The Morning After

January 01, 2016:

It's the first day of the New Year, and apparently the Greys and the Summers both know how to party hard. Kurt plays the straight elf.

Xavier's Institute - Kitchen

It's a kitchen.

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

THE NIGHT BEFORE:

So, Jean met a dragon. But that wasn't the most spectacular thing that happened last night.

The most spectacular thing was how in the world did these two come together to ruin and wreck the danger room?

"Hey Scott.." Jean calls, possibly the only thing that she remembers of that night, holding a bottle of rum with a slight sway as fire begins to roll and lick from her arms.. the flames catching her hair as she slowly rises from the ground like a fire sprite becoming.

"FUCKING CATCH!"

*CLACK!*
*CRACK!*
BZZT!*

There may have been screams.. screams from Hank as they wreck and ruin the console by going a little too far with a drunken spar..

TODAY:

Jean was busy at work, the stove controlling itself as it fries up the sausage patties and bacon, a bowl mixing at a constant stir for the eggs that were going to be made Ramsey style. The oven was fired to life to make the biscuits, and three coffee pots were presented for this mornings eatery. The robe that Jean wears is.. well, just a regular robe, her hair in a high ponytail to showcase the bruise upon her cheek and the black eye that had dotted her left. She even had a split lip down the little but.. no matter. She really didn't even know how that had gotten there in the first place.

Hand prints even bruise her wrist but she was fine to move, slippers half hung off of her as the smell of last nights liquor was still in her hair, unable to be washed off. And she kind of just stands there, in a daze.. mixing batters all working themselves out which were poured into waffle irons and pans alike to give people who arrive to eat a choice between belgium and pancake..

But she still stares..

A knife shoots from it's place as fruit aligns itself upon the platter to be chopped and shuffled into a bowl…

..yet.. she was just standing there. Trying to will off the drunk but too damned distracted to do so.

Kurt makes his way downstairs well-rested. While others may have partied their hearties out on New Year's Eve, Kurt actually spent time alone up in his room, reading some Thomas Merton, drinking some Scotch and enjoying a bit of warm fire. Unfortunately, he had to keep the grate in place so he didn't get to roast any marshmallows, but, on the whole, it was exactly what he wanted.

"Guten morning, Jean," he says, blinking as he watches the knife shoot around the room. "I will just stand over here for now, but I hope I can get some coffee soon, ja?" he says. Kurt's usual appearance probably seems even more strange today, as he apparently has taken to sleeping in a purple bunny rabbit onesie, the ears hanging down over his shoulders and his own tail poking out from under the fluffy one around the back.

"Really, in the middle of the Senintel training program at Max…?" It's the last thing that Scott remembers vividly before he and Jean went just a little above and beyond in the Danger Room. It's currently roped off and under repair.

Leaning against a nearby table in a pair of pajama pants and nothing else, he sports his side of the New Year's shenanigans - a large bruised shoulder, a bruise on his jaw, clawing marks down his torso and a slight limp in his step as he tries to figure out how to make the coffee work just a little bit faster in his system. ~Do you think we should ask whiskey?~ he asks Jean, not even wanting to speak out loud, though the thought does nothing for his headache as he rubs the side of his head with a slight groan.

Thank sweet baby jeebus the kids for the most art are either gone for the holiday or not in the school wing, because some time between last night and the ass crack of dawn Rose and Nate returned. The Tomahawk is sideways parked in the drive shrubbery, front door left open and both of them snoozing in a scatter of shed boots and socks and puddles of drool, a twist of limbs to keep warm because they did not close the fucking door. Manners, sheesh.

What did not evade Rose is the smell of cooking food that draws mismatched eyes to open and Rose to groan as she begins to untangle from Nate and their makeshift blankets of coats, falling from the bench to the floor with an audible smacking thud of mesh riddled flesh and weight impacting the floor.

"Oh…fuck me running." Palm presses to her temple as she staggers to her feet, the thigh highs lost in shape, one around her ankle, the other somewhere draped over a boot, the garters coming from leather shorts lined in lace slapping over thighs with the step forward that has her poking the hell out of Nate.

