Seeing Magneto turned into a woman had been a bit of a shock, but her subsequent actions had proven that he was still her… err something like that.
The ghost chasing them had scared the hell out of him, even more so when it had shrugged off his powers like they were nothing more then a minor irritant.
Other things were far more nerve racking however.
The Ice Bitch herself, Emma Frost, had curled up in Magneto’s lap and responded tearfully if he/she was anything, but affectionate to her. A slightly neutral tone would earn a tearful glance and a sniffle from the mutant psionicist and if Magneto’s wince was any indication, the feedback was not pleasant. It had taken a bare five minutes before the leader of the Acolytes was speaking in honeyed tones and behaving sickeningly cute.
“Would you like some more rice, Sweetie?” Magneto offered the scantily clad woman perched in his lap, a bit nervously.
“I’d love some, Honey!” Emma replied snuggling into Magneto’s impressive chest with a contended smile on her face.
Whether or not he was mentally ‘all there’, Pyro was doing his level best to pretend everything was business as usual.
Colossus, strangely enough, was completely relaxed and working on his seventh helping of pressed duck. As far as he was concerned the boss’s relationships was his own business. Wanda’s assurance that whatever spirit they had run across wouldn’t return till noon tomorrow at the earliest may have had something to do with it. He, like Pyro, was also pretending Sabertooth did not exist, whether for the sake of sanity or health is up in the air at this point.
“Pressed duck is very good. You have cooked well.” grinning Peter poured ranch dressing on it and quickly devoured it, before making a move on the yams.
Ranko just grinned in response.
She’d cooked up a storm with Wanda’s help. Wanda wasn’t the best cook in the world, but she could follow directions with the best of them. Of course neither one had any idea what they should make for dinner, so they both had just paged through a cookbook and cooked anything that looked good. The resulting mix actually looked like the standard dinner for the Acolytes, who were known to do the same thing, but with rather less success at it.
Ranko was curled up in Wanda’s lap feeding her sushi, although they tended to switch back and forth a lot. Magneto had seemed a bit embarrassed at first, but Emma’s sudden appearance and claiming of her lap, as Sabersmurf had leapt onto the table, had distracted her enough to take her mind completely off her daughter’s sexual preference.
Sabertooth was not a contented tent dweller. He was currently sitting on a full sized turkey as he chewed on a drum stick. Being reduced to ½ a foot high and painted blue was… just mildly upsetting, because as everyone could attest he was just a complete and udder sociopath big fluffy teddy bear at heart with a great sense of humor. What had really angered him however, was the sudden change in his vocabulary.
It wasn’t commonly known, but Sabertooth considered himself a bit of a poet. Sure his poems were all composed of four letter words and helpful suggestions, which while not physically possible in most cases were however grammatically correct. No one had ever taken the time to really listen to what he was saying, because most human and mutants have a limit to the amount of profanity they can consciously process before it becomes meaningless filth, but if Andrew ‘Dice’ Clay had met him, he would have assured everyone they Sabertooth was a ‘Fuckin’ Genius’.
So it comes as no surprise that ‘Sabersmurf’ was beyond pissed and entering that delightful little zone that the mental health professionals would describe as ‘psychotic rage’. All that was really missing from his life at this moment was a convenient target.
Cue Gambit…
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(Posted Thu, 02 Jun 2005 22:28)
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