ArchivedLogs:Midnight Snacks

Midnight Snacks
Midnight Snacks
Dramatis Personae Logan, Peter & Rahne	March 23, 2013 Logan, Peter and Rahne bump into each other in the kitchen, waaaay past bedtime (at least for the younger two). A web-head, a werewolf and the Wolverine all in the same room at the same ungodly hour. What could possibly go wrong?
Location Xavier's, Kitchen
X-Men Revolution - Sunday, March 24, 2013, 4:12 PM Munch, munch, munch... Somebody's being naughty. Peter's starting to get an affinity for his new webshooters; the fancy little GLUE-GUNS look something like oversized wrist-watches with two brass canisters on either side. But rather than being a good little webhead and sticking to the gym -- the danger room -- or the woods -- Peter's decided to test his babies out in the X-Mansion proper. Specifically, in the kitchen. WAY PAST CURFEW. Peter is currently dangling from the kitchen ceiling. Ankles crossed; knees popping out; one hand seizing hold of that thread that connects to the ceiling above -- the other holding an apple he just snatched out of a basket. MUNCH, MUNCH, MUNCH. He's clad in his red hoodie, blue jeans, sneakers -- a slim little elastic backpack that clings close to his spine -- and his BRAND NEW spider-mask. It's a red ski-mask with obnoxious, buggy yellow lenses mounted over the eyes. Plus, no mouth-hole. He currently has it pulled up to expose his chin and mouth, so he can take another bite of... CRNCH*. The perfect crime. "Keep that up, Bub, and the Prof'll probably mess with yer head 'n make you think yer a fly..." Logan, already speaking before he walks into the kitchen, lets out a derisive snort and makes for the fridge. He looks fine - healthwise - but his clothes are a different matter. He is in only a singlet and tracksuit pants (barefoot) and both have dirt, sweat... and blood stains on them. His singlet is torn right across the front, exposing chest-hair, with two slashes exactly a few inches apart. Where there was white material is all red and pink now. And muddy. Logan leans over the fridge, reaching for a bottle of cola soda. "Nothing decent to drink either. Figures..." Sometimes, it can be hard to get in a good night's sleep in the mansion, especially when a part of you wants to favor more nocturnal tendencies and you're also battling with a serious case of homesickness. Where not much can be done about the former, really, Rahne does have a few little tricks up her sleeve for getting her hands on at least a tiny piece of Scotland now and then, and a couple of them are in the kitchen. In pajama pants and a too-big cableknit sweater, she peeks in, first, and then barefoots it in past the doorway. "Who..?" she starts to ask, and then looks up. "Ach!" is the reaction Peter gets. She blinks, looks down to Logan and the state of his clothing, then back up at the upside down one. "Am I dreamin'?" "!!" *THUMP* -- Peter is now on the floor, behind the counter. Scrambling. The apple flies, tumbling through the air before landing with a moist *THKPT*, bouncing off the tiles and rolling over toward Rahne's feet; Peter himself doesn't bounce so much as *scramble*, promptly leaping for the farthest corner from anyone. This leads to him being perched at the point where the ceiling meets two walls -- his hands and legs extended outward to apply a constant pressure to the walls, allowing him to stay there comfortably. Well, actually, it doesn't look comfortable... "Oh my GOD why do people keep catching me in the kitchen?!" he says, before peering down at Rahne -- those yellow lenses of his reflecting her face right back at her. "OhheyIdon'tknowyou." Yes, that's all one word. "You should see the other guy." Logan offers Rahne a brief, lopsided smirk and settles down into a seat at the table, soda in hand, and with his eyes on Peter for the most part. Sipping at his drink, the older man looks speculative - and mildly amused as well - at Peter. "You live in a college run by a telepath," he remarks blandly to the boy. "Do the math." Down goes another mouthful of soda. "Besides, I heard you 'munching' away from across the mansion." Giving a wry chuckle, he shifts his attention back to Rahne. "Chances are, here, if you see some weird sh--stuff--it's probably real. I'm Logan--" he points the bottle at Peter. "--'N that's Web-head." The wee slip of a Scot startles at Peter's drop and scramble, and backpedals almost all the way back out of the kitchen, finally stopping in the doorway, where her toes curl away from the apple. There's a very brief flash of inhuman shine when her eyes widen, there and gone, before she collects herself, one hand twisting back and forth with the cuff of a sweater sleeve in its grip. She glances between the two once everything is settled, and creeps her way back in again, this time edging towards a specific cabinet. "Rahne," she says, and if they haven't picked up on the fact her accent is less-than-American, well, they will now. "I'm Rahne." "I'm not Web-head I'm the SPIDER," Peter corrects, all the way from up on the ceiling where he's perched -- although those yellow-tinted goggles are regarding Rahne as she scrambles away. Does he see that flicker in her eyes? WHO