Frank & Clint | Thursday Evening (backdated)

[x-hawkeye.livejournal.com]

The suitemates give studying a valiant attempt... and then move on to more interesting forms of entertainment.

Clint frowned at his history paper - he didn't really care about Catherine the Great. Mostly, he was irritated because a lot of his searches on Google had turned up weird horse references and that wasn't helpful at all. Even his searches of official, scholarly resources weren't as useful as he would've liked. "You think I can switch over to Frederick the Great instead? He's Prussian, right? That's practically the same thing as Russian."

"Sorry, man," said Frank wryly. "Think you're stuck with the crazy horse chick." He glanced down at his math homework and tried not to growl. "Although if you want to try and explain... this... to me again, I'll help you out with 4chan's favourite historical figure." He didn't hold out much hope of it working, though. He would never get his head around differentials, he really wouldn't.

"I need a break from this, anyway," Clint said, shutting his laptop and shifting over so he could see what Frank was working on. "Okay, so..." Shifting the book around, he checked over the assignment to make sure he remembered it correctly, then set about explaining the process to his suitemate. He sort of hoped it made sense - he knew sometimes he didn't explain things as well as others might, given it all just sort of clicked in his head and telling someone something worked a certain way just because it did... wasn't really helpful. "Did that make sense at all?"

Frank looked at the paper in front of him, then Clint, then the paper again, and then finally the table as he sank his head onto it. "No," he said, voice muffled. "But that's okay. Clearly my insanely dumb math brain is in open revolt and there will be no more thinking tonight." After a moment he sat up again. "Okay. That's it. I am declaring homework done for the night," he said, closing his books. "Done! Over! No more with the learning."

"You should talk to Miss Frost tomorrow," Clint advised, laughing a little. "She's better at explaining stuff than me, anyway." He poked at his laptop, then said, "But dude, I agree. No more homework for now." He was going to need to work on that essay, but he could do it later. "You wanna play that new racing game?"

"Yes. Yes I do. Kinda want coffee too. You want some?" He paused, remembering who he was talking to. "...Or possibly a soda? Think we have soda. Hang on, I'll check." He headed over to the kitchenette, and completely by accident knocked his books into the wastepaper bin that was coincidentally next to the desk. "Oh dear," he said, deadpan. "My books have gone missing. What a tragedy."

A beat.

"So yeah, coffee slash soda?"

Clint laughed. "Sure, soda would be great." He fished Franks books out of the trash can and piled them up on the floor next to it, then started setting up the console so they could play the new game. "Can you grab the chips while you're in the kitchen? And an apple or something?"

"Sure," said Frank. He wandered into the kitchen and pottered about for a bit, rummaging through the cupboards in search of chips and fruit, returning a few moments later with the treats on a plate and a bottle of soda. The noise of the kettle quietly rumbled in the background. "Do we have any of that caramel popcorn left?" he asked, vanishing back into the kitchen.

"I dunno," Clint called after Frank. "We might." He was flipping through the setup for the game, picking the track and how many computer controlled opponents they were going to be facing. "Billy might've eaten it all, though." Reaching over, he grabbed the apple his suitemate had brought back and took a bite, chewing almost thoughtfully as he waited for the other boy to get back. "We might need to make a supply run or something. Miss Dane probably has better stuff in the main kitchen than we've got here."

"Tempting as that is, considering the way that woman cooks, I think we're okay." He returned with a still-mostly-full bag of caramel popcorn and a cup of coffee, placing both on the table. "Should make it till the end of the week. We can drag Billy along and do it convoy style." Frank picked up his controller, and settled himself into the couch. "Which we may need to do anyway, considering how much shit we eat. You think the X-Gene includes a bottomless-stomach mutation, or is it just teenage-dom?"

"A convoy'd probably be a good idea," Clint said, nodding. "And I dunno - seems kind of universal, from what I understand. I mean, it's possible our mutations interact with our metabolism to make us eat a lot more, but I don't think either of us have anything along the lines of what normally increases mutant metabolism?" He'd done some reading on mutations and was looking forward to eventually taking genetics with Dr. Grey-Summers. "So I'm just gonna go with it being the fact that we're both teenaged guys."

"Check out the big brain on you, dude!" Frank grinned at Clint as he picked up his controller. "No wonder you understand crazy-person-math. You sure you ain't a super-genius too, besides having awesome eyes?" The food was consumed and the game was played. This, Frank thought contentedly, was how socialising was supposed to be done. With sarcasm, junk-food, and as little emotional interaction as could be reasonably arranged. "Seriously, though. Convoy. This must be done," he said, eventually.

"Hungry again already?" Clint asked, pausing the game with a grin. "Billy should be back in a little while. We could head downstairs whenever he shows up. Just don't let him try and cast a spell for any of the food. The last time he did, we wound up with potatoes everywhere for weeks."

"I heard," replied Frank, grinning back at Clint. "In rhyme, in fact. Dude's got a wicked Doctor Seuss buzz when he wants to." He delved into the caramel popcorn. "Again. Super teen metabolism. Be glad I haven't gone in for cannibalism yet, that's all I'm gonna say."

"Isn't eating vegetables kind of like cannibalism for you? I mean, with the whole 'tree' thing?" Clint tossed his controller down and reached for his apple, taking a bite as he looked over at Frank.

Frank thought about that for a minute. "Don't think so," he said eventually, frowning. "I mean, ferals eat meat still, right?" There was more popcorn consumption. "Still. Good excuse to avoid salads for a while."

"Yeah, but ferals don't turn into animals. If Sharon ate a cat, that'd be cannibalism. So I guess you'd have to eat a tree," Clint offered. "Just steer clear of those and you should be good to go on the green stuff."

"I'll try and restrain the urge," said Frank dryly. He unpaused the video-game again. "Now come on. I can't kick your ass if you keep distracting me with dietary discussions."