"Wakey wakey eggs and bakey." *Urk…* Nope, still kinda drunk. But when hand pushes her hair back there are claw marks across her face where a bitch tried to rip at her hair, a bruised jaw, and one eye already healing looks like it is fading from being swollen shut.

Hppy New Year!

It would be nice to blame bruises and cuts to a Danger Room session, or perhaps a battle with nefarious supervillains. But nope, the reason Nate (and Rose) are this battered was… well, Nate will blame it to Christmas. Not to Rose (she probably started it) or the guys that got seriously beaten up (they probably deserved it). It was Christmas. Nate hates Christmas.

Despite his lack of Rose speed-healing, he copes with hangovers better than the white-haired girl. Nasty headaches are nothing new for him. Or maybe he didn't drink so much. That he can't quite remember proves it was too much anyway. He rarely gets drunk because how that affects his telepathy, but well… once a year, right?

"Uh… food," he is hungry, as usual. No amount of hangover takes away that. "And coffee." Because, always, priorities. So that is how he stumbles into the kitchen.

"Morning.. Kurt.." Jean manages to find her voice in that moment of staring, her eyes suddenly peeling away to look at the blue priest with a slight frown. At least he wasn't all banged up and battered, so someone must have had a lovely night. "No no.. it's okay. It's all under control. Here." With her own cup in hand, she moves towards the coffee pot, pouring and refilling her own glass which was soon handed to Kurt. She'll make herself another one in due time.

Even as Scott fumbles about, Jean couldn't help but let out a slight grin. Her shoulders lifting in an 'I don't know' fashion. Ask whiskey? She could have -sworn- they drank something else.. or maybe it was the whiskey too.. or maybe..

*URP*

Ew! Coffee liquor.

Shoulders hunch as she limps her own way towards the stove, taking the eggs from the top to scoop them into a large bowl, mashing them just enough to retain it's fluff, pepper and salt added. "Oh god.. I think I broke my back.." Jean groans out, both hands soon removed as the spoon keeps spinning, her hands pressed at the small of her back as she twists and turns.. her one good eye blinking rather rapidly as she tries to get the other to catch up.

She didn't know who punched or hit who.. but dammit, even her knuckles were bruised.

"Morning.. *burp*"

Kurt Wagner winces a little as the others make their way in, battered and weathered and bearing the marks of a hard night's partying. Kurt's done his occasional bit of revelry in his day, but has found ascetisicm both more spiritually peaceful and more physically restful. He wasn't as young as once he was and there was no sense trying to keep up with young people or those with superhuman metabolisms.

He adds a bit of cream and sugar, pushing up onto a counter and folding his legs careefully underneath him, "I have a very large bottle of Advil upstairs, I could easily pop up and get it. Perhaps Jean could add it to the eggs!"

"Kurt…" Scott manages in a groggy tone before he peers a little closer at Kurt and then snickers. "You look like Ralphie." he finds himself admitting. Just might be a little drunk, still as he draws from his coffee again. They raided all the liquor they could find, honestly, he still tastes the peppermint schnapps on his breath as he he comes behind Jean to give her back a quick press, seemingly exactlt knowing where to press to help with that paticular injury. "I think I broke my everything else." he mutters painfully, his back matching his front with markings.

As the two younger ones come in, Scott lifts his mug. "Fuck who running?" he asks with a slight smirk as he shambles towards the coffee pot for a refill. "You two look like.. *urk* …had as much fun as we did." he manages as the smell of fresh food makes him nearly hurl right there, but he manages to hold it in as he reaches to try to steal a waffle from Jean's stare, needing the bread to help summon his stomach.

Rose pauses at the kitchen door and less then articulately tugs off the dragging thigh high from its slouch around her ankle, the straps snapping like a rubber band across knuckles with the looonnnggg yank that resembles the Leaning Tower trying to yank gum from its base… News Flash: It's the gum holding the rest of that tipping bitch up…

Flail! Rose catches herself with a few steps forward to land before a platter fo diced fruit. Cheeks puff and lips clamp, but Scott's inquiry has her counting to 5, breathing to be sure and then scanning him and then Jean with a twisted smirk. "Well, well. You guys made up." A wink of swollen eye and she moves in behind Nate to get coffee first and follow it up with much needed bread, pausing at the sight of Kurt.