KNOWS. He continues, speaking to Logan, his tone borderline indignant: "I mean, come on it is a theme do you not understand a theme? I don't go 'oh hey look it's CLAW-GUY' do I? No! Because I respect -- the theme!" Peter takes theme a little seriously. But after a moment, he's focused intently on Rahne: "Rahne! Hi! I'm --" Ohno, secret identity sense tingling. For the love of God, is there anyone in Xavier's who doesn't know that he's Peter Parker? "The SPIDER," he repeats, attempting to make this sound as THRILLING and MYSTERIOUS and IMPRESSIVE as possible. Actually, it just sounds like he's having a sudden asthma attack. "Ya'll right there, Bub?" Logan asks the energetic teenager. "Ya theme's fine," he continues on in a deceptively agreeable tone of voice. "It's the name. You go 'round callin' yourself 'the Spider', 'n every villain'll make jokes about squishin' ya. Magneto'd probably make a big bug-swatter outta two flat cars 'n a street-lamp just ta make a point." Getting up, he finishes his soda, then puts the bottle in the recycling bin (saving the world 'n all that, one bottle at a time). A second later he pauses, nostrils flaring, and he inhales deeply through them. The pause only lasts half a second, but it does have him watching Rahne out the corner of his eye when he settle back into his chair. "So." He looks at her with a raised eyebrow. "A 'were' of some kind, huh? Scottish bunyip? Wolf? Bear?" Having reached the intended cabinet, Rahne opens it and then eyes the contents, eyes narrowing and lips thinning. Her tin of Scottish tea has migrated up a shelf, juuust out of reach for her. Sometimes, being short really sucks. Determined, however, she simply winds up pulling herself up on the counter to perch there on her knees to get her tea. While she does, though, she pauses to peer over her shoulder at the self-proclaimed spider. After a blink, her expression rewrites with some amusement. "Yer missin' some legs there, aren'tcha?" the Scot teases lightly. Logan's question, however, derails the humor, and as her cheeks turn a stark crimson against pale skin, she looks quickly back to the cabinet to fish out her tea. "Aye, ya kin say," she answers, after a hesitation. "Wolf." "Dude you are aware that wolverines are weasels right?" Peter says, his tone edging toward an accusation. "At least my theme isn't renowned for stink. Spiders are totes bad-ass I mean we basically web you and drink your blood and --" at Rahne's question, Peter shuts up. And just stares. "I lost them," Peter lies. "In a knife-fight. With a dragon. Who killed my parents. ... ...look, it's a work in progress, okay? I'm still building up, like, backstory and stuff. I mean he calls himself a wolverine, but you don't see him all... furry... actually yeah he is pretty hairy," Peter finally realizes. "So okay, FINE, I'm... the Spider MAN. -- wait, wolf?" Now, suddenly, Peter's on the kitchen counter. Closer. Just like that -- *JUMP* *THD* *crouch* -- knees popping out, perched like a frog. PEEEEEERING at Rahne. "Oh wow this is so weird. It's like we're all animals or something." Logan gives Rahne a slow nod; for a moment, he just looks at her - with that kind of look that says something like, 'I know what you mean', then he lets his gaze drop and glances back at Peter. The 'Wolverine' comment goes unanswered - well, except for a small growl in the back of his throat - then he... 'hmphs' at the kid's compromise on name and theme. "Speak for your--yeah, I suppose." He shrugs. Then to Rahne he adds with a rueful smirk: "Welcome to the farm. Been here long?" Gosh, this cabinet has such fascinating contents! Rahne will just adjust everything so that each box and tin and what have you is straightened up neat and orderly, don't mind her. Her embarrassment about the subject, though, can't quite compete with the absurd backstory Peter tries to pitch, and she glances at him again to honestly question, "Why would a dragon need a knife?" And then he is there on the counter and she looks back into the cabinet as if this can totally hide the burn to her cheeks, until she collects her precious tin of Scottish blend and slips down back to the floor. She pauses a moment to think on Logan's question, then moves to get the kettle to put on the stove. "I s'pose not. Not really." "Oh man are you embarassed? She's blushing I think I'm -- oh hey I'm sorry don't be embarassed, it's totes cool that you're a wolf," Peter says. "I mean, you don't look like a wolf, but I guess you got like a wolf nose maybe? Or do you have a tail?" Peter suddenly leans forward on the counter, peering to see if Rahne has a tail as she moves to put the kettle on the stove. "Also, I made up the dragon," Peter admits, rather weakly: "Actually no, I didn't, but I never actually fought the dragon." "...and it didn't kill my parents or anything, actually my parents are totally alive." Peter adds, reluctantly. Said reluctance no doubt because this means he is officially not eligible to be Batman. Logan is shaking his head. And smirking. At Peter. "I gotta go get changed," he says, rising to his feet. "Don't wanna scare anymore kids. Nice work today, Spider-Man, in the DR. Get some shut-eye - and no more