Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters
The Not So Distant Future
(Tuesday, October 13, 2:03 AM, to be exact.)


Logan snorted. “You look like a mime.”

Marie glanced down over her black thermals, her white gloves and socks. They probably complemented her now-pink cheeks nicely. She mumbled, voice slurred and scratchy, “Too cold f’ra nightgown, an’ all m’black gloves are in th’dirty clothes bin. These’re the first clean ones I could find.”

He grunted, disappearing deep into the fridge again. He must've hidden something behind the milk cartons. "Halloween's comin' up," he said, peering over her one more time. "Paint on some whiskers, you can be Mickey Mouse."

She rubbed her eyes, made a sleepy sound in the back of her throat, flipped him off with an innocent smile. “You gon’ stand there an’ make funna me all night, or you gon’ let me by so as I can git t’the cupboard?”

His hand emerged from the back of the fridge, three longnecks caught neatly between his fingers.

Marie raised her eyebrows. “Y’thirsty?”

He shrugged. “Eight bottles a day, right, kid?”

“I’m purty sure that’s glasses, mister. Of water. Now gimme one.” Logan pried the top off a beer and tried to pass it to her. She wrinkled her nose. “No, a glass.”

He sighed, making a show of getting into the cupboard and fetching her one.

“Thanks eeeeevvvver so,” she drawled at his long-suffering expression, reaching to take the glass from his hand.

He held it tight, letting her tug a few times. A slow smile spread over his face, then a chuckle as she grew more and more frustrated.

“Give it!” she snapped. “What’s s’durn funny?”

Logan finally relinquished the glass, bringing his now free hand up to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Nothin’,” he said simply. “You’re just cute when you’re mad.” He let his hand trail down until the ends of her long dark hair slipped from his fingers. Then he took a seat at the counter, settling the beers in front of him. “And you talk like a hick when you’re sleepy.” He downed the first one in a few loud gulps.