"You knew about this all along, didn't you!" she screamed in an
accusing tone.
He just stood there, stunned. "Please, listen to me-"
"NO! I HATE YOU! YOU'RE JUST AS BAD AS HE WAS! I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN!!"
He stared after her. He wanted to chase her, but there was no way he could catch up. She seemed to be floating away, as those heart wrenching words echoed all around him.
"I never want to see you again!"
"No!" St.John shouted into the dark. He sprung up from his sofa with his body covered in a cold sweat. It was that damn dream again. No. It wasn't a dream. It was a memory. Why couldn't he stop thinking about her?!
~*~
Another bloody night spent on the couch. Damn, his back hurt like a sonuvabitch. He and Amara had another fight. Apparently, spending all day at home, writing his 'little stories' and earning themselves a living wasn't adequate for the Latin princess.
Pheh. That's what she was. A princess. In his last book, the princess was an evil heartless creature that wanted to separate the lovers and take the poor musician back to her castle to play his lyre only for her. There were too many stories where the princess was the protagonist. In his tales of love and betrayal, royalty wasn't held in positive light. That's how he built up his reputation as an unconventional writer. Even the critics gave him mixed reviews. His stories were wildly popular, though he tended to offend and upset his readers (lol! Kinda like Scam!)
What was it that Amara had said to him? He's too selfish? He doesn't try hard enough? So buying her a new fur coat for Christmas, along with the quartz pendant for her 20th birthday, plus more pairs of shoes than he could count, was selfish? He scoffed at his computer screen. She was right about one thing. He couldn't be bothered anymore. He was getting fed up with catering to her every whim, without anything in return.
He had ten pages left to print off for his newest manuscript. It was deadline day. He had until 2pm to get the package in to his publishers, or they would terminate their agreement. That wouldn't be good at all, if he wanted to continue paying his rent.
It was all her idea to move in with each other. "It just makes sense!" she had said. They had been dating for three months and she was already planning their wedding.
It just makes sense. That was the line she used when she had asked him out. SHE asked HIM. "It just makes sense, since we both have similar powers! I can make the fire, and you can control it!"
In retrospect, that had to have been the dumbest thing John had ever heard in his life. He only agreed to going out with her because she was a babe. He never intended to let it get this far, but she just kept on pushing and pushing, and he couldn't say 'no'.
They hadn't slept together for weeks. Not that John really cared. He never felt motivated to do much when it came to her anyway.
Two pages left to go, and his printer ran out of ink. Grumbling irritably, he pulled his desk drawer open and grabbed a new cartridge. It was the last spare. He would have to make a stop at the computer supply store on his way to the office. He replaced the dry cartridge and tossed it in the basket at his feet. "Take that, printer gremlins." he laughed maniacally at his little joke.
The last pages were printed off, and John gathered the stack of paper together and straightened them out. This was it - the final draft of his latest work. He had personally gone through all 200 pages and made every correction necessary. This was his masterpiece. After this book was published, he would never have to work another day in his life.
That's what he had said about the last two as well, and he was still a slave to his muses.
He tied the little leather strings on his portfolio and double checked to make sure he had everything with him. Satisfied he wasn't forgetting anything, John went to get his coat.
Something jingled and brushed up against his leg. John smiled at his ginger tabby. "You hungry, li'l fella?" he bent down and scratched the cat's chin, causing him to purr affectionately and nip at his finger. "Of course you're hungry, ya lazy freeloader." he joked. "Sparky, my friend, one of these days, I'm going to find you a girlfriend that'll put you in your place."
The cat 'mrow'ed quizzically, then proceeded to weave himself around John's legs. Sparky was John's only real companion since he moved to Boston with Amara. She was usually off at Yale, or Harvard or wherever it was she was going to University, so John was left home alone a lot. He had found Sparky in a tree one day while he was walking through the park. He took to the ginger haired tomcat immediately. They were best friends.
John slipped his jacket on and grabbed his portfolio, careful not to spill its contents. It would suck if he had to pick up 200 pages of loose paper and try to put it all back in order. He gave Sparky one last pat on the head and left their apartment to go downtown to the publishers.
