A/N: *cringe* Sorry everyone. I would explain what I've been doing instead of writing, but it's a long story and involves lots of homemade jewelry and a business license. Mostly I was inspired to continue by the nachos at this one tavern that are to die for, but that's not important. So yeah. Anyway, what's important is I'm back and will be trying to be more consistent. Let's see, disclaimers. I don't own X-men or Fritos, but I enjoy them both. There we go.
Also, to everyone who asked for Nightcrawler: Don't worry! I love the bamfing wonder as well, and he will definitely be included.
"Alright, first order of business," said Evelyn briskly. "Frito pie. You look like you need some protein. Get the Fritos and chili and cheese."
"What's Frito pie?" asked John. He recognized the ingredients for mud pie in the groceries, ice cream and crumb crust, but that was it.
"Heat up the chili and you'll see." Evelyn continued bustling around the kitchen, putting away ice cream and frozen burritos until someone cleared their throat loudly from the doorway. Evelyn looked up and smiled wickedly.
"Scotty! We were just making some lunch. Are you a vegetarian, or is meat chili okay?" Evelyn ignored his disapproving glare that could be felt through the glasses and checked to see if the chili in the pot was ready.
"What do you think you're doing?" asked Scott slowly.
"Frito pie," said John, grinning tentatively.
"Evelyn, I'm sure you realize that lunch is taken care of by the school, not to mention carefully planned for the children's nutritional needs." Scott crossed his arms and looked disdainfully at the steaming pot of chili and enormous bags of corn chips. Evelyn ignored him and started pouring the chili into the bag of Fritos. John watched, trying to gauge Scott's reaction. He wouldn't put it past him to kick Evelyn out for spite.
"Scotty, don't try to fool yourself," she said breezily. "I know perfectly well that no red-blooded man can live off this nutritionally-balanced, low-fat crap. I also am very aware that there is some rule against this. And I am, in fact, willingly breaking it. So if you want to turn me away just because I happen to be a vigilante cook, then you are risking the wrath of hungry kids." Evelyn smiled and pulled a chili-laden Frito out of the bag, examining it thoughtfully.
"Besides, these really need cheese. So if you'll excuse us." Scott scowled a final time and left, muttering something that sounded like 'she's almost as bad as Logan!' Evelyn smirked and flicked her hair behind her ears. "Now, you know how to make mud pie, right?"
Dear James,
Forget those crappy motivational speakers, love. Winning friends and influencing people is as easy as saying 'hey, who wants ice cream?' It's not making me popular with Scotty, but I think even the good Dr. Grey is coming around. This place is a trip though. There's this kid who can flip channels on the TV, which is hooked up to a DVD player and everything. It's on the news channel most of the time, but I'll work on that. Something happened today that reminded me of something I should have told you before I left. The Professor brought up a few slightly awkward queries having to do with things like reports of people fitting my description that might have warrants in five states for resisting arrest. So if anyone comes to you asking about Abby Laplante or Fiona Wallace, you don't know me.
Love, Evelyn
"Evelyn, we asked you a question," said the Professor calmly. Ororo and Jean looked at her expectantly.
"Fine, yes, those might be former aliases and I really didn't mean to give the cop an atomic wedgie, but..." Evelyn began, but Jean cut her off.
"We were talking about the museum trip, Evelyn," she said. "Will you help us?"
"Oh, that, yeah. Sorry, was just thinking about how much I miss Washington sometimes. Yeah, I can totally help ya out, but only if we can go out the night before."
"No one's stopping you, Evelyn," Ororo pointed out. Evelyn smiled.
"You misunderstand me. I said we, not I. So tomorrow night, you'd better be down in the entrance room-thingy and ready to go." Evelyn got up to saunter back to her room. Jean looked slightly taken aback, the Professor looked vaguely amused, and a hint of a smile started on Ororo's face. She hadn't gone out in a long time, what with the school and all. She could barely remember what a martini tasted like. And she'd always secretly wondered what Jean's drink was.
Evelyn sat in her room, ridiculously pleased with herself. Jean seemed like a potential stick in the mud, but Evelyn had faith in her to change, at least a little. After all, she reasoned to herself, enough time around Scotty will suck the energy out of anyone. A little quality time is all she needed.
Ororo, however, was a different story. Evelyn saw that gleam in her eye, and something told her that Ororo was a better partier than anyone here would suspect. She was anxious to see what Ororo had in store, and idly wondered what drinking games she knew.
"You're going to the museum with us?" asked a dark-haired girl with a charming Southern drawl. Marie, Evelyn remembered. "Like a teacher?"
"Sort of. I've wondered what I could teach, and the only things I know really are auto-mechanics, bartending, and Greek drama. I'm sure anything vaguely alcoholic is a bad influence on you all, and the other options would mean actually talking to Scotty more than I have to. Or working steady, God forbid," mused Evelyn. She was sitting around with John and some of his friends. She could hardly believe the powers some of them had.
"Scotty?" asked the boy next to Marie confusedly. Bobby, Evelyn reminded herself. "Do you mean Cyclops?"
"Cyclops? Like Polyphemos?" What in the Sam Hill is he talking about? she wondered. John picked up on her confusion.
"He's talking about his code-name. Like mine's Pyro. Marie is Rogue. And Bobby's Iceman," he explained. Evelyn looked around, before settling her gaze on Bobby and chuckling. Bobby looked a little put out.
"What?" Evelyn started laughing harder.
"It's just-"
"What?" asked Marie, also confused but somewhat curious.
"Um, Bobby? Did you know that you named yourself after a jockey. Y'know, short guy who races horses?"
"I what?"
"Iceman rode Man O' War in loads of races, back in the thirties." Marie giggled, and John looked smug.
"Back in the thirties..." repeated Bobby. "Then why do you know about him?"
"Well, for one thing he was very famous in his day. And let's just say that Grampy Morrison was a friend to the racetrack tip sheet and lucky charms of all kinds." It was true, her paternal grandfather had mumbled odds from long-run races in his sleep.
"I knew it sounded familiar!" said Rogue triumphantly.