Chapter 10: The Grinch
Speaking of the Stepford Cuckoos, one Esme Stepford kept a sharp lookout as she slinked around the escalator. The sisters, accompanied by Sam Guthrie who took the place of Emma Frost (she was preoccupied and all), went to see a new Christmas movie. Of course, a stop by the mall was needed, what with presents to buy and sales to be had. While Celeste, Sophie, and Mindee prowled the shops, Phoebe--who admitted her crush on the mansion’s favorite down-home boy--spent an awful lot of time hanging with the flustered Sam. And in the shuffle, Esme slipped away.
Unlike her sisters, she had grander goals in mind. Forget the shopping and movie watching and boy chasing--pointless rubbish, all of it, and Esme never believed in pointless rubbish. Why live like a human when you were clearly much better? All her childhood she wished to be normal, but now, with a new cause guiding her, she shed her immature wants and turned to a higher calling, one which would free mutantkind from oppression.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a boy in a wheelchair rolling up to her. His distinctive size, big Macy’s bag, and none too stealthy disguise disgusted Esme, but what can you do when you’re a genius dealing with simpletons?
With sweetness belying her thoughts, the wayward Stepford spread her arms out and enveloped the boy. “Timmy!” she squealed in mock delight.
“Damn you,” the boy very quietly sneered.
Having garnered a series of warm smiles from passersby, Esme got behind the wheelchair and started pushing it toward the parking structure.
“Do you have my Christmas present, Toad?”
The disguised Toad patted the bag.
“Good. How many this time?”
“Last you for months. Get you a big Kick for a long time.”
“Idiot,” she hissed into his ear, “I said how many, not how long.”
“You so smart, then you count for yourself.”
Angrily, she snatched the bag from Toad and backed away. “Don’t you get lost on your way out.”
“And don’t ruin the plan,” he warned. “Master doesn’t like failure.”
Master… right. She was surrounded by idiots.
Before her sisters could get suspicious, Esme left Toad to his own devices and sought to rejoin her entourage. There was plenty to do and not enough time.
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Lorna took a hit.
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A shot glass thunked onto the counter. Shifting of a bottle, then amber liquid refilled the shot glass. Kitty stared at the whiskey for a split second before throwing it back and sighing at the warm burn.
“You drinking alone or can anyone else join?”
Kitty smiled at the newly arrived Rachel and plucked another shot glass from the cupboard. “If you feel like standing up to Logan’s wrath, then be my guest.”
The red head’s eyes bulged. “Oh no, you didn’t-”
“I did, but I’m considering this more of a borrowing with intent to compensate after a lengthy period of time.”
“You stole Logan’s stash,” she muttered. Surreptitiously, she glanced around the communal kitchen, saw no one else, and glared at Kitty. “Well?” she grinned, tapping her shot glass, “What are you waiting for? Ol’ grizzle to find out?”
The two women giggled as they consumed the ill-gotten alcohol. There’d been enough crying, reminiscing, and arguing today for Kitty, and to just kick back and live, that brought a spark to her heart.
Well, that is, before she thought about the act of kicking back and living. Illyana’s last wish, and here she was doing it, but whenever she thought about Illyana, those sad eyes and gasping last breaths tore her sails asunder.
How could she live when her best friend’s dying moments haunted her?
“Hey, Pryde,” said Rachel as she wiggled her empty glass, “Didn’t tell you to stop.”
Pulling herself out of the funk, Kitty kept the booze flowing but the laughter came in short supply. Rachel, who bumped into Kurt who talked with Logan, knew of Kitty’s unhappiness and was actually unhappy herself. Why, you ask?
“Kitty, am I your friend?”
The question out of left field brought the brunette’s mind back to earth. “Of course you are,” she replied, unhesitant.
“Then how come you didn’t tell me?”
Kitty didn’t like where this was going, so she played dumb... which despite everyone trying it, never worked and only made matters worse. “Tell you what?”
“About Illyana. About why you’re depressed. About why you’re drinking yourself stupid in the kitchen. Except for the drinking part, I had to hear everything from Kurt. Now you’re pretending like nothing happened? I thought we were closer than that, Kitty. If you need help, you know I’m here for you, no questions asked.”