He would walk slowly. He had two hours until the manuscript was due.
~*~
John hopped up the front steps of the building and started walking through the revolving doors. He liked those revolving doors. They went round and round and round and round and he was getting dizzy... the room was spinning. He was thankful he hadn't eaten lunch yet. One of the elderly ladies at the reception desk pulled him out and scolded him for playing around in a business establishment. He smiled and pecked her on the cheek.
"G'day to you too, Margerie."
"oohhh..." she shook her finger at him. "You know I can't stay mad at you, Johnny." she pinched his cheek, "one of these days, your sweet Australian toosh is going to get you into trouble."
He took her hand away from his face and held it to his chest. "Marge, I'm flattered, luv, but what would Bill say?"
"Oh my!" she hooted and slapped his chest playfully. "Where did you learn to be such a charmer, you scallywag!"
John shrugged. "Old friend taught me a few things."
She regained her composure. "Enough of this dilly-dally. What is it today, honey? Drop-off or pick-up?"
"Drop-off. Got the new book done and ready for mass-printing."
"Good for you! I'll take this up to Mr. Jameson right away." she took the thick folder off his hands. "You want something to drink while you wait?"
"Coffee would be great, Marge. Thanks!"
She pointed out the coffee machine, then disappeared in to the elevator. John filled a Styrofoam cup with piping hot java and seated himself on an armchair in the corner. There was a teenaged girl with long brown hair and glasses seated across from him. He smiled at her and picked up a magazine.
"Are you a writer?" she asked nervously.
He put down the magazine and regarded her with question. "No." he lied. "I'm the cleaning guy." he added sarcastically.
"Oh..." she looked disappointed. "I'm a writer." she pulled a book out of her satchel and admired the front cover. "I'm new at it. I've written a few short-stories. Nothing big." she sighed. "I wish I could be like J.A Micheals, though..."
John stiffened at hearing his own pen name. "Oh really?"
"Yeah! He's the best!" she showed him the novel she held in her hands like treasure. "Have you read any of his books?"
He didn't dare tell the girl that HE was J.A Micheals. "Er... no. I heard he was a real jackass."
She snarled. "Those moronic critics wouldn't know art if it danced infront of them naked wearing a sign that said, 'Lookit me! I'm art'! He is NOT a jackass! Nobody could write like THIS and be a jackass!!"
John smiled. He knew he wasn't very popular with the critics, but if he had at least one fan like this in every major city in the United States, that was all he needed. She continued to rant, but John blocked her voice out.
At last, Marge returned and interrupted the girl's tirade.
"And that stoopid English teacher said I'd never amount to anything-"
"They want you upstairs now, Mr. Micheals."
The crazy girl stopped breathing. She resembled a fish out of water (glub glub glub).
As John walked past the elderly receptionist, he whispered in her ear, "you enjoy that too much, you know that?"
She grinned. "You weren't going to let on." she attended to the shocked girl as John walked off. He heard Marge say, "you need anything, dear?" as the elevator doors closed.
He pressed the button that would take him to the 10th floor, the Romance department. He leaned against the wall of the elevator, mulling a few things over.
Romance. PAH! He was pretty good at writing the shit, for someone who didn't know the meaning of the word. At least, that's what some of his reviews indicated. People read his stories of torrid gothic fairytales. He thought back to the girl in the waiting room. She looked about 16 or 17 years old! She was way too young to be reading books with such content! But she idolized him. That felt pretty good - to have loyal fans.
The elevator stopped at the 5th floor and a young woman stepped on. John nodded a friendly hello. The woman blushed and started playing with her auburn hair. She was flirting with him!
John rolled his eyes. He wasn't unaware of his looks. He knew he was attractive, he just didn't flaunt it as much as people would expect.
His vibrant orange hair had calmed into a strawberry blond. It was still moppy, but fairly well kept. At some point during his life, he had decided to grow sideburns. They drove Amara insane, saying they were tacky; John used them as passive resistance.
His eyes were still bright blue, though they didn't have that spark of life they once did. He blamed growing up for that.
