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xp_logsTake two bored teens. Add a bag of dope. Wackiness ensues.
"Fuck, I'm bored," Amanda announced from where she was lying on her back on the floor of Mark's living room, legs and bare feet draped on the couch. "How much longer are they keeping us locked up for, any way?"
"Fuck if I know," called Mark from deep within his pantry. "Silver was so not happy that I couldn't be there for the Christmas Eve party. And they're talking to me like it's my fault or something. 'Yeah, I really don't want to go to one of our biggest parties of the year where everyone is looking for excuses to not go to their homes and be with their families. Especially now that I have a much bigger living space.' Pfft, 'tards."
Amanda propped herself up on her elbows so she could see him. Or at least the part of him poking out of the pantry. "They're not going to give you shite for it later on, are they?" she asked, sounding a little concerned. Silver was Mark's life, even if he had Snow Valley now too. "'Cause we could get Moira to give you, I dunno, a note or something. Biological hazard, something like that?"
"Oh my God, I could go to work in a bubble!" he mused. "No, they won't. They're not happy, but they're not going to give me anything more than a Glare. Especially not after they see what we have cooked up for New Year's. I'll need a bubble if we're not out by then. There's no fucking way that I'm missing that. Ah ha! Found it." Mark pulled himself out of the pantry, holding a small ziplock bag of a green herb. "No more brownies left, not after Angie, so voila."
She snorted. "We used to joke about putting Nate in a plastic bubble so he'd stop hurting himself. Don't you start and all." Flipping her legs around so she could sit up, she grinned at him. "Brilliant. Just the thing to make life a little more interesting 'round here. I never thought I'd say it, but I miss work. There's only so much study you can do before you go balmy."
"At the very least we'll be so fascinated in ours toes that we'll at least think life is interesting." Mark sat next to Amanda on the floor, placing the bag and a small box of rolling papers on the table. "I'm really not a drug addict, I swear," he said with a smile, "but really, what else is there to do?"
Reaching for the baggie and a couple of papers, Amanda leaned back against the couch, stretching her legs comfortably in front of her. She was wearing one of her more holey pairs of jeans, her knees poking out of huge tears in the worn material. "No painting my toenails pink," she cautioned, wrinkling her nose. "Took me ages to scratch off the sparkly shite Angie dug up. She went and hid all the remover." She moistened the edge of the paper with a brief swipe of her tongue, and set about expertly rolling the first joint. "See, this is the bit about the States I don't get," she continued, slightly preoccupied with her task. "You lot can carry guns around whenever you want, but if someone likes to toke up every now and again, they're a threat to society? How fucked up is that?"
"Ah, but you see? Weed is a gateway drug. It'll make you do awful things like sit around and watch Spongebob Squarepants marathons. The Constitution doesn't protect that." Mark pulled off his bandana and ran a hand through his long hair. "Now carrying a gun, well that's big and manly and it protects your family from dirty brown people. Or mutants. Or communists. Or whoever the villain of the week is."
"And I wonder why I'm still living here and not back in Brighton sometimes. Oh, that's right, I've still got a criminal record back home and the best job I could get under my own name would be a fast-paced and exciting career in fast food." Amanda sealed the joint and passed it over to Mark. "Here, be un-Constitutional," she said with a grin, before beginning to roll another.
"They don't seal juvenile criminal records 'across the Pond'?" Mark accepted the joint and lit it with the Zippo waiting on the table. He shut his eyes as he breathed in, held the smoke for a couple of seconds, and then breathed it out. "Please don't shatter my illusion of everyone else being so much cooler than America."
"Outstandin' warrants," Amanda mumbled around the paper as she licked the edge to seal her own joint. "Never showed up for court on a few things, so technically 'm still wanted over there. Different name, tho', which is why they haven't gotten me the last few times I've flown over. I s'pose I should get Pete or someone t' do something 'bout it, but most of the time I forget. 'S like it happened to someone else, not me." She held out her hand for the lighter. "Still, doesn't get in the way that much - not like we travel under our own names very often any way."
"No statute of limitations for that?" Mark handed her the lighter and took another hit. "Man, you guys all led such exciting-slash-fucked up lives. Even Doug done got shot once. Me? I just ran away from home - when I was almost legally an adult - and started a new relatively sane life. Do you ever wonder what life'd be like if none of this" - he waved his arms in a vague motion - "ever happened?"