"You either healed faster or stayed in and meditated for the rest of our health."

"You should see the other guys," mutters Nate, eyes squinting at seeing Scott and Jean also all beaten up. Did he miss a 'party' at the mansion? But Kurt seems fine. "You are up early," adds, glancing at Jean. It is not /that/ early, he just doesn't know what time it is right now.

The coffee is calling, but first he goes to the faucet and gets a glass. Just water for one of the painkillers he takes when the technovirus flares out. He has learned to keep a few pills in his pockets. "It was fun, up to the point where all gets blurry. Besides, I am 22 today. Says to my totally not fake ID card." Pause. He refills the glass and passes it to Rose. "I hate the Christmas holidays. I swear the fake cheer fries my psi-shields. I would switch all of them for a couple Halloweens."

A look was given to Kurt in sheer honesty. "Please, if you wouldn't mind?" She really needed it. Muscles ached where it had no business aching, though the firm press of Scott's hands actually helped her tired ol' bones. Okay, she wasn't that old, but this day made her feel like it. As well as an imp who was adding pressure to her shoulders and head.

It was actually jarring to hear Scott curse, the first of the new year, a slight smirk drawing upon her features as she reaches for a cup to pour herself a nice, cold glass of water. Ice added. Stealing waffles, it didn't mind her one bit, it was what she made it for. "Scott.. mind setting the food out from the pots?" She.. certainly didn't feel like it. The smell of bacon grease was slowly getting her to the point where the glass was dropped upon the counter top, Nate passed for a moment, shoulder squeezed, and then a sharp nod towards Rose was given. "Yup." Wink of her closed eye.. or maybe it was a twitch. But..

"O..oh.. oh god.." She couldn't make it, a quick dash and a slide towards the garbage can had her hurling like gusto with a sharp arch of her back and a.. 'BLURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRG'.

Twice in two days. Its a record.

"Happy birthday, Nate. Do you want a pony?" Scott asks with a grunt as he works his hands on Jean's back, trying to reverse some of the damage he caused, but he's no healer. That is until Jean is suddenly lurching away and Scott knows enough to get the heck out of the way when she bolts for the trash can to hurl. His own hand slaps over his mouth to swallow the bile that rises so that the Xavier kitchen isn't turned into a Vomitorium.

Normally he'd go over and hold Jean's hair back so it's not in the way when she horks, but in this case, he just drops wearily into a chair and slumps. "It sounds like a grand idea, Kurt." he manages, resting his hand on his own marked up and soon to be bruised abdomen.

There's a slight grin towards Rose as she mentions that they made up. But nothing else is offered as he drags himself up to start to set out the food that Jean so lovingly prepared.

Kurt Wagner raises an eyebrow at the sudden arrival of the vomit train, "Yes. Yes, I concur," he says. He vanishes with his trademark BAMF, leaving a hint of sulfur in the air, before returning in just a short few seconds with a jumbo sized bottle of Ibuprofen. "I get killer headaches after I overteleport, so it's always good for me to have these on hand, ja? Just don't overdo it, they can be hard on the stomach and, obviously, that is already something of a problem for you, my hungover friends," he says.

He goes over to take over some of the cooking, giving Jean a chance to let it all out while he keeps a steady hand on the wheel, "And, for the record, Ralphie's outfit was pink. Mine is purple. It is very different. I would say don't put your eye out, Scott, but I fear that you would take it as a cheap shot," he says with a hint of amusement around the fangs. "And, Fraulein Ravager, the form of meditation I engaged with last night is called sleeping in my own bed. And not pickling my innards. But you will recover in time, I am sure, the lot of you."

Rose was not about to announce Nate's birthday, but he did that one on his own. So, now that he wrought on his own further suffering she grabs for a mug and fills it with coffee, not taking a moment to test for heat, her hands feel enough in their cling for life upon the ceramic casing, trembling slightly as she brings it to her lips and duly ignores the resounding echo of vomiting or with holding said purging. Mismatched eyes even look to the furthest wall from it all as if there was something -very- interesting there.

