seemed to have gone out in his head.
"So, rock stars get special
treatment, huh...?" His voice trailed off. Rogue, meanwhile, was looking
at the leader of the X-Men with wary eyes, as she tentatively ventured,
"Um...Scott? Are you okay?"
Scott turned to Rogue with that now dismayingly familiar manic grin
on his face, as he murmured, "Rogue, it looks like I haven't wasted five
hundred dollars on hair gel and mousse after all."