Lighting up, Amanda took a deep drag, holding the smoke in for a long moment before letting it drift from her nose. "Sometimes," she replied, tossing the baggie and papers back on the coffee table and letting her head fall back onto the couch cushions. "Even got the chance to do it over, without powers, for a while. Down in New Orleans - had a job and a place t' live and school and everything. Best three months ever, even with Tante watching over me shoulder." She chuckled a little. "Thing is, what we're doing now? I wouldn't swap for the world. 'S insane and dangerous and ethically dodgy sometimes, but for the first time ever, 'm not dragging anyone down or needing them to babysit me. I'm doing things on me own terms. Which is a fuckload better than what I would have had if I'd never left Brighton." Taking another hit, she flopped her head forward to look at Mark. "What about you? Wish you'd never set eyes on Wanda and me sometimes?"
"If I didn't, then I'd be living in a pool of cockroaches." Mark followed Amanda's lead, leaning back against the sofa and letting his head fall back to look up at the ceiling. "I need those glowy star stickers," he said. "Hooking up with you guys isn't a regret. It's everything before that that I think about when I'm drinking in a bad mood. If I never left St. Louis, I'd be in college now."
"No stars, but I've got a glo ball..." Amanda clicked her fingers and the werelight appeared, bouncing merrily around the ceiling. Then she nudged his foot with hers. "Y'know, if you wanted to do the college thing still, that could be sorted. Ms. Frost knows people who know people - Angie, Doug, Sarah and me are all doing the school thing, even if we're doing it arse-about. Degree first, then the work."
"S'different," he said, staring at the dancing ball of light. "It's the experience of the whole four years at Wash U and joining all those radical left activisty-type groups thing. That would've been a huge difference. But I mean, I'm definitely happy that I'm here. Even without Snow Valley, I'm doing more directly for the mutant community than I would've anywhere else. It was tougher, especially for the first year, but." He inhaled deeply. "I'd be totally different if I was some respected undergrad electrical engineer. And not as fabulous."
"And if you had gone to college, we'd have missed out meeting you. And I have t' say, that would have sucked." Amanda took another drag of her joint, smiling slightly. "Who else would I pass notes to in meetings and go clubbing with?"
"Someone who can't keep you as entertained, that's who. You hungry?" Mark slowly pulled himself to his feet, greatly assisted by the presence of the couch, and ambled back to the kitchen. "Now where's my munchie stash?"
"I've been told I'm high maintenance," she joked, and rolled over onto her knees so she could peer at him as she flopped forwards onto the couch. "Tell me you have that microwave popcorn. I'd cheerfully sell everyone else's soul for some of that right now."
"Ta-da!" Mark held up a box. "My stash is impressive. You never know what kind of mood you'll be in, eh?" He pulled out a package from the box and tossed it in the microwave. As it heated up, he opened for himself a package of Oreos and proceeded to gorge.
"My hero," Amanda simpered, batting her eyelashes at him. "Rescued from the horrible fate of going without popcorn when I've got the munchies... however can I repay you?" She managed to keep a straight face until she caught sight of the chocolate on Mark's face, and then she cracked up laughing, falling back onto the couch and giggling helplessly.
Mark cocked his head to one side curiously. "What's so funny?" he asked, turned to look at the dark reflection of his face in the glass door of the microwave. "Oh, that." And he fell laughing, too, holding onto the edge of the counter for dear life. "Stop laughing! It's contagious."
"I can't!" she gasped, holding her sides with one hand whilst she held the joint safely aloft with the other. "'S just... you look... an' with the chocolate..." Words failed her as the giggles took over.
The joint nearly fell out of his fingers when the microwave dinged, but his catch was rather quite skillful. "I'm so going to get you for this," he muttered, still shaking a little. "You almost made me lose this. I declare popcorny war!" Grabbing the bag and ripping it open, he dashed into his living room, jumped onto the couch and dumped half the bag's contents on Amanda.
"Argh!" She flailed as hot popcorn rained down on her, some of it working its way down her shirt and catching in her bra. At least it wasn't buttered... "Bastard! That's it, I'm gunna tickle you 'til you chuck!" Setting her joint into the ashtray, she pounced, knocking him onto his back. Popcorn flew everywhere.
Mark shrieked as Amanda landed on top of him. And it was very difficult to get someone who weighs the same as you off when you're also holding onto a lit roll of paper in one hand. In fact, that's the excuse he thought of the explain why his free hand had crept up her shirt. It wasn't his fault that her waist was the easiest part of her body for him to push her off with.
What he hadn't reckoned on was Amanda was ticklish. Horribly so - part of the healing of the scars had been that her skin had resumed its normal sensitivity. Which, after many years of not being the case, meant she was incredibly ticklish. She squealed and made a grab for his hand, all the while trying to wriggle away, but succeeded in almost over-balancing herself instead. Clutching at the most accessible anchor point - which happened to be his belt, she managed to right herself, one hand plastered firmly over the one of his that was under her shirt.
Shaking with amusement, Mark reached over and deposited his joint on the ashtray, too. He wasn't sure if it was the weed talking, or the nearly week-long constant inebriation, or the cabin fever, or some combination of the three, but he sat up and gently kissed Amanda on the lips. A peck, really, like he'd offered most everyone a couple nights prior when he was chasing them around with the mistletoe. But when she didn't recoil (and in his warped mind seemed to enjoy the brief contact) he kissed her again.
Well, hello... Kissing was definitely enjoyable and after the initial surprise, Amanda fuzzily decided to go along for the ride. Letting go of the hand she'd trapped (but still keeping hold of his belt buckle), she returned the kiss with enthusiasm.
Now free, Mark's hands went straight to the next step. Unhooking bras is a honed skill, but there was no honing when one's biggest thought was "My breath smells like chocolate and I want more cookies." So after a little fumbling with the clasp, he started giggling into Amanda's mouth, but tried to keep kissing her anyway.
It didn't help that Mark's fumbling was pulling her bra a little tighter in the front, which meant the popcorn that had lodged in it earlier was digging in and making the odd squeaking noise. Plus he was still sticky with Oreo crumbs... The giggles were infectious, until she pulled away to avoid unfortunately tongue biting incidents. "You know what?" she managed to say through her amusement. "This is so not happening. We'd kill each other with the laughing."
Mark's expression looked alternatively disappointed and resigned. "Yeah, you're right. This is just a little weird. Hey, you wanna play Twister?" That's more fun to do when high than kissing, anyway.
Amanda grinned. Twister - as fun as having sex, only with your clothes on. "Brilliant idea!" she agreed, leaning forward to give him a quick kiss on the nose. "Can you set up? I have to go dig popcorn out of my underwear."
"Need help?"
"Fuck, I'm bored," Amanda announced from where she was lying on her back on the floor of Mark's living room, legs and bare feet draped on the couch. "How much longer are they keeping us locked up for, any way?"
"Fuck if I know," called Mark from deep within his pantry. "Silver was so not happy that I couldn't be there for the Christmas Eve party. And they're talking to me like it's my fault or something. 'Yeah, I really don't want to go to one of our biggest parties of the year where everyone is looking for excuses to not go to their homes and be with their families. Especially now that I have a much bigger living space.' Pfft, 'tards."
Amanda propped herself up on her elbows so she could see him. Or at least the part of him poking out of the pantry. "They're not going to give you shite for it later on, are they?" she asked, sounding a little concerned. Silver was Mark's life, even if he had Snow Valley now too. "'Cause we could get Moira to give you, I dunno, a note or something. Biological hazard, something like that?"
"Oh my God, I could go to work in a bubble!" he mused. "No, they won't. They're not happy, but they're not going to give me anything more than a Glare. Especially not after they see what we have cooked up for New Year's. I'll need a bubble if we're not out by then. There's no fucking way that I'm missing that. Ah ha! Found it." Mark pulled himself out of the pantry, holding a small ziplock bag of a green herb. "No more brownies left, not after Angie, so voila."
She snorted. "We used to joke about putting Nate in a plastic bubble so he'd stop hurting himself. Don't you start and all." Flipping her legs around so she could sit up, she grinned at him. "Brilliant. Just the thing to make life a little more interesting 'round here. I never thought I'd say it, but I miss work. There's only so much study you can do before you go balmy."
"At the very least we'll be so fascinated in ours toes that we'll at least think life is interesting." Mark sat next to Amanda on the floor, placing the bag and a small box of rolling papers on the table. "I'm really not a drug addict, I swear," he said with a smile, "but really, what else is there to do?"
Reaching for the baggie and a couple of papers, Amanda leaned back against the couch, stretching her legs comfortably in front of her. She was wearing one of her more holey pairs of jeans, her knees poking out of huge tears in the worn material. "No painting my toenails pink," she cautioned, wrinkling her nose. "Took me ages to scratch off the sparkly shite Angie dug up. She went and hid all the remover." She moistened the edge of the paper with a brief swipe of her tongue, and set about expertly rolling the first joint. "See, this is the bit about the States I don't get," she continued, slightly preoccupied with her task. "You lot can carry guns around whenever you want, but if someone likes to toke up every now and again, they're a threat to society? How fucked up is that?"
"Ah, but you see? Weed is a gateway drug. It'll make you do awful things like sit around and watch Spongebob Squarepants marathons. The Constitution doesn't protect that." Mark pulled off his bandana and ran a hand through his long hair. "Now carrying a gun, well that's big and manly and it protects your family from dirty brown people. Or mutants. Or communists. Or whoever the villain of the week is."
"And I wonder why I'm still living here and not back in Brighton sometimes. Oh, that's right, I've still got a criminal record back home and the best job I could get under my own name would be a fast-paced and exciting career in fast food." Amanda sealed the joint and passed it over to Mark. "Here, be un-Constitutional," she said with a grin, before beginning to roll another.
"They don't seal juvenile criminal records 'across the Pond'?" Mark accepted the joint and lit it with the Zippo waiting on the table. He shut his eyes as he breathed in, held the smoke for a couple of seconds, and then breathed it out. "Please don't shatter my illusion of everyone else being so much cooler than America."
"Outstandin' warrants," Amanda mumbled around the paper as she licked the edge to seal her own joint. "Never showed up for court on a few things, so technically 'm still wanted over there. Different name, tho', which is why they haven't gotten me the last few times I've flown over. I s'pose I should get Pete or someone t' do something 'bout it, but most of the time I forget. 'S like it happened to someone else, not me." She held out her hand for the lighter. "Still, doesn't get in the way that much - not like we travel under our own names very often any way."
"No statute of limitations for that?" Mark handed her the lighter and took another hit. "Man, you guys all led such exciting-slash-fucked up lives. Even Doug done got shot once. Me? I just ran away from home - when I was almost legally an adult - and started a new relatively sane life. Do you ever wonder what life'd be like if none of this" - he waved his arms in a vague motion - "ever happened?"
Lighting up, Amanda took a deep drag, holding the smoke in for a long moment before letting it drift from her nose. "Sometimes," she replied, tossing the baggie and papers back on the coffee table and letting her head fall back onto the couch cushions. "Even got the chance to do it over, without powers, for a while. Down in New Orleans - had a job and a place t' live and school and everything. Best three months ever, even with Tante watching over me shoulder." She chuckled a little. "Thing is, what we're doing now? I wouldn't swap for the world. 'S insane and dangerous and ethically dodgy sometimes, but for the first time ever, 'm not dragging anyone down or needing them to babysit me. I'm doing things on me own terms. Which is a fuckload better than what I would have had if I'd never left Brighton." Taking another hit, she flopped her head forward to look at Mark. "What about you? Wish you'd never set eyes on Wanda and me sometimes?"
"If I didn't, then I'd be living in a pool of cockroaches." Mark followed Amanda's lead, leaning back against the sofa and letting his head fall back to look up at the ceiling. "I need those glowy star stickers," he said. "Hooking up with you guys isn't a regret. It's everything before that that I think about when I'm drinking in a bad mood. If I never left St. Louis, I'd be in college now."
"No stars, but I've got a glo ball..." Amanda clicked her fingers and the werelight appeared, bouncing merrily around the ceiling. Then she nudged his foot with hers. "Y'know, if you wanted to do the college thing still, that could be sorted. Ms. Frost knows people who know people - Angie, Doug, Sarah and me are all doing the school thing, even if we're doing it arse-about. Degree first, then the work."
"S'different," he said, staring at the dancing ball of light. "It's the experience of the whole four years at Wash U and joining all those radical left activisty-type groups thing. That would've been a huge difference. But I mean, I'm definitely happy that I'm here. Even without Snow Valley, I'm doing more directly for the mutant community than I would've anywhere else. It was tougher, especially for the first year, but." He inhaled deeply. "I'd be totally different if I was some respected undergrad electrical engineer. And not as fabulous."
"And if you had gone to college, we'd have missed out meeting you. And I have t' say, that would have sucked." Amanda took another drag of her joint, smiling slightly. "Who else would I pass notes to in meetings and go clubbing with?"
"Someone who can't keep you as entertained, that's who. You hungry?" Mark slowly pulled himself to his feet, greatly assisted by the presence of the couch, and ambled back to the kitchen. "Now where's my munchie stash?"