He had a fairly athletic build. He still worked out habitually, like back during his Acolyte days. He had grown a lot! That was amazing. Sometime between his 19th and 20th birthdays, he shot up at least 6" in height. Remy and Peter would have a heart attake each if they saw the 'little man' now!
The elevator dinged at the 10th floor, and John stepped off, trying to ignore the hungry look in the young woman's eyes.
Luckily, he was able to go around a corner and escape her gaze. Mr. Jameson's office was at the end of the hall.
~*~
Mr. Jameson set the folder back down on his desk. John stood before him, waiting for whatever it was that Jameson had to say to him.
"John-"
Oh god! Something was wrong. They changed their minds! They hated it!
"-excellent work, as usual."
Phew!
"As a matter of fact, this has to be your best work yet."
"Well, thanks, Mr. Jameson. I'll write you into the dedication." he said jokingly.
Mr. Jameson laughed lightly. "Yes, well that isn't necessary, your dedication is already long enough. As a matter of fact, we're just amazed you made your deadline." 'We' meaning the Royal 'we'. "And since you've become somewhat of an asset to our company, we're going to celebrate your new book down at the local pub!"
~*~
And so they went. *insert banjo music* deedle-dee!
~*~
Mr. Jameson was wasted and crying to the sympathetic bartender about his ex-wife. John checked his watch. 4:30. He needed to get home and feed Sparky.
He paid for the one beer he drank, left a small tip for the bartender and headed home.
~*~
John pushed the door of his apartment open and tossed his keys onto the little table. He peeled his jacket off and hung it up, then kicked off his shoes. "Amara! I'm back!"
His announcement was answered with silence. That was strange. Amara's last exam was after lunch... she should've been home, unless she had decided to go celebrate with her classmates. That must've been it.
"Sparky!" John opened the cupboards in their small kitchen and pulled out a can of cat food and a spoon. "Sparky, get in here, you lazy bunger!" he called in irritation. That stupid cat probably got locked in the bathroom again. As he went to go free his friend, something neon-pink caught John's eye. There was a note stuck to the refrigerator. It had Amara's neat and disciplined script.
He ripped it from the fridge and scanned it. He stopped in shock and started reading it again from the beginning, thoroughly.
Dear John,
By the time you get this note, I'll be at the airport or halfway across the country. I feel like we've grown apart, John. We don't talk anymore, and whenever we do, all we do is fight.
So, I've packed all of my things and I'm waiting for the taxi to get here. I'm going back to Nova Roma. My parents will be happy to see me home.
If you don't come after me, I'll know it's because you don't love me. I'm sorry, I wanted this to work.
Amara
(-_- dear lord... It's actually a 'dear john' letter. Do we not see the irony in this?)
John scoffed. She left him! It was only a matter of time, he supposed. He thought back to their last fight.
They were going out for dinner, and Amara had purchase a new perfume to wear. She smelled of strawberries. John just about blew up on her. He exclaimed that the scent didn't suit her, and that it made her smell like compost. She screamed at him, calling him an insensitive ass, and slammed their bedroom door in his face.
It was a stupid fight, but it was just the last straw fir their relationship.
"SPARKY! Where the HELL are you, you -" he flipped the note over.
-P.S: I took the cat with me.
"THAT BITCH!"
~*~
American beer was so weak. John downed another shot of whiskey. He had every reason to get shit faced. The bartender tried to be consoling, but John could really care less.
"So how long was ya livin' t'gether?" he asked as he wiped another glass dry.
"Six months." he answered flatly.
"Oh... that's harsh, eh?"
John scowled. "Tell me about it, mate! The bitch took my cat! I sure miss the furry bastard."
The bartender looked at him strangely and went to go mend another broken heart. Mr. Jameson was still there.
John picked up another shot, but a manicured hand stopped him.
"Buy me a drink, sailor?" a husky female voice asked seductively.
John glared at the woman keeping him from his alcoholic companion. "Bugger off, shiela. I don't pay for sex." he snarled.
She slid onto the stool next to him and placed her hand over his glass. "I'm not looking for sex, darling. I'm here to make a proposal."
