Forge & John | Sunday Night
May. 6th, 2007 08:15 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsForge. RX-7. John. Plasma TV.
'It is no harm to be an ass, if one is content to bray and not kick.' -Mark Twain-
Forge frowned, walking around his car. All it had taken to get it back to the garage was removing the hinges on the corral gate and driving it through - the tracks leading in were evidence enough of how it had been moved there.
Once he'd calmed down, Forge had realized that this was an exceptional prank. The car itself wasn't damaged in the slightest, not even a scratch on the paint. The body of the car itself, from bumper to bumper, was covered in brightly-colored decals and appliques. Rainbows, flowers, and technicolor designs had been perfectly applied to every surface of the normally-pristine car.
His initial reaction had been offended panic, before looking closer and realizing that what he had assumed was painted-on vandalism was a series of tiny vinyl decals, stuck on with a paint-safe adhesive.
Peeling them off was going to take some time, however. Time enough to deduce the culprit.
"Well, I see you found your car," John remarked, casually. He whistled low as he stepped forward, leaning his forearm on the hood of the RX-7. "..sure as hell never took you for a hippie though." He scratched a fingernail against one of the designs. Lucky bastard, he thought. "You're not expecting me to peel this shit off." It was more of a statement then a question.
"Right, and next I'll ask you to spot me while I pee. Some things you do not let other people fiddle with," Forge said sarcastically, peeling away another thin layer of vinyl. "No, this was one of the better-organized pranks I've seen. I've figured out the how, now I just need to figure the who and the why. But you," he stood up, hopping lightly on his good leg, "are not likely here about my car, I'll wager."
John smirked. "That's right, Tintin." He removed one of the decals before sticking it right back on the surface. Like a scab on the skin that you tended to want to peel off -- he just couldn't help it. "So the plasma. What's the deal, man?"
"Right, that. So I hear a rumor from a little bird - you know, the quarter-ton one that drinks coffee straight from the carafe - that you burned a couple holes in darn near every flat surface in your room trying to swat some bugs," Forge tried to keep the amusement out of his voice, but the image of the mansion's chief claimer of the "Mister Unflappable Badass" title being afraid of roaches made him smile. "So I was thinking this - you don't nearly have the control over your power you'd like folks to think you do. I mean, sure, you can blow up a cop car - but do you have any finesse? Ah, there's the rub, as Shakespeare would say."
He snorted out a laugh at hearing that. "What the fuck would I be needing finesse for?" John sparked a light and lit himself a cigarette. "Look, I was drunk that night, aight?" He took a short drag and blew the smoke out. "I could burn the wings off of a fucking butterfly." His brows furrowed slightly. Huh.
"So you won't mind proving it," Forge said offhandedly. He opened the car door and rummaged around in the glove compartment, before coming across an outdated bit of paperwork. Pulling out two pages stapled together, he scribbled a quick 'X' on one of them and held it at arm's length. "Let's see some control. Burn me a hole in the top page without scorching the second, Toaster Lad."
"What?" He stared at the piece of paper before narrowing his eyes at Forge. "How about I burn a good portion of that hair off of your scalp, John boy? Or better still--" He drew a flame out of the end of his cigarette. "How about I burn that decal off of your car, huh?" John smirked. "Let's try that for some real finesse."
"Big talk. Come on, Pyro," Forge taunted, "If you're scared, say you're scared. Or is your brag about mutant superiority just talk? Big words to cover up some kind of inadequacy? Anyone can be a glorified flamethrower, but you're supposed to be all about control. Without it, you're really not all that different from a flatscan with a gas can, are you?"
"I don't get what this shit's got to do with that 42 inch plasma," he said, intensifying the flame in his hand and increasing its size. "But it's your funeral, man." At that, he shot his hand out, directing the flame forward. It curved inwards as a massive wall of fire, stopping mere inches away from Forge. John had decreased its heat, of course. "...I'll be serious now," he chuckled. He manipulated the flame once again, turning it into a ball of fire before reshaping it into a flat square, almost the size of the paper in Forge's hand with what seemed like minimal effort on his part but it had taken a good deal of concentration. "...I get one fuckin' try?" Asshole.
