Yay! New chapter!
I have to say. This story is fun. It's not my best writing but I most certainly am enjoying myself. And I'm glad you all are too.
To clear up any confusion, this is NOT set in the Knee High Socks universe. This is a story all on its own. It almost became a part of that community but I decided I needed a break before I dive in to another twenty-some chapter story that will inevitably be Thigh High Boots.
BlueFox: yes, I saw the Hulk vs… movies. I totally was basing that last scene off of one of the moments in the movie. And I'll be sure to send you summary sometime this weekend.
Lina: in the Knee High Socks stories, Remy is about twenty three and Rogue nineteen going on twenty. Ish.
black rose-raven angel: don't worry. Nick will make an appearance at some point, too.
And onward we go!
XXXXX
"Wait just one second," Scott said as Christine placed a lime green drink in front of him before taking a seat herself. "You mean Wanda Maximoff? Like…the Scarlet Witch? Magneto's daughter?"
John sighed happily. "Yeah. Isn't she just a dream?"
"That's one word for it," Remy mumbled under his breath, throwing back another shot.
"I heard that LeBeau."
Remy shrugged, leaning back in his seat to get comfortable. He already knew from prior experience that they were in for a long story. He was just grateful that he had alcohol to help him through this.
"What's she like, John?" Christine asked. She placed her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her folded hands. What surprised the men at the table was that she sounded genuinely interested in the pyromaniac's love life.
"Moody. Mostly the moods range from angry to really angry. She's wilder than a dingo with a meth problem. Her eyes are just so filled with rage. Her voice is like the most precious, melodious bells being shattered into a million pieces. It's almost as if…." He sighed. "As if God and Satan got together and decided to collaborate when creating the most angelic, most terrifying creature on the face of the earth. That's my Wanda."
He finished his impassioned speech another shot, then looked to four men and single woman around the table for their reactions. Remy looked bored, having heard all this before. Logan looked…uninterested, which wasn't all that surprising. He couldn't really see Wade's reaction, due to the mask. And Scott was too busy tentatively sipping his appletini, looking pleased.
And Christine looked as if a spider had just crawled into her mouth and made itself quite comfortable there.
"Oh." She cleared her throat and made an attempt to smile. "She sounds…."
"Just like my type!" Wade interrupted.
"This appletini is kind of yummy," Scott murmured to no person in particular.
"Is she hot?" Wade went on.
John pulled out his lighter, flickering it open. He stared at the flame with the kind of adoration that solidified the fact that he was quite insane. "Hotter than fire."
In unison, Remy and Logan groaned. Scott sipped his appletini. Christine scratched her head.
"Um. Um…wow, John. Just wow." She dared to reach out and place her hand over John's. "So, you really like this Wanda girl?"
"I feel like we could light the world on fire and watch it burn." He grinned. "Together."
Wade placed a hand over his heart. "Awww. That has to be the sweetest thing I've ever heard. Besides, of course, the musical styling of Justin Bieber." He pulled out his katana and stared at it thoughtfully. "But I don't like that Kristen Stewart girl. Or her teeth…."
Everyone, save for Logan, stared at Wade, who continued to stare at his frightening blade. Christine, with eyes wide, decided to turn her attention to the slightly less crazy person in the room.
"So, John. What are you gonna do about Wanda?"
He snapped his lighter shut. "I dunno, shelia. Your guess is as good as mine."
"Oh, John…."
"Seriously. This appletini is really good." Scott hiccupped, giggled, then looked at the waitress. "Thank you, Chris."
She grinned. "You're welcome, Scott."
"May I have another?"
"Of course."
"How're those chimichangas comin', Chrissy?" Wade asked, still looking at his blade. He looked up at vaguely pointed it at her. "Will you go check for me, darlin'?"
"…yes, Mr. Deadpool."
She raced into the kitchen, leaving the men alone once more. The men stared at one another for a few very long, very awkward moments. Wade was the one who decided to break the silence.
"How're you likin' that appletini, pretty boy?"
"Hey! Remy don' drink appletinis!"
"Not you, pretty boy." He pointed his katana at Scott. "That pretty boy. I know you don't drink them."
Remy nodded approvingly, getting comfortable in his seat once more. "Damn straight."
"This appletini is sooooo good," the X-Man slurred, smiling goofily.
XXXXX
Christine returned to the dining room with another appletini for Scott and some spinach dip to hold the boys over until the chimichangas were done. They were still cooking, the cooks now terrified to create anything but pure, unadulterated perfection.
She hoped Mr. Deadpool wouldn't mind too much.
Last time she was in the dining room, the men were drinking and bonding over John's would be lover. John himself was mopey but she assumed that was because he was off his face. But when she returned, the Australian was lying with his face on the table.
Sobbing.
Her feminine desire to help became downright overwhelming in that moment. She rushed to the table with the others, who watched their freaky friend with bored expressions. Especially Remy, who was supposed to be his "best mate" or whatever.
"What happened?" she asked, setting the food down carelessly before passing Scott his drink.
Remy looked up. "Oh. This?" He waved it off casually. "This happens every time he gets a little drunk. Gets all love sick 'fore he starts cryin'. Don' worry 'bout it."
Christine most certainly was going to worry.
She placed a gentle hand on John's shaking shoulders, which almost seemed to make him cry harder. Remy rolled his eyes and began sampling the dip. Scott was already drinking his appletini with renewed enthusiasm. Logan was drinking and frowning, the same thing he'd done since he walked in the door. And….
And Wade was laughing at John.
"What's the matter, John?"
He lifted his head to look at her. His face was streaked with tears, his eyes filled with a mix of heartache and craziness. It made Christine feel both sad and frightened.