He yanked the shot away from her, careful not to spill the glass's contents. "I'm not interested in buy drugs either, if that's what you're thinkin', love."
She smirked at him maliciously. Her eyes flashed yellow for a second - wait a tick! Yellow?!
"You?! Mystique-"
"Awww... you remember me. I'm touched, Pyro."
There was a reason John hated the blue bitch so much, and it wasn't because she made people write things they didn't want to write (*shakes fist*). It was because of Mystique, John was homeless for a year before he was forced to live with the X-Men. It was because of Mystique, Wanda... "What the hell do you want?!" he growled, downing his shot.
Mystique grinned in triumph. "In a few seconds, my Australian friend, that won't matter..."
"Wha-" John felt like someone pulled a sack of cotton stuffing over his head as he swayed in his seat.
He didn't even feel his head hit the floor.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'm BAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaack! WHEEE!!! Aren't we all estatic?! *wiggles around in glee*
... No? ...
Oh... Okay. Fine. I'll just... go back to my hovel now... PEONS! Just kidding! SQUEEE!!! Oh, it feels good to be writing again. The epilogue in Scam was... woah. I don't know how to describe that experience. I was sitting in Math class, finishing up a test then writing out the end of the last chapter. Then I was like... 'hrmmm.... I need an epilogue'. So I wrote one... and I was literally shaking by the time I was finished. I tell ya, Math, boredom and angst do NOT make a happy party. *sniffle* poor John... I put him through so much...
Oh, on another note: (this is mostly for UndyingImmortal, if they're reading) It is highly unlikely that I'll be putting any random interludes in this one. BUT I am working on a side story that is soley random hilarity and torture. Ever seen that show, Teens Dating? Well, I don't know if it's broadcast in the USA, but I've seen it a few times up here in the Great White North (j00t! Go Canada). Basically, they set up two teens and send them off on a blind date and watch them. It's hilarious to laugh at some of the people on that show.
Anyroad, I'm rambling.
May the Glomp Gods smile upon you!
Buh-Baiz!
He just stood there, stunned. "Please, listen to me-"
"NO! I HATE YOU! YOU'RE JUST AS BAD AS HE WAS! I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN!!"
He stared after her. He wanted to chase her, but there was no way he could catch up. She seemed to be floating away, as those heart wrenching words echoed all around him.
"I never want to see you again!"
"No!" St.John shouted into the dark. He sprung up from his sofa with his body covered in a cold sweat. It was that damn dream again. No. It wasn't a dream. It was a memory. Why couldn't he stop thinking about her?!
~*~
Another bloody night spent on the couch. Damn, his back hurt like a sonuvabitch. He and Amara had another fight. Apparently, spending all day at home, writing his 'little stories' and earning themselves a living wasn't adequate for the Latin princess.
Pheh. That's what she was. A princess. In his last book, the princess was an evil heartless creature that wanted to separate the lovers and take the poor musician back to her castle to play his lyre only for her. There were too many stories where the princess was the protagonist. In his tales of love and betrayal, royalty wasn't held in positive light. That's how he built up his reputation as an unconventional writer. Even the critics gave him mixed reviews. His stories were wildly popular, though he tended to offend and upset his readers (lol! Kinda like Scam!)
What was it that Amara had said to him? He's too selfish? He doesn't try hard enough? So buying her a new fur coat for Christmas, along with the quartz pendant for her 20th birthday, plus more pairs of shoes than he could count, was selfish? He scoffed at his computer screen. She was right about one thing. He couldn't be bothered anymore. He was getting fed up with catering to her every whim, without anything in return.
He had ten pages left to print off for his newest manuscript. It was deadline day. He had until 2pm to get the package in to his publishers, or they would terminate their agreement. That wouldn't be good at all, if he wanted to continue paying his rent.
It was all her idea to move in with each other. "It just makes sense!" she had said. They had been dating for three months and she was already planning their wedding.
It just makes sense. That was the line she used when she had asked him out. SHE asked HIM. "It just makes sense, since we both have similar powers! I can make the fire, and you can control it!"