"Pull it off, and you've got yourself an entertainment center," Forge said, stamping down the rush of adrenalin and fear. John acted the part of a loudmouthed bully well - almost too well to be legitimate. Having had years of experience on the receiving end of enough beatings to write a handbook on the subject, Forge had learned the importance of not backing down, but not to humiliate someone needlessly.
Especially when they were fully capable of turning you into a charcoal briquette.
John smirked and kept his eyes locked on the paper for a good half minute before turning his gaze away. "Can't do it now, rusty." With a flick of his wrist, the flame was extinguished. "It's dinner time. A man's gotta eat." He stubbed the remains of his cigarette out on the floor.
Forge nodded, folding the paper with a practiced gesture and tucking it into a pocket. "Another time, then," he replied as he turned and peeled a long purple decal away from the car's roof. "I swear, when I find the brilliant bastard behind this, I may have to actually apologize for whatever I'm supposed to have done. This is really quite elegant."
"And by that, I'm guessing you don't mean the design." He eyed the rainbows and then the flowers. "So who'd you dump?"
Forge thought about that. "Technically Jennie, but that was only after two dates and a kidnapping, and besides, it was a year ago. Nevertheless, this kind of complexity and precision practically screams OCD. Thanks, I think you just gave me my first suspect, Sherlock."
"Yeah, well, definitely the work of a female. Possibly a groupie." He looked the car over. "It's just too fuckin' cheerful." John gave out a wry smile. "You're quite the popular guy, Casanova. Must be tough."
"Yes, wherever do I find the time to be dashingly handsome, the idol of millions, and a supergenius? Oh, right, I don't sleep. Take notes, John. If you're lucky, you might grow up to be me someday."
"Right. Less talking and more peeling, Mega Man." John had worked his way over to the other side of the car and was removing another one of the transfers. "If we finish this up in time for supper, I'm going to burn you that stinkin' piece of paper and then you're gonna build me that entertainment center."
Face hidden behind the tinted windows of the car, Forge smiled. It wasn't a concession, but it was a step forward. "You've got yourself a deal, Allerdyce."
'It is no harm to be an ass, if one is content to bray and not kick.' -Mark Twain-
Forge frowned, walking around his car. All it had taken to get it back to the garage was removing the hinges on the corral gate and driving it through - the tracks leading in were evidence enough of how it had been moved there.
Once he'd calmed down, Forge had realized that this was an exceptional prank. The car itself wasn't damaged in the slightest, not even a scratch on the paint. The body of the car itself, from bumper to bumper, was covered in brightly-colored decals and appliques. Rainbows, flowers, and technicolor designs had been perfectly applied to every surface of the normally-pristine car.
His initial reaction had been offended panic, before looking closer and realizing that what he had assumed was painted-on vandalism was a series of tiny vinyl decals, stuck on with a paint-safe adhesive.
Peeling them off was going to take some time, however. Time enough to deduce the culprit.
"Well, I see you found your car," John remarked, casually. He whistled low as he stepped forward, leaning his forearm on the hood of the RX-7. "..sure as hell never took you for a hippie though." He scratched a fingernail against one of the designs. Lucky bastard, he thought. "You're not expecting me to peel this shit off." It was more of a statement then a question.
"Right, and next I'll ask you to spot me while I pee. Some things you do not let other people fiddle with," Forge said sarcastically, peeling away another thin layer of vinyl. "No, this was one of the better-organized pranks I've seen. I've figured out the how, now I just need to figure the who and the why. But you," he stood up, hopping lightly on his good leg, "are not likely here about my car, I'll wager."
John smirked. "That's right, Tintin." He removed one of the decals before sticking it right back on the surface. Like a scab on the skin that you tended to want to peel off -- he just couldn't help it. "So the plasma. What's the deal, man?"
"Right, that. So I hear a rumor from a little bird - you know, the quarter-ton one that drinks coffee straight from the carafe - that you burned a couple holes in darn near every flat surface in your room trying to swat some bugs," Forge tried to keep the amusement out of his voice, but the image of the mansion's chief claimer of the "Mister Unflappable Badass" title being afraid of roaches made him smile. "So I was thinking this - you don't nearly have the control over your power you'd like folks to think you do. I mean, sure, you can blow up a cop car - but do you have any finesse? Ah, there's the rub, as Shakespeare would say."
