Hey guys, asterisks (*) mean italics. I'm writing on Wordpad, god knows why.
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I was out of the hospital wing in a week. In three hours, I'll be damned if I wasn't training again. With Magneto this time (see ascention pt. 2). Him, Scott, Logan, Piotr and a few of the X-Babies. I stole the term from Kitty. Probably could've expected that. I don't thing I have one thing that I own that I bought myself. After that session, thought I'd go and watch my favorite movie. Hard Target (actual comic fact). No such luck.
Hell, when I got done with Maggie, I had some sessions in the Danger Room. Set for a team of five mutants. Hey, Kitty, if you're reading this, real fucking funny ya little Chicago Valley Girl midget! I think Petey had something to do with it too....
Yup. I beat that session, too. Alone. I'm soooooo good. Yeah, I could kick Logan's ass.
Anyway, I was sitting around, talking to Amara when the doorbell rings. I went to answer it, and who should show up? Why, none other than everybody's favorite lunatic, St. John Allerdyce! Yay! Hell no it's not a "yay", stupids. This is Pyro we're talking about here.
"Allerdyce."
"Whatever your name is..."
Once we had called each other's names in classic Western style, he slumped into the door.
***
"Oh, shit. What is it, Henri?" I asked Hank.
We were on the other side of a two-way mirror, watching Pyro.
"Stage three of the Legacy Virus. I'd only give him three months at the most, two weeka at the least. I'm sorry, Remy," Hank said, putting a large hand on my shoulder.
I looked out into space, and slammed my fist onto the desk.
"God *damnit*! It's not like he was my friend....aw, hell, enough macho-man. He was practically my best friend. And he's lying there in a fucking hospital bed, and I can't fucking help him! Son of a motherfucking bitch!" I yelled, picking up a chair and throwing it.
"Please calm down, Remy, and watch your language," Hank ordered.
"No! Fuck this! I gotta go blow off some goddamn steam. Maybe then this fucking anger'll blow over. Here's hoping..."
My hands were thrown up into the air, and I walked away, leaving poor Pyro there, stiff, unmoving, all those tubes inside of him. It was so unnerving. The happy and carefree pyromaniac, lying there, probably at his deathbed. It tore me apart.
______________
I was out of the hospital wing in a week. In three hours, I'll be damned if I wasn't training again. With Magneto this time (see ascention pt. 2). Him, Scott, Logan, Piotr and a few of the X-Babies. I stole the term from Kitty. Probably could've expected that. I don't thing I have one thing that I own that I bought myself. After that session, thought I'd go and watch my favorite movie. Hard Target (actual comic fact). No such luck.
Hell, when I got done with Maggie, I had some sessions in the Danger Room. Set for a team of five mutants. Hey, Kitty, if you're reading this, real fucking funny ya little Chicago Valley Girl midget! I think Petey had something to do with it too....
Yup. I beat that session, too. Alone. I'm soooooo good. Yeah, I could kick Logan's ass.
Anyway, I was sitting around, talking to Amara when the doorbell rings. I went to answer it, and who should show up? Why, none other than everybody's favorite lunatic, St. John Allerdyce! Yay! Hell no it's not a "yay", stupids. This is Pyro we're talking about here.
"Allerdyce."
"Whatever your name is..."
Once we had called each other's names in classic Western style, he slumped into the door.
***
"Oh, shit. What is it, Henri?" I asked Hank.
We were on the other side of a two-way mirror, watching Pyro.
"Stage three of the Legacy Virus. I'd only give him three months at the most, two weeka at the least. I'm sorry, Remy," Hank said, putting a large hand on my shoulder.
I looked out into space, and slammed my fist onto the desk.
"God *damnit*! It's not like he was my friend....aw, hell, enough macho-man. He was practically my best friend. And he's lying there in a fucking hospital bed, and I can't fucking help him! Son of a motherfucking bitch!" I yelled, picking up a chair and throwing it.
"Please calm down, Remy, and watch your language," Hank ordered.
"No! Fuck this! I gotta go blow off some goddamn steam. Maybe then this fucking anger'll blow over. Here's hoping..."
My hands were thrown up into the air, and I walked away, leaving poor Pyro there, stiff, unmoving, all those tubes inside of him. It was so unnerving. The happy and carefree pyromaniac, lying there, probably at his deathbed. It tore me apart.