In retrospect, that had to have been the dumbest thing John had ever heard in his life. He only agreed to going out with her because she was a babe. He never intended to let it get this far, but she just kept on pushing and pushing, and he couldn't say 'no'.
They hadn't slept together for weeks. Not that John really cared. He never felt motivated to do much when it came to her anyway.
Two pages left to go, and his printer ran out of ink. Grumbling irritably, he pulled his desk drawer open and grabbed a new cartridge. It was the last spare. He would have to make a stop at the computer supply store on his way to the office. He replaced the dry cartridge and tossed it in the basket at his feet. "Take that, printer gremlins." he laughed maniacally at his little joke.
The last pages were printed off, and John gathered the stack of paper together and straightened them out. This was it - the final draft of his latest work. He had personally gone through all 200 pages and made every correction necessary. This was his masterpiece. After this book was published, he would never have to work another day in his life.
That's what he had said about the last two as well, and he was still a slave to his muses.
He tied the little leather strings on his portfolio and double checked to make sure he had everything with him. Satisfied he wasn't forgetting anything, John went to get his coat.
Something jingled and brushed up against his leg. John smiled at his ginger tabby. "You hungry, li'l fella?" he bent down and scratched the cat's chin, causing him to purr affectionately and nip at his finger. "Of course you're hungry, ya lazy freeloader." he joked. "Sparky, my friend, one of these days, I'm going to find you a girlfriend that'll put you in your place."
The cat 'mrow'ed quizzically, then proceeded to weave himself around John's legs. Sparky was John's only real companion since he moved to Boston with Amara. She was usually off at Yale, or Harvard or wherever it was she was going to University, so John was left home alone a lot. He had found Sparky in a tree one day while he was walking through the park. He took to the ginger haired tomcat immediately. They were best friends.
John slipped his jacket on and grabbed his portfolio, careful not to spill its contents. It would suck if he had to pick up 200 pages of loose paper and try to put it all back in order. He gave Sparky one last pat on the head and left their apartment to go downtown to the publishers.
He would walk slowly. He had two hours until the manuscript was due.
~*~
John hopped up the front steps of the building and started walking through the revolving doors. He liked those revolving doors. They went round and round and round and round and he was getting dizzy... the room was spinning. He was thankful he hadn't eaten lunch yet. One of the elderly ladies at the reception desk pulled him out and scolded him for playing around in a business establishment. He smiled and pecked her on the cheek.
"G'day to you too, Margerie."
"oohhh..." she shook her finger at him. "You know I can't stay mad at you, Johnny." she pinched his cheek, "one of these days, your sweet Australian toosh is going to get you into trouble."
He took her hand away from his face and held it to his chest. "Marge, I'm flattered, luv, but what would Bill say?"
"Oh my!" she hooted and slapped his chest playfully. "Where did you learn to be such a charmer, you scallywag!"
John shrugged. "Old friend taught me a few things."
She regained her composure. "Enough of this dilly-dally. What is it today, honey? Drop-off or pick-up?"
"Drop-off. Got the new book done and ready for mass-printing."
"Good for you! I'll take this up to Mr. Jameson right away." she took the thick folder off his hands. "You want something to drink while you wait?"
"Coffee would be great, Marge. Thanks!"
She pointed out the coffee machine, then disappeared in to the elevator. John filled a Styrofoam cup with piping hot java and seated himself on an armchair in the corner. There was a teenaged girl with long brown hair and glasses seated across from him. He smiled at her and picked up a magazine.
"Are you a writer?" she asked nervously.
He put down the magazine and regarded her with question. "No." he lied. "I'm the cleaning guy." he added sarcastically.
"Oh..." she looked disappointed. "I'm a writer." she pulled a book out of her satchel and admired the front cover. "I'm new at it. I've written a few short-stories. Nothing big." she sighed. "I wish I could be like J.A Micheals, though..."
John stiffened at hearing his own pen name. "Oh really?"
"Yeah! He's the best!" she showed him the novel she held in her hands like treasure. "Have you read any of his books?"