“You can’t help me, Rachel. What’s the use of heaping my problems onto you? I love you too much to do that.”
“So you don’t even tell me?!” the red head snapped. “I’m watching a bottle of whiskey help you! How come I can’t?! I can telepathically dull the pain! I can make you forget!”
“It’s not personal-”
“Yes it is! It’s as personal as you can get because you personally told me nothing!”
Kitty let out an exasperated breath. Maybe the whiskey went to her head, but if Rachel wanted the truth, she could have it in spades. “This is exactly what I tried to avoid with you. You always get like this, Rachel, all yelling and shouting and none of it helps. You think throwing your powers around is going to fix everything, but it doesn’t. Say you do make me forget about Illyana. Next time someone mentions her, I’m going to get curious, ask around, break down, and end up even worse than before.”
“That won’t happen because-”
“NO. It will because I’m not the kind of person to let things go and I would never betray Illyana’s memory like that.”
“Then tell me how I can make things better.”
“YOU CAN’T!” screamed Kitty. When the outrage left her, she shrunk back into her seat and softly said, “I loved Illyana...”
“Everyone knows that.”
“No one knows I loved her,” the brunette sighed. “I didn’t want to just be friends.”
Rachel blinked, confused. “What do you mean you didn’t want.... Oh.”
Marvel Girl--the woman had a mind to move mountains, but when it came to the obvious, she fell on her frontal lobe.
“Why didn’t you tell her, Kitty?”
Did someone hear a brain hit the floor? Quick, clean up, aisle four!
“Hello? Peter? The rest of the X-Men?” groaned a frustrated Kitty. “And I’m sure Illyana never felt that way about me. I was her sister, not her girlfriend. Face it, the relationship would’ve awkward at best and apocalyptic at worst.”
“So.... you got with Peter because he was the next best thing?”
Just smearing the mess, wasn’t she? “How can you say that, Rachel?!”
“What? It’s a valid question. If you loved Illyana then why did you hang onto Peter? And Pete Wisdom too.” Rachel’s mind connected a bunch of random, madcap dots, fitting pieces where they shouldn’t have fitted. “Ah, wait, I get it now! You loved Illyana but couldn’t have her, so you convinced yourself you loved Peter. When Peter was gone, you used Pete as a substitute for Peter. Then, when Pete wasn’t close enough to Peter, you broke up with him!”
The loud slap of a forehead hitting the kitchen counter reverberated through the halls.
“Poor Kitty, that sounded painful. Here,” said Rachel, pouring her friend another shot, “I don’t think Logan will mind anymore. We had too much already.”
A mumbled thanks came up from under the pile of hair. As Kitty, head still down, fumbled for the drink, she latched onto something distinctly un-shot-glass-like. Felt more along the lines of Rachel’s dainty hand. Kitty peeked up to see a smiling red head.
“Rachel, where’s my whiskey?”
Almost heard gears grinding the way Rachel flipped dispositions. “If we hurry, we can catch Harry’s three-for-one!”
Something unsettling was the impetus behind that smile, but having imbibed so much of Logan’s whiskey, Kitty couldn’t put her finger on it. Why the sudden happy-happy mood? What happened to the last shot of booze? And Harry’s had three-for-ones tonight?
Rachel tightened her hand on Kitty’s and whisked them out the kitchen door without cleaning their mess. While drinking in and of itself never solved anything, overindulging with a friend tended to chase the bad memories away for an extended period of time. If nothing else, drinking with a friend usually resulted in good stories to tell.
Two hot, single, female, semi-depressed, emotionally unstable, half-inebriated, famous mutants hitting up a bar in the dead of night? Stuff legends were made of.
Logan walked into the kitchen and grimaced at the near-empty bottle mocking him from the counter. He sniffed the air and his frown deepened.
“Kid’s got some explainin’ to do.”
Like a tired father, he shoved the dirty glasses into the dishwasher and polished off the remains of his whiskey. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and chuckled.
“Least she didn’t find my good stuff.”
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- To be continued...
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