He snorted out a laugh at hearing that. "What the fuck would I be needing finesse for?" John sparked a light and lit himself a cigarette. "Look, I was drunk that night, aight?" He took a short drag and blew the smoke out. "I could burn the wings off of a fucking butterfly." His brows furrowed slightly. Huh.
"So you won't mind proving it," Forge said offhandedly. He opened the car door and rummaged around in the glove compartment, before coming across an outdated bit of paperwork. Pulling out two pages stapled together, he scribbled a quick 'X' on one of them and held it at arm's length. "Let's see some control. Burn me a hole in the top page without scorching the second, Toaster Lad."
"What?" He stared at the piece of paper before narrowing his eyes at Forge. "How about I burn a good portion of that hair off of your scalp, John boy? Or better still--" He drew a flame out of the end of his cigarette. "How about I burn that decal off of your car, huh?" John smirked. "Let's try that for some real finesse."
"Big talk. Come on, Pyro," Forge taunted, "If you're scared, say you're scared. Or is your brag about mutant superiority just talk? Big words to cover up some kind of inadequacy? Anyone can be a glorified flamethrower, but you're supposed to be all about control. Without it, you're really not all that different from a flatscan with a gas can, are you?"
"I don't get what this shit's got to do with that 42 inch plasma," he said, intensifying the flame in his hand and increasing its size. "But it's your funeral, man." At that, he shot his hand out, directing the flame forward. It curved inwards as a massive wall of fire, stopping mere inches away from Forge. John had decreased its heat, of course. "...I'll be serious now," he chuckled. He manipulated the flame once again, turning it into a ball of fire before reshaping it into a flat square, almost the size of the paper in Forge's hand with what seemed like minimal effort on his part but it had taken a good deal of concentration. "...I get one fuckin' try?" Asshole.
"Pull it off, and you've got yourself an entertainment center," Forge said, stamping down the rush of adrenalin and fear. John acted the part of a loudmouthed bully well - almost too well to be legitimate. Having had years of experience on the receiving end of enough beatings to write a handbook on the subject, Forge had learned the importance of not backing down, but not to humiliate someone needlessly.
Especially when they were fully capable of turning you into a charcoal briquette.
John smirked and kept his eyes locked on the paper for a good half minute before turning his gaze away. "Can't do it now, rusty." With a flick of his wrist, the flame was extinguished. "It's dinner time. A man's gotta eat." He stubbed the remains of his cigarette out on the floor.
Forge nodded, folding the paper with a practiced gesture and tucking it into a pocket. "Another time, then," he replied as he turned and peeled a long purple decal away from the car's roof. "I swear, when I find the brilliant bastard behind this, I may have to actually apologize for whatever I'm supposed to have done. This is really quite elegant."
"And by that, I'm guessing you don't mean the design." He eyed the rainbows and then the flowers. "So who'd you dump?"
Forge thought about that. "Technically Jennie, but that was only after two dates and a kidnapping, and besides, it was a year ago. Nevertheless, this kind of complexity and precision practically screams OCD. Thanks, I think you just gave me my first suspect, Sherlock."
"Yeah, well, definitely the work of a female. Possibly a groupie." He looked the car over. "It's just too fuckin' cheerful." John gave out a wry smile. "You're quite the popular guy, Casanova. Must be tough."
"Yes, wherever do I find the time to be dashingly handsome, the idol of millions, and a supergenius? Oh, right, I don't sleep. Take notes, John. If you're lucky, you might grow up to be me someday."
"Right. Less talking and more peeling, Mega Man." John had worked his way over to the other side of the car and was removing another one of the transfers. "If we finish this up in time for supper, I'm going to burn you that stinkin' piece of paper and then you're gonna build me that entertainment center."
Face hidden behind the tinted windows of the car, Forge smiled. It wasn't a concession, but it was a step forward. "You've got yourself a deal, Allerdyce."
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