He didn't dare tell the girl that HE was J.A Micheals. "Er... no. I heard he was a real jackass."
She snarled. "Those moronic critics wouldn't know art if it danced infront of them naked wearing a sign that said, 'Lookit me! I'm art'! He is NOT a jackass! Nobody could write like THIS and be a jackass!!"
John smiled. He knew he wasn't very popular with the critics, but if he had at least one fan like this in every major city in the United States, that was all he needed. She continued to rant, but John blocked her voice out.
At last, Marge returned and interrupted the girl's tirade.
"And that stoopid English teacher said I'd never amount to anything-"
"They want you upstairs now, Mr. Micheals."
The crazy girl stopped breathing. She resembled a fish out of water (glub glub glub).
As John walked past the elderly receptionist, he whispered in her ear, "you enjoy that too much, you know that?"
She grinned. "You weren't going to let on." she attended to the shocked girl as John walked off. He heard Marge say, "you need anything, dear?" as the elevator doors closed.
He pressed the button that would take him to the 10th floor, the Romance department. He leaned against the wall of the elevator, mulling a few things over.
Romance. PAH! He was pretty good at writing the shit, for someone who didn't know the meaning of the word. At least, that's what some of his reviews indicated. People read his stories of torrid gothic fairytales. He thought back to the girl in the waiting room. She looked about 16 or 17 years old! She was way too young to be reading books with such content! But she idolized him. That felt pretty good - to have loyal fans.
The elevator stopped at the 5th floor and a young woman stepped on. John nodded a friendly hello. The woman blushed and started playing with her auburn hair. She was flirting with him!
John rolled his eyes. He wasn't unaware of his looks. He knew he was attractive, he just didn't flaunt it as much as people would expect.
His vibrant orange hair had calmed into a strawberry blond. It was still moppy, but fairly well kept. At some point during his life, he had decided to grow sideburns. They drove Amara insane, saying they were tacky; John used them as passive resistance.
His eyes were still bright blue, though they didn't have that spark of life they once did. He blamed growing up for that.
He had a fairly athletic build. He still worked out habitually, like back during his Acolyte days. He had grown a lot! That was amazing. Sometime between his 19th and 20th birthdays, he shot up at least 6" in height. Remy and Peter would have a heart attake each if they saw the 'little man' now!
The elevator dinged at the 10th floor, and John stepped off, trying to ignore the hungry look in the young woman's eyes.
Luckily, he was able to go around a corner and escape her gaze. Mr. Jameson's office was at the end of the hall.
~*~
Mr. Jameson set the folder back down on his desk. John stood before him, waiting for whatever it was that Jameson had to say to him.
"John-"
Oh god! Something was wrong. They changed their minds! They hated it!
"-excellent work, as usual."
Phew!
"As a matter of fact, this has to be your best work yet."
"Well, thanks, Mr. Jameson. I'll write you into the dedication." he said jokingly.
Mr. Jameson laughed lightly. "Yes, well that isn't necessary, your dedication is already long enough. As a matter of fact, we're just amazed you made your deadline." 'We' meaning the Royal 'we'. "And since you've become somewhat of an asset to our company, we're going to celebrate your new book down at the local pub!"
~*~
And so they went. *insert banjo music* deedle-dee!
~*~
Mr. Jameson was wasted and crying to the sympathetic bartender about his ex-wife. John checked his watch. 4:30. He needed to get home and feed Sparky.
He paid for the one beer he drank, left a small tip for the bartender and headed home.
~*~
John pushed the door of his apartment open and tossed his keys onto the little table. He peeled his jacket off and hung it up, then kicked off his shoes. "Amara! I'm back!"
His announcement was answered with silence. That was strange. Amara's last exam was after lunch... she should've been home, unless she had decided to go celebrate with her classmates. That must've been it.
"Sparky!" John opened the cupboards in their small kitchen and pulled out a can of cat food and a spoon. "Sparky, get in here, you lazy bunger!" he called in irritation. That stupid cat probably got locked in the bathroom again. As he went to go free his friend, something neon-pink caught John's eye. There was a note stuck to the refrigerator. It had Amara's neat and disciplined script.