But then she had been pretty on edge ever since the man in the red and black mask walked in the door earlier so she was kind of getting used to it.
"Shelia," the Aussie slurred. He was drunk. Really drunk. "I think I love Wanda."
"Awww…."
"But every time I try to get close to her, she just gets angry and tries to set my hair on fire. Don't get me wrong. I love fire. If lightin' my hair on fire makes my Wanda happy, then I would go bald for her."
"Oh. Well. Um. That's very sweet, John."
He wailed in agony, lying back down on the table.
"Ya don't understand, Chris," he sniffled. "I don't want her to set me on fire 'cause she's mad. I want her to do it affectionately."
"Uh…."
"That is so touching," Wade announced in between shoving chips and spinach dip into his mouth. "Tell me something, John, you pyromaniac after my own heart."
"What?"
"Would you catch a grenade for Wanda?" he asked, looking at the one he had attached to his uniform.
He nodded sadly. "Oy, mate, I would."
"How 'bout throw your hand on blade for her?"
"I would."
"Jump in front of train?"
"Yes."
"You would really do anything for her, huh?"
"Yes."
"Would you go through all this pain for her?"
"Without a doubt."
Wade considered one of his guns. "Take a bullet through the brain for her?"
"Oh, shut up," Christine snapped, having no patience for Wade and his stupid song lyrics. It was only after she snapped at him did she realize oh crap. He was staring at her with alarming intensity, his scarred mouth pulled into a thin line. And he had weapons.
So many weapons.
She cleared her throat. "Please, Mr. Deadpool," she added.
The thin line of his mouth twitched upward into a freakishly huge smile. "Well, since you said please." He then proceeded to fight with Remy over who would get more spinach dip.
With that crisis narrowly avoided, Christine refocused her attention on the man with the aching heart. She ran her fingers through his flaming hair. She wasn't very good at comfort but whenever she ran her fingers through a man's hair, it seemed to make him feel at least marginally better.
So she did that and hoped for the best.
Eventually, after several minutes of finger combing, John manages to reduce his wails to a series of sniffles. He lifted his head once more, revealing blood shot eyes and a runny nose. More for her stomach's sake rather than his emotional well being, she handed him a napkin so he could quickly deal with the nose problem.
So gross.
"I'm sorry I'm such a wreck, Chris," he mumbled.
"Oui, you are."
Christine turned to glare at the Cajun. "Shut up, Remy."
John nodded in agreement, poking his tongue out. "Yeah. You heard the lady. Shut up, Remy."
Remy stuck his tongue out also, then hiccupped. The waitress rolled her eyes, then returned her attention to the distraught Aussie.
"I know exactly how you feel, John."
The look of hope that came to life in his eyes was akin to that in a five year old.
One psychotic but adorable little five year old.
"Really?" he asked in a small voice.
"Totally. This whole thing with Nick…. Sometimes I just wanna pull my hair out and scream in frustration. Sometimes I just wanna cry."
"Really?"
"Well…." She chewed on her lip for a few seconds. "No."
"Oh."
"But only to the last part."
"Oh," he said a little happier.
Christine sighed for dramatic effect. She glanced around the men in the room. "I sure could use a little help in regards to my love life….." She trailed off, hoping someone would take the bait.
Logan burped. Scott giggled.
And that was it.
She sighed. Seeing as how they would be of no help, she turned her attention back to John.
"Do you want my advice?"
Remy began shaking his head rapidly. Due to him being intoxicated, at one point he shook it a little too vigorously and slammed his noose into the wall behind his seat. He swore in a different language, rubbed his nose a little, frowned, seeming to think about what he was going to say in the first place, remembered then pointed a finger at Christine.
"Non," he garbled.
"Non?"
He shook his head and crossed his arms. "Non."
"Why?"
"'Cause Remy here been givn' his ol' buddy John the best advice in the book. And do he listen to me?" He shook his head. "Non, he doesn'. All he does is sit 'round and mope and complain and cry and cry and cry some more."
In a lagrant display of most certainly having a few screws loose, a disheartened and inebriated John took one of his many shot glasses and tossed it directly at his friend's head. Under normal circumstances, Remy LeBeau would have easily ducked the shot. Or at least caught it, charged it, thrown it back at John and watch it blow up in his face.
But on this particular drunken day, the Cajun's reaction time was much slower. Which is why the shot glass made direct contact with forehead and bounced off with a painful sounding thud.
"Merde! Ow!"
Scott giggled and took another sip of his appletini.
"What the hell, John? What was that for?"
"That was for bein' a hypocrite," he answered, folding his arms in front of him haughtily. He glanced at Christine from the corner of his eye. "He talks 'bout me but you should hear the bloke. Rogue this and Rogue that. Blah, blah, blah. The dame is all he ever talks 'bout."
Across the table, Logan growled under his breath but said nothing.
Christine, having become accustomed to the hairy man's angry animal exclamations ignored this and looked at Remy with renewed interest.
"Who's Rogue?"
It was his turn to adopt that very same dreamy look that had decorated John's features not so long ago.
"She's the woman who stole this thief's heart," he replied, sighing heavily.
Wade snorted. "Yeah. She musta took your ability to think of original, nonstupid or mushy things to say."
"Shut up, Wilson."
"Love you too, Remy," he responded, as if he hadn't heard what Remy had told him. Maybe he had heard and just chose to ignore it.
Yeah. That was probably it.
John nudged Christine. "You think I'm bad. Just take a listen to this sap."
Remy leaned back, adopting a distant expression. As if he were remembering something vividly that only he could see.
"It all started wit' this little trip down to Louisiana…."