"Pony?" A brow perks and Rose precariously hold her mug while doing the 'My Pony' dance towards the waffles and bacon, making a wrap of the mix like a breakfast burrito. "I think he has enough pony." Beat as she stares at Jean's hunched figure that convulses between heaves. "And I think I will do a store bought cake. Star Wars themed, Nate?"

A small smirk etches its way across features and she is sliding up aside Kurt with that bottle of pills. "I'll take four. Ever the lifesaver to my aching head, you are." Smiling up at him the look could be beautific if it was not for the battering, or at least as beatific as Ravager can get towards being angelic.

"I'm working on early preserving of my carcass."

"For breakfast?" Asks Nate to Scott, sounding serious. Somewhat slow, but he goes to help Jean and hold her while she empties the contents of her stomach. "Nightcrawler, whatever these… old folks with weak stomachs can eat, I will take. I do kinda hope Magneto doesn't decide to attack the school today, though."

Rose comments get an amused glance. "Do not drink all the coffee," he warns.

Yeah, Jean was done. She didn't have the strongest constitution and most could argue that she was a bit more straight laced than Scott. But stress relievers were definitely needed, the end of a terrible year needed to go out on a high note of good, drunken fun that she hadn't had in her college days, but still.. the fact that now? She'd rather be in her bed, snuggling and watching some Bizarre Foods show and near a toilet where she could easily wretch.

Thank goodness for Nate though, who manages to catch a bit of hair before it falls into that path of vomit, her hand reaching out to press against the wall as he keeps the rest of her right as rain. She couldn't really respond or say anything about the birthday, the ibuprophen, but there was an obvious thanks as she sticks out a thumbs up.

For a moment, the wretching seems to stop in which she lifts, hand pressing against the back of her mouth to keep the stank breath away from Nate so that he doesn't take after his 'mother' and vomitting in the trash. She does lean against him though, the glass of water slowly edging it's way and into the air towards Jean which was immediately taken in, swished, and spit into the garbage can which soon slides out of the kitchen. She was over-working herself, at this point. "Thank you Nate. And happy birthday."

Lean.

"I'll send a few students out for preparations for your birthday party. Then you and Rose can take the BMW for more celebrations." Yeah, they were pushing it on him now.

"Already put my eyes out, Kurt." Scott grumbles, a faint smirk of chagrin mixed with amusement at the shot across the bow as the blue fuzzy disappears and reappears with the much needed medicine of the Pharmaceutical Gods. Jean's the first one in line for medicine, once she's done with her worship at the trashcan.

Well, that's enough imagery of Rose as a pony, thank you. Scott rubs his head and holds up his mug in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, point made." he manages with a groan. Not that he can complain much about any of that, all things considered as he rests his head in a slumped position, setting the mug on the table and just trying to get the waffle down so it will settle in his stomach without it rising up in full revolt for the abuse he and Jean gave it last night.

Nate's comment causes Scott's head to rise and he stares at Nate through the ruby lens. "And you tell me I'm dry." he manages as he blows out a breath into his coffee, surprised the smell of it alone didn't knock him over. The idea of a store bought cake at least settles things a little. No more cooking for Jean today, if he can help it. Rising to his feet, he moves to settle an arm around Jean gingerly. "Come on you, take a load off, and I'll rub your feet while you rest." he adds as he tries to guide her to a chair. "I spent four months restoring that car, if you wreck it, I'm taking it out of both of your hides."

Kurt Wagner passes Ravager the bottle, "Distribute liberally," he says, handing over his precious pills. He starts working on rescuing the eggs and reaching over to get the bread with his tail. It was actually home-baked dark bread, pumpernickel that Kurt had baked himself. His tail handles the knife adeptly, slicing off hunks, "Toasted bread and eggs is both hearty and substantial. Butter sparely, though, both to appreciate the flavor of the bread and because teoo much grease will not help matters. Or use cream cheese," he says.

"There is also white bread if you would prefer jam," he adds, scrambling the eggs to make them as easy to swallow as possible, giving a nice seasoning of pepper and salt and a bit of shredded cheese. He considers adding some peppers and onions but, on second thought, keep it easy and soothing.

