xp_logs | Possession Night, part three and losing count fast.

Cain, Wanda and Haller play a game of pool. Of course, at this point in the evening, very little pool playing actually happens. But there is some rather disturbing conversation. Fire and Marie also make a cameo, but surprisingly not together.

Cain set down the pitcher he'd been drinking from and surveyed the table. Harry had kept the old large-size pool table ever since he'd taken over the bar back in the mid-seventies, which made it one of the oldest things in the place, aside from Harry himself.

At the moment, though, it was a puzzle to Cain, who looked from the cue ball to the seven, all the way across the table, with two striped balls in the way. He lined up what he figured was a good shot and stroked the cue, sending the white ball off two rails to contact... absolutely nothing.

"Shit," he drawled, taking another drink of beer. "Table must be uneven."

"It's just your strategy," Jim said, aware he had probably been polishing the end of his cue slightly longer than was necessary before being sidetracked trying to remember when exactly he could have started. "You don't actually have to hit the balls to get them in the holes. Like a martial arts movie where two masters fight the entire battle in their minds." Jim raised one finger and pointed to the side of his head. "Psychologically."

"It's cheatin' if you use your telekiwhatsit. Teekaneepis. Telephonia. Brain movey thing." Cain frowned as if the force of his consternation could somehow knock the small lacquered balls into the pockets.

"When the balls move, it makes the strings in my head jingle like Christmas lights," Wanda sang out, leaning against the table for support. She had a cue in her hands but she wasn't sure who's turn it was.

Instead, she leaned over and poked Jim in the shoulder with it. Or she tried, anyway, considering she missed by a good foot and it wavered over his head for a few seconds before coming down to a safer level. "You up?"

Jim looked for a few seconds at the pool cue prodding the air in front of him before registering that a question had been asked. "Am I? Oh, right." Jim put down the chalk and leaned over on the table and rested the cue over the back of his hand. "Telekinesis would be unethical. Also Jim doesn't have any. Jim is back to normal, and that is just fine with Jim." He gave it a few experimental jabs and frowned. "I'm Jim, right?"

"Dunno," Cain answered, "what day is it? Tuesdays you're Jim, Wednesdays you're Dave, Thursdays you're Suzie, who can tell anymore? Shoot th' damn ball, Jim-Dave-Suzie."

"If Jim talks in the third person, are you really talking in the third person? Or do you break that whole person thing wide open?" Reaching over, Wanda snagged her drink from the table and finished it off. "Oh. My drink is broken." She waved--more like flailing--at the waitress and beamed when she saw her get her another.

"This night is for deep personal reflection. For pondering the nature of identity, the reality of being . . ." Jim sent the white ball spinning into a yellow and blue, breaking them down the middle and driving them into opposite pockets, "but mostly for kicking your uncle's ass."

"Telekathingy!" Cain insisted, pointing at the table. "And hey, now that I'm your uncle, I can take you out back and beat the crap outta you and it's legal, ain't it? I got, what, twenty-six years to catch up on?"

"Twenty-four." Jim straightened, blue right eye mottling green, "We've only been related a month and you're already the worst uncle ever."

"Gimme a break," Cain drawled, lining up a shot at that annoying seven-ball, "I'm still tryin' to get it through my head that some woman slept with Chuck. Heh heh. Your mom slept with Chuck." Another shot and a miss resulted in a muffled epithet from Cain and another drink from the pitcher.

Wanda giggled and then leaned over to stare into one of the pockets of the pool table. "Should I buy Xavier some cigars? Congratulations, it's a boy! Cigar with a blue band wrapped around it. Course, Cain would need one since he's an uncle now. Or has been. Is? And la la la, not thinking about Xavier having sex, thank you very much." She covered her ears with her hands and nearly smacked Cain with the cue that was still in her hand.

"No. Nobody slept with the professor. Nobody. He and Aunt Gaby made me from a lot of intense thinking and meaningful emotional connections. Nobody was touching anyone or had a psychology conference and friendly drinks or gave me too much information years later or anything at all." Jim paused, one eye narrowing. "Does this mean I'm only half-Jewish?"

"Mazeltov!" Cain yelled, tossing the glass pitcher onto the floor with a loud crash. The entire bar grew silent for a moment, and the big man actually managed to look somewhat sheepish. "Whoops. That's weddings. As you were!" He waved over to Harry, who simply sighed and shuffled over to hand Cain a mop.

"I've strappy sandly things on, watch it!" Wanda cried, hopping up onto the side of the pool table. She very nearly toppled backwards but managed to catch herself at the last minute. The fact that she hadn't tripped over her own high heels yet was a testament to...something.

"I think somebody needs to cut you off, Wanda," Jim said, looking at her perch with concern. He was fairly certain she may also have been sitting on some balls, and nothing on earth was going to make him ask that aloud.

Cain dutifully mopped up the mess, sweeping the broken glass into a dustbin and in the process managing to bump the pool table enough times to knock the remainder of the balls into the pockets. When he finished, he looked up, then down at the table, then over to Haller and raised both hands in victory. "Winner!"

Jim looked at Cain, and then at Wanda, who was so far gone it looked unlikely she'd even noticed her seat being shifted two feet to the left.

"Um," Jim said in an overly cautious whisper that the vast amounts of alcohol he'd drunk ensured was not, "I know he outsmarted the God of Destruction, but this sort of makes me wonder about Cyttorak."

"Big freakin' pansy..." Cain grumbled, then his eyes lit up with a smile. "Heeey. Gives me an idea. Be right back..."