"I've been told I'm high maintenance," she joked, and rolled over onto her knees so she could peer at him as she flopped forwards onto the couch. "Tell me you have that microwave popcorn. I'd cheerfully sell everyone else's soul for some of that right now."
"Ta-da!" Mark held up a box. "My stash is impressive. You never know what kind of mood you'll be in, eh?" He pulled out a package from the box and tossed it in the microwave. As it heated up, he opened for himself a package of Oreos and proceeded to gorge.
"My hero," Amanda simpered, batting her eyelashes at him. "Rescued from the horrible fate of going without popcorn when I've got the munchies... however can I repay you?" She managed to keep a straight face until she caught sight of the chocolate on Mark's face, and then she cracked up laughing, falling back onto the couch and giggling helplessly.
Mark cocked his head to one side curiously. "What's so funny?" he asked, turned to look at the dark reflection of his face in the glass door of the microwave. "Oh, that." And he fell laughing, too, holding onto the edge of the counter for dear life. "Stop laughing! It's contagious."
"I can't!" she gasped, holding her sides with one hand whilst she held the joint safely aloft with the other. "'S just... you look... an' with the chocolate..." Words failed her as the giggles took over.
The joint nearly fell out of his fingers when the microwave dinged, but his catch was rather quite skillful. "I'm so going to get you for this," he muttered, still shaking a little. "You almost made me lose this. I declare popcorny war!" Grabbing the bag and ripping it open, he dashed into his living room, jumped onto the couch and dumped half the bag's contents on Amanda.
"Argh!" She flailed as hot popcorn rained down on her, some of it working its way down her shirt and catching in her bra. At least it wasn't buttered... "Bastard! That's it, I'm gunna tickle you 'til you chuck!" Setting her joint into the ashtray, she pounced, knocking him onto his back. Popcorn flew everywhere.
Mark shrieked as Amanda landed on top of him. And it was very difficult to get someone who weighs the same as you off when you're also holding onto a lit roll of paper in one hand. In fact, that's the excuse he thought of the explain why his free hand had crept up her shirt. It wasn't his fault that her waist was the easiest part of her body for him to push her off with.
What he hadn't reckoned on was Amanda was ticklish. Horribly so - part of the healing of the scars had been that her skin had resumed its normal sensitivity. Which, after many years of not being the case, meant she was incredibly ticklish. She squealed and made a grab for his hand, all the while trying to wriggle away, but succeeded in almost over-balancing herself instead. Clutching at the most accessible anchor point - which happened to be his belt, she managed to right herself, one hand plastered firmly over the one of his that was under her shirt.
Shaking with amusement, Mark reached over and deposited his joint on the ashtray, too. He wasn't sure if it was the weed talking, or the nearly week-long constant inebriation, or the cabin fever, or some combination of the three, but he sat up and gently kissed Amanda on the lips. A peck, really, like he'd offered most everyone a couple nights prior when he was chasing them around with the mistletoe. But when she didn't recoil (and in his warped mind seemed to enjoy the brief contact) he kissed her again.
Well, hello... Kissing was definitely enjoyable and after the initial surprise, Amanda fuzzily decided to go along for the ride. Letting go of the hand she'd trapped (but still keeping hold of his belt buckle), she returned the kiss with enthusiasm.
Now free, Mark's hands went straight to the next step. Unhooking bras is a honed skill, but there was no honing when one's biggest thought was "My breath smells like chocolate and I want more cookies." So after a little fumbling with the clasp, he started giggling into Amanda's mouth, but tried to keep kissing her anyway.
It didn't help that Mark's fumbling was pulling her bra a little tighter in the front, which meant the popcorn that had lodged in it earlier was digging in and making the odd squeaking noise. Plus he was still sticky with Oreo crumbs... The giggles were infectious, until she pulled away to avoid unfortunately tongue biting incidents. "You know what?" she managed to say through her amusement. "This is so not happening. We'd kill each other with the laughing."
Mark's expression looked alternatively disappointed and resigned. "Yeah, you're right. This is just a little weird. Hey, you wanna play Twister?" That's more fun to do when high than kissing, anyway.
Amanda grinned. Twister - as fun as having sex, only with your clothes on. "Brilliant idea!" she agreed, leaning forward to give him a quick kiss on the nose. "Can you set up? I have to go dig popcorn out of my underwear."
"Need help?"