Jean and Scott really -did- make up, staring at Scott and then Jean, and then Nate as they all seem to be grabbing for the woman she just bites back her own rising desire to vomit and shovels a large bit of her waffle/bacon/sausage/egg taco in.

Sliding into a seat she takes her four ibuprofen and slides the same to Scott and Jean. She saw Nate take his own personal stash and doubling up was not always healthy. So he got none. The bottle gets settled back beside Kurt as he cooks while Rose pops her four and chews them down, chasing the chalkiness with coffee.

Scott's little threat over the BMW garners the slow slide of frigid and milky gaze both upon him, the smile narrowing their inset. "You're in no shape to be offering more spankin's." Snortlaugh….Sip!

Nate lets Scott take over supporting Jean and limps back to the table, slumping on the seat closer to Rose. Mug of coffee, check. Food… all he can reach before Rose claims it for herself. "Wait," he finally registers. "Birthday party? Uh…" seems like a bad idea. "Students? No, thanks. I don't celebrate, seriously."

Jean takes the offered help to her seat as well as a few ibu's for the road, popping some in and finishing it off with a huge swallow of water that was much needed. There wasn't much to say in that moment, as the food was soon dished out, Jean takes up Kurt's offer by grabbing a slice of bread, spreading it with cream cheese and making herself a healthy plate of that along with fruit.

"You should." Jean remarks to Nate, offering up a little smile. "Times have changed from whence you came, at least take light in that. A little happiness goes a long way. A very long way."

"At least accept a little bit of a celebration." Scott agrees with Jean as he props up her leg to remove her slipper and rub her foot as he shoots Rose a look. "The only person around here I might want to spank got enough of those last night." he says flatly as he returns his attention to tending to Jean's foot. "…good grief, woman, even your shin is bruised. How.." then he pauses. "Nevermind, I remember now." there's a faint flush to his face as he just busies himself with Jean's toes.

Kurt Wagner raises an eyebrow, "If there is a birthday going on, I shall put some candles on the toast, at the very least. And I am pleased things are going well again between the houses of Summers and Grey. We have enough troubles in this world without having it within the family," he says. He starts plating up for everyone, passing them out along the way. He's not being selfless, already setting aside a large piece of toast for himself and stealing occasional bites as he carries them around.

"Somtimes, though, love does hurt. Savor your bruises, if they are made with affection," he says with a roguish grin.

With a hip shimmy the chair she claimed is grind-clopping closer to Nate and her lean makes her shoulder bump his. "Yeah, don't be a sour puss. Find some happiness. Touch my feet though, and I will cut you." Brow waggle, mock gag as she plucks up her plate and allows the room some more space with a sashay of hips and an emphasizing flip to drag the mass of platinum hair over a shoulder.

Though in passing by Kurt if his pj's have those old school butt buttons, she flashes a kunai in a flick of wrist and undoes them. "Et tu Priestu!" Giggleskip! And she is down the hall heading for showers in dire need of a steam cleansing and a change of clothing.

Nate shrugs, swallows. Coffee, ouch. Burns. "Damnit," he grumbles. "No, look. I can celebrate any day. We decided to make the birthday today 'cause it had to be some day. I wasn't really born, anyway." And he is missing the point, indeed. What was this about? He grunts when Rose flees the kitchen. "So if I celebrate something, keep the kids of the school well away of it. We are a bad influence. Also, we can wait until we recover from yesterday party, hmm?"

"Agreed, Kurt." Jean lifts her empty glass in agreement to his words, her toes wriggling slightly in Scott's grasp, just the flexing of muscle there lightens the bruise just a touch and makes her eyes practically water from the pain of it all. Though, all of this talk of love and partying doesn't get her down, but it does make her want to show her freshly eaten bread again. Rose had the right idea to flee the kitchen, for Jean tugs her feet from Scott's lap, gathering her robe about herself as she takes a new coffee cup to refill. No creamer, no sugar. All black and bitter.

"We're not having the party here. We're going -out-." Yeah, Jean knows just the bar to take them two, to show them how she used to party in her horrid days. "So dress warm. No heels. I'll see the lot of you at ten tonight." Oh yeah. Someones going to party hard for the last time.

Scott snorts as Jean pulls away and he pushes himself to his feet. "You're doomed, Nathaniel." