Nathan and Ororo, Friday night

[x-cable.livejournal.com]

A cowboy meets a punk on their way to a costume party.


"That's a mighty fine hairdo you've got there, little lady." The drawl was perfect, as was the tilt of the hat - and the rest of the costume. All the man slouched against the wall would have needed to complete the picture of the perfect cowboy was period-appropriate weapons. And he'd considered it, but, well, school party and all. Nathan grinned at Ororo, and adjusted his hat. "Almost enough to make a man's heart flutter."

"You are too kind," came the answer, complete with a smirk that made the wearer of it (and a stiffly be-gelled mohawk) look like a teenager again. "You don't look that bad yourself, old man."

"I reckon that the Professor's like to have a heart attack when he sees you," Nathan went on, sticking to the drawl. "You might consider giving one of them there redheaded doctors a heads-up."

Ororo laughed. "He has had larger shocks than this before. Compared to people coming back from the dead, this should be nothing."

Nathan pushed himself away from the wall, ambling - there was no other way to put it - over to her. He doffed his hat, then offered his arm. When he spoke again, however, he'd dropped the drawl, if not the deadpan look. "I want to be in line of sight to see people's faces when they see your hair."

She slipped a hand through his arm, allowing him to lead the way towards the party. "Always the gentleman."