I haven't a clue what I'm doing here, but maybe, by some happy chance, this will actually make
sense.
Eh heh heh heh heh heh.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Li-ike, my name is Kitty and I really shouldn't be using the word Li-ike because . . . well, think
about it. You saw "Li-ike" starting this sentence and you immediately rolled your eyes and
thought "Oh great, it's one of THOSE fics." Yeah, well, maybe I don't know what "one of
THOSE fics" are, but I can tell you that this is not Kurtty, it is not Latte (or Lancitty, but I think
Latte sounds better, so there), it's just me. Kitty. And I might occasionally use the word "like,"
but it doesn't mean I'm an idiot and it doesn't mean that I can't exist without a male co-star.
We all got that?
Good, so, let's get started.
I was sitting with the X-men at lunch today, you know? I still do that sometimes, although I
generally eat lunch with my "normal" friends. I like the X-men and all, but like, I live with them
and I don't want to be totally isolated in my mutantness, right?
But I was sitting with them today because I felt like it and because I wanted to talk to Jean about
something. I hadn't performed all that well in a Danger Room session because school's been
wearing me down and I guess I didn't care all that much. Scott was kinda annoyed with me and I
didn't really want to talk to him directly, but I thought if maybe I explained what I was feeling to
Jean, he'd hear it too and maybe he'd understand. And Jean's always sympathetic, I mean,
sometimes she's annoyingly sympathetic, but at least she tries.
So, anyway, I was talking to Jean and Kurt and Scott seemed to be listening a little. But I was
getting distracted because Kurt kept turning his image inducer off . . . then on again after a few
minutes. He is so neurotic about that, you know? Everyone knows what he looks like now and
he keeps telling everyone that he's not going to wear his inducer any more, but he's like addicted
to it or something. He'll turn it off, until he thinks people are really looking at him and then he'll
get nervous and turn it back on. It's like picking your nose in public or something. But gosh, it's
annoying. I just wanted him to do one or the other because I was trying to talk to Jean and I kept
getting stuck mid sentence.
I hate that.
I was just about to snap at Kurt when Duncan Matthews came over, with a smug expression all
over his face. A couple of his dull-eyed cronies were trailing him. I glanced over at Scott, and
his eyebrows were down, and his arms were folded, but I didn't think he'd start a fight or
anything. Kurt turned his image inducer on quickly (I mean, not as if it mattered) and Jean
shifted her chair to one side. This all happened in a matter of seconds and we were ready. It was
so cool.
Well, actually, I wasn't ready, because I was too busy watching everyone else, but like, there
wasn't much I could do anyway.
Duncan walked right up to the table, grinning now, as if he had some really brilliant joke in
mind, which I kinda doubted. He leaned forward and pressed the fleshy part of his palms against
that table, looking right at Scott. "So, Summers. What's it like now that everyone knows you're
a freak, huh?" His cronies giggled.
This was becoming such a ritual. I mean, I didn't sit with the X-men all that much, but it still
seemed that every time I did, Duncan showed up to do his thing. Scott didn't so much as flinch.
Two months of mutant exposure and Duncan still couldn't dredge up a creative insult. Fact, this
insult sounded remarkably like the last dozen or something.
Scott didn't move. He went almost expressionless behind those glasses, "Matthews, I can't
possibly describe to you what it's like . . . " He paused, " . . . because I think your vocabulary
isn't quite advanced enough."
Jean laughed, a remarkably malicious sound from one who was usually so softly-treading-on-
people. Duncan, who probably wouldn't have gotten the joke if Jean hadn't laughed, suddenly
reddened. The next moment, he launched himself over the table, his fist rocketing for Scott's
jaw . . .
sense.
Eh heh heh heh heh heh.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Li-ike, my name is Kitty and I really shouldn't be using the word Li-ike because . . . well, think
about it. You saw "Li-ike" starting this sentence and you immediately rolled your eyes and
thought "Oh great, it's one of THOSE fics." Yeah, well, maybe I don't know what "one of
THOSE fics" are, but I can tell you that this is not Kurtty, it is not Latte (or Lancitty, but I think
Latte sounds better, so there), it's just me. Kitty. And I might occasionally use the word "like,"
but it doesn't mean I'm an idiot and it doesn't mean that I can't exist without a male co-star.
We all got that?
Good, so, let's get started.
I was sitting with the X-men at lunch today, you know? I still do that sometimes, although I
generally eat lunch with my "normal" friends. I like the X-men and all, but like, I live with them
and I don't want to be totally isolated in my mutantness, right?
But I was sitting with them today because I felt like it and because I wanted to talk to Jean about
something. I hadn't performed all that well in a Danger Room session because school's been
wearing me down and I guess I didn't care all that much. Scott was kinda annoyed with me and I
didn't really want to talk to him directly, but I thought if maybe I explained what I was feeling to
Jean, he'd hear it too and maybe he'd understand. And Jean's always sympathetic, I mean,
sometimes she's annoyingly sympathetic, but at least she tries.
So, anyway, I was talking to Jean and Kurt and Scott seemed to be listening a little. But I was
getting distracted because Kurt kept turning his image inducer off . . . then on again after a few
minutes. He is so neurotic about that, you know? Everyone knows what he looks like now and
he keeps telling everyone that he's not going to wear his inducer any more, but he's like addicted
to it or something. He'll turn it off, until he thinks people are really looking at him and then he'll
get nervous and turn it back on. It's like picking your nose in public or something. But gosh, it's
annoying. I just wanted him to do one or the other because I was trying to talk to Jean and I kept
getting stuck mid sentence.
I hate that.
I was just about to snap at Kurt when Duncan Matthews came over, with a smug expression all
over his face. A couple of his dull-eyed cronies were trailing him. I glanced over at Scott, and
his eyebrows were down, and his arms were folded, but I didn't think he'd start a fight or
anything. Kurt turned his image inducer on quickly (I mean, not as if it mattered) and Jean
shifted her chair to one side. This all happened in a matter of seconds and we were ready. It was
so cool.
Well, actually, I wasn't ready, because I was too busy watching everyone else, but like, there
wasn't much I could do anyway.
Duncan walked right up to the table, grinning now, as if he had some really brilliant joke in
mind, which I kinda doubted. He leaned forward and pressed the fleshy part of his palms against
that table, looking right at Scott. "So, Summers. What's it like now that everyone knows you're
a freak, huh?" His cronies giggled.
This was becoming such a ritual. I mean, I didn't sit with the X-men all that much, but it still
seemed that every time I did, Duncan showed up to do his thing. Scott didn't so much as flinch.
Two months of mutant exposure and Duncan still couldn't dredge up a creative insult. Fact, this
insult sounded remarkably like the last dozen or something.
Scott didn't move. He went almost expressionless behind those glasses, "Matthews, I can't
possibly describe to you what it's like . . . " He paused, " . . . because I think your vocabulary
isn't quite advanced enough."
Jean laughed, a remarkably malicious sound from one who was usually so softly-treading-on-
people. Duncan, who probably wouldn't have gotten the joke if Jean hadn't laughed, suddenly
reddened. The next moment, he launched himself over the table, his fist rocketing for Scott's
jaw . . .