snacks... nah, just don't get caught." He pauses in his stride and nods to Rahne. "No reason to be embarrassed here, kid," he says in a voice that is uncharacteristically warm - empathetic, even. "You're welcome, no strings - well, except for Webby's squirters..." Shrugging his shoulders, he turns to go, and then heads out into the hallway. Isn't it amazing how when you point out that someone is blushing, they tend to blush harder? Rahne hitches her shoulders and ducks her head a little and busies herself with filling the kettle from the sink, the distinct sound of the water a soothing one. She does not have a tail, at least for the moment. That can be seen. "I dinna look like a wolf unless I wantae lookit," she actually explains to Peter, in a quiet voice. With the kettle filled, she sets it on the stove, turns on the burner, and goes searching through a drawer for a tea infuser. "Aye, thank you," the wee Scot says to Logan, along with, "Good night." And then she looks back to the self-proclaimed Spider. "Would ye like a cup..?" It'd be rude not to ask, after all. "Oh... right," Peter responds to Logan, then: "Oh man, we are going to train in the DR that is cray cray." Also, as far as Rahne's blushing goes -- well, Peter's yet to understand the subtle nuance required to make people less blushy. But the mention of being able to look like a wolf only when she wants to immediately gets his interest -- there's a gentle *whump* right next to her, and... G'AH HE'S RIGHT THERE. "Oh, man," he says. "You're -- you're a werewolf!" He says this like it is the coolest. Thing. Ever. Like he's going to squee right on the spot. "If you bite someone, do they turn into a werewolf?" He sounds as if he's about to ask her to bite him. OH MY GOD SPIDER-WOLF. "Try not to hump her leg, Incy-Wincy!" Logan's voice wafts back down the hall from a short distance away, laced with no small amount of mischievous humour. "Bite him if you need to, Rahne!" he adds. "I'll say I did it..." She is going to die. Die of absolute, pure embarrassment. Yes, yes this is going to happen, Rahne is sure. It's bad enough that Peter declares her a werewolf and asks about biting things, but then Logan has to say something that, to the sheltered Scot, is vulgar, and her skin just matches her hair to a T and oh Lord, what has she done to deserve this, she won't ever do it again, promise. Out of pure reflex, one hand darts up to finger the small gold cross she wears, while her eyes squeeze shut for a moment to gather herself. Steel herself? Something like that. "I dinnae... I'm a mutant, nae saem monster," she squeaks out, although honestly, she doesn't sound all that convinced about not being a monster herself. "I cannae go 'roon', taernin' people intae anythin'." Besides turning flaming red, one side effect of her being terribly embarrassed is a thickened accent. Can she crawl under a rock now, pls? "Oh, man, I'm sorry," Peter says, and his hands are immediately thrown up -- palms exposed -- just to show how overwhelmingly sorry he is! "I didn't mean to say you're like a monster or anything! It's just -- I don't know how the mutant thing works, I guess? A lot of this makes zero sense. I was just thinking how cool it'd be to be a wolf-spider, is all." Then, for a moment, an extended silence. Peter's hands drop down. He shifts, moving his weight from one foot to the other. Then: "Sooooo... you... turn into a wolf. S'pretty cool," he says. All SMOOTH like. Tea. Tea will help. The wee Scot finally spoons some of the loose leaf Scottish blend into the little tea infuser, because focusing on small, mundane tasks can sometimes be a lifesaver. Something Peter says, at least, seems to also help get her on the right track back to normalcy; she says, "Aye, it really doesnae make much sense." After that, she eyes him sideways. Wolf-spider? Really? The kettle whistles, and she turns off the burner before plucking it away to briefly set it on the cool side of the stove, so that she can get a mug. "Erm, aye. Or, ya ken, part th' way," she says. This may be inviting more questions. But that's all right, now she has tea. THWP. Another mug is snatched, a moment after Rahne reaches for hers -- except instead of extending his hand for it, Peter extends a gray *thread* which splats on the edge of the mug -- the other end of it having emerged from one of those clunky wrist-watches of his. Then he YANKS on the cord, and the mug flies into his hand, caught. "Like, part-way? Like could you just make -- like, a tail?" he asks. "Or, uh, a nose? Or ears?" PEERING at Rahne. But trying not to be rude about it. Let's face it, though: There are not many ways for Peter to peer at Rahne that aren't going to be pretty rude. "Crivvens!" the wee Scot exclaims at the thwping, bobbling her mug of choice, nearly dropping it, but then finally getting a firm hold on it by clutching it to her chest. "Gonnae naw dae tha', are ya aff yer heid?!" Um. Good luck translating. After, though, she takes a deep breath and... centers. Some. Back to the tea-making. Tea-making is perfectly normal. She drops the infuser in her mug and then pours it full of hot water. "Aye, I can," she admits. Reluctantly. END TRANSMISSION