He shuffled for the back door of the bar, opening it up to let himself out into the barbecue area. A sharp flash of firelight accompanied by a barely-audible clap of thunder, followed by a deep groan made their way back into the building. After a moment of quiet, Cain shuffled back into the doorway, the black armor fading away into ash around him.

"Ow. If that ain't the fastest way to sober up ever... ever had a hangover compress into five seconds? Don't recommend it." He leaned on the pool table, then looked over at Wanda and grinned. "Someone oughta take you home, by the way. No shape to travel."

"I'm good!" Wanda protested, eyeing Cain warily before she slipped off the pool table. "Ouuf." She bounced off of Jim and then back into the table with a groan. "God, it is like a bad case of pong. The night is young, everyone's brains are where they should be, celebrate! Huzzah!"

Jim grabbed Wanda's hands and hauled her back into a sitting position before she could fall back on the velvet. "Yes. We're good. Everyone is good as long as nobody picks up any new voices for at least six months, because it took half an hour to find everybody for the CC list already." Releasing Wanda's hands, he turned to call over his shoulder, "Marie! This means you, too!"

"Only nice ones!" the Southern girl called out before continuing her tottering trek towards Nathan's table.

Cain chuckled, extending a hand to each of his friends' shoulders. "We're good, yeah. So let's finish a round," he raised a glass that Harry slid him from across the bar, "to getting through the day with our brains in one piece, yeah?"

Jim sniffed the air. "Does anybody else smell fire?" he asked, frowning at the hint of smoke clinging to Cain's hands before epiphany struck. With a wild grin and extremely incidental coordination he began rolling up his sleeves. "Hey, now that I'm getting along with me we want to try and make fire--"

"Bad Jim, bad!" Wanda lunged at him, managing to get him from behind. It took some effort, a lot of squealing on someones part but she finally locked her arms around his neck and legs around his waist. Giggling into his shoulder, she said, "Fire is bad, we'll get kicked out...piggy back ride, though? Less property damage. Maybe."

"It's not like she's ever set anybody flammable on fire . . ." Jim staggered under Wanda's weight, "Okay, okay, no burning!"

Cain chuckled into his beer as he watched Haller carry Wanda awkwardly away from the pool table.

"Kids these days..."

Three guesses on who's playing this drinking game and which one it is. No fair scrolling ahead for the answer!

"Abandoned a field trip."

Knock one back. "Revealed my illegitimate parentage."

Match. "Dropped everything to go on a spiritual quest to 'find myself'."

Pour. Drink. "Beat myself bloody."

Drink. Return the favor. "Left my spouse twice in one year."

"Bah, you're not even married." Drink. "And I was evil so much longer than you were, makes this hard. Um... crayoned my bedroom."

Pause. "Are we playing for all of time, or just our tenure as staff?"

"I say 'all time', cause I'm an evil bitch."

A drink. "Fine. Filmed and disseminated evidence of my evil exploits." A pause, and then half a drink. "Gave permission to share taped therapy sessions."

Pour. Drink. Pause. Repeat. "Ok, then. Biting." Half a shot. "Don't ask, you don't want to know."

"O . . . kay." Pour for both. "Donned black leather." Pause. "The non-sanctioned kind."

"Hah!" Shot. Smirk. "Got carded."

"Who told you about that?"

"These things get around, 'specially when they're that funny. Take the shot, sparky."

"Never mind. It's a short list." Shot. "Joined the Hellfire Club." Pause. "Not undercover." Pause. "I can't feel my fingers."

"See, I don't get why you need to qualify that. Are you saying you joined undercover and I mished...missed it?" Drink. "If you can't hold your liquor, we can shtop."

"Wasn't qualify. Was for emphasis. Dramatic." Pause, grope, and scrape the utmost bottom of an increasingly cloudy barrel. "Um, been . . . tall."

Blink. Blink. Shrug. Drink. "Been short, and you were both."

Gentle head bang against tabletop, sit back up, leave part of head behind, take a shot. "Dammit. I was the wrong person. Okay. Attacked teamma . . ." No go. Regroup. "Um. Made Charles sew my brain back togeth . . ." Certain backfire. Think, fail. Surrender completely. "Vodka still here. Out of evil."

"Oh, there'sh alwaysh more ebil. Evil. Um." Blink. "The vodka won't focush. It'sh shupposhed to focush." Slump back in chair. Pick up bottle. Pour out last two shots, the extra spills over on the bar. Raise glass in toast. "Irre-irrerr... thoughororly deshtroy own life then come back an' everyone refushesh to care."

"Focus is not the pint of vodka." Raise glass, pause, shudder. ". . . point." Shake of the head which seems to leave some of the head behind. "Yes. Here is for friends who refuse to punish even though you should pay and pay, and . . . pay." Clink glasses in toast. And then, dual-shot.

Glass meets bar with a 'thunk'. "Shecond all night drinking shession Shcott didn't get to join. He'sh gonna mock the hangover, I can tell."

"Sorry. Brainwashing club is Fridays. Bi-menthly. Monthly." And now notice belatedly you're losing against gravity because the world is already horizontal. "Okay. Promise. Let's make one."

Had that made sense? Did it matter? "Don' fall. Too drunk to catch you. An' yesh, the brain-washed club joinsh other fine Xavier'sh Inshtitutionsh."

Another headshake. "We have many special clubs. Old and proud and . . . I'm not falling. I can't fall. Until we make the promise. Important."

The tone was urgent, heartfelt. Leaning across the table, Jim took Jean's hand in his own and looked her deep in the eyes.

"We have to never play 'Never Have I Ever' again."