He ripped it from the fridge and scanned it. He stopped in shock and started reading it again from the beginning, thoroughly.
Dear John,
By the time you get this note, I'll be at the airport or halfway across the country. I feel like we've grown apart, John. We don't talk anymore, and whenever we do, all we do is fight.
So, I've packed all of my things and I'm waiting for the taxi to get here. I'm going back to Nova Roma. My parents will be happy to see me home.
If you don't come after me, I'll know it's because you don't love me. I'm sorry, I wanted this to work.
Amara
(-_- dear lord... It's actually a 'dear john' letter. Do we not see the irony in this?)
John scoffed. She left him! It was only a matter of time, he supposed. He thought back to their last fight.
They were going out for dinner, and Amara had purchase a new perfume to wear. She smelled of strawberries. John just about blew up on her. He exclaimed that the scent didn't suit her, and that it made her smell like compost. She screamed at him, calling him an insensitive ass, and slammed their bedroom door in his face.
It was a stupid fight, but it was just the last straw fir their relationship.
"SPARKY! Where the HELL are you, you -" he flipped the note over.
-P.S: I took the cat with me.
"THAT BITCH!"
~*~
American beer was so weak. John downed another shot of whiskey. He had every reason to get shit faced. The bartender tried to be consoling, but John could really care less.
"So how long was ya livin' t'gether?" he asked as he wiped another glass dry.
"Six months." he answered flatly.
"Oh... that's harsh, eh?"
John scowled. "Tell me about it, mate! The bitch took my cat! I sure miss the furry bastard."
The bartender looked at him strangely and went to go mend another broken heart. Mr. Jameson was still there.
John picked up another shot, but a manicured hand stopped him.
"Buy me a drink, sailor?" a husky female voice asked seductively.
John glared at the woman keeping him from his alcoholic companion. "Bugger off, shiela. I don't pay for sex." he snarled.
She slid onto the stool next to him and placed her hand over his glass. "I'm not looking for sex, darling. I'm here to make a proposal."
He yanked the shot away from her, careful not to spill the glass's contents. "I'm not interested in buy drugs either, if that's what you're thinkin', love."
She smirked at him maliciously. Her eyes flashed yellow for a second - wait a tick! Yellow?!
"You?! Mystique-"
"Awww... you remember me. I'm touched, Pyro."
There was a reason John hated the blue bitch so much, and it wasn't because she made people write things they didn't want to write (*shakes fist*). It was because of Mystique, John was homeless for a year before he was forced to live with the X-Men. It was because of Mystique, Wanda... "What the hell do you want?!" he growled, downing his shot.
Mystique grinned in triumph. "In a few seconds, my Australian friend, that won't matter..."
"Wha-" John felt like someone pulled a sack of cotton stuffing over his head as he swayed in his seat.
He didn't even feel his head hit the floor.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'm BAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaack! WHEEE!!! Aren't we all estatic?! *wiggles around in glee*
... No? ...
Oh... Okay. Fine. I'll just... go back to my hovel now... PEONS! Just kidding! SQUEEE!!! Oh, it feels good to be writing again. The epilogue in Scam was... woah. I don't know how to describe that experience. I was sitting in Math class, finishing up a test then writing out the end of the last chapter. Then I was like... 'hrmmm.... I need an epilogue'. So I wrote one... and I was literally shaking by the time I was finished. I tell ya, Math, boredom and angst do NOT make a happy party. *sniffle* poor John... I put him through so much...
Oh, on another note: (this is mostly for UndyingImmortal, if they're reading) It is highly unlikely that I'll be putting any random interludes in this one. BUT I am working on a side story that is soley random hilarity and torture. Ever seen that show, Teens Dating? Well, I don't know if it's broadcast in the USA, but I've seen it a few times up here in the Great White North (j00t! Go Canada). Basically, they set up two teens and send them off on a blind date and watch them. It's hilarious to laugh at some of the people on that show.
Anyroad, I'm rambling.
May the Glomp Gods smile upon you!
Buh-Baiz!