xp_logs | Angel and Kyle

x-firestar.livejournal.com posting in

After a rather depressing round of DDR, Kyle scares Angel into using her power for his gain. Food gain, that is.

Angel glared. She could swear the dance pad glared back at her. "You," she announced, pointing at it, "are evil. Evil! I know your schemes! You vile temptress...tempting thingie!" She glanced back up at the Dance Dance Revolution screen that showed her whopping score of D. Her shoulders slumped slightly in defeat. Now and forever, DDR would completely kick her butt.

It wasn't really -fair- to sneak up on someone after the DDR machine had just handed their butt to them and mocked them, but it was funny. Really really funny. And if pressed, Kyle was going to make the excuse that he'd skipped breakfast. He hadn't, but no one needed to know that.

He'd not bothered with shoes, and had trimmed back the claws on his toes so they didn't clickityclack on the floor, which helped as he crept up silently behind Angel, pulled the cardboard wrapped package out of his pants pocket, and pressed it to the back of her neck, snickering.

Startled, Angel shrieked and jumped as blue fire snapped to life around her before going out a second later. Turning on her heel, she nearly stumbled over the DDR pad. "Kyle Tyler Gibney!" she yelped, staring at him while she clutched her chest. "Heart attack! Me! You! What?"

Kyle didn't answer. He couldn't, he was doubled over, laughing hard enough to nearly knock himself over. And then he did fall over, waving his arms feebly in the air and rolling onto his back. "Look on your face. So perfect. I wish I had a camera..."

"Gibney!" Angel growled, still incapable of full sentences. She kicked him in the ankle and waved her arms around before pausing with an incredulous look on her face. "Crumbs! In my shirt! What was that, you insane person!"

Kyle picked up the fallen cardboard pouch and it's contents, and held them up to Angel. "Lunch! I was starving, and someone had some stinky noodle stuff in the microwave in our suite, so, well, you make microwaves and..." He rolled to a sitting-up position, grinning. "See, it totally worked too. It's all cooked."

"...you just totally used me to cook your lunch." Unlike previously, Angel's voice was suddenly calm and level. One hand on her hip, she bent over slightly and palmed his hot pocket. There was a gentle whoosh and when she lifted her hand, the food in his hand was black and charry, already starting to crumble into bits.

For a second, Kyle stared at the charred Hot Pocket in his hand, and attempted, with no success at all, to look like a beaten puppy. He couldn't hold the expression for long at all, and he broke into another fit of laughter, pulling a plastic bag out of one of the many pockets in his cargo pants and dumped the charred remains into it. "Damn. I guess this means you don't want to have lunch?"

Angel stared at him, arms akimbo over her head, for a heart beat. "Oh my God, I hate you so much," she sighed, letting her arms fall limply against her side. "Because since you just mentioned, you know, me eating as well, I'm guessing that wasn't your only one?" Sulking, she slumped to the floor, looking for all the world like a three year old who had her ball stolen.

After his failed attempt to look pathetic, Kyle wasn't going to dare try to look innocent. He just produced another two Hot Pockets from his, well, pockets, and offered one out to Angel. "You get the Quesadilla one. Too spicy for me. I have Meatball."

Turning the Quesadilla tasting hot pocket over in her hands, Angel studied it for a second and then wrinkled her nose. "Ugh, not all the way cooked." Reaching over she grabbed his and held them up together. "Hang on a sec, though..." Tongue sticking out slightly, she concentrated. This time, she gently coaxed the microwaves up, not quite into flames (charred hot pocket...er, pockets were nasty). After a second, she nodded and then handed his back. "All cooked through. I hope."

Kyle did not stuff a third of his Hot Pocket into his mouth at once. But only because that ran the risk of molten cheese in his mouth and throat, and that was a waste of food. Otherwise, he was hungry enough to have done so. He did take a careful bite, and gave Angel a thumbs up. "See, you should totally join the X-men." He said, grinning widely.

She had been reaching to turn off the X-Box when he said that, the Hot Pocket clenched by one corner with her teeth so she didn't get any cheese on the machine. She blinked and nearly spat her food out before she was able to reach and grab it one hand. "Bwah?" Angel asked. "Because I can microwave food? I mean, that would be a totally neat thing to have on one of their mission things...'Oh no, this is dire! His blood sugar is down, we need hot food, stat!' 'But it's cold! Oh what are we to do? We are doomed.' 'Hold that thought, I can save the day! *fwoosh!*' 'You're our hero!'."

"No, but you know how they have code names?" Kyle said, taking a preemptive step back. This was going to end in something being thrown, he just knew it. "I know what yours should totally be."

"...you think my potential in the future X-Men trainee name should be Hot Pocket?" Angel asked, staring at him in confusion. "But...but that's a food!"

"Oh, not Hot Pocket." Kyle said, grinning hugely. "That's just lame. And it could get confusing, I mean, are you a tasty one, or like, one of those nasty lean ones? And it's kind of hard to say in a fight. But you could be Quesadilla Hot Pocket, and we could just call you Quesa!"

After he had started talking, she had gone ahead and taken a large bit of her lunch but at the end, she inhaled abruptly, about to start laughing. Angle choked and grimaced--for someone else, it would have been the pain of having hot cheese getting stuck in her throat. For her, it was just kind of the pain from abruptly swallowing so quickly. "I think you have food on the brain, Kyle," she giggled and then coughed. "Ow."

Kyle mocked picking up a phone and holding it to his ear. "Hello? Hello? Oh. I'm sorry, no, she's right here." He pantomimed handing the imaginary phone to Angel, saying "It's the pot, says he has a call from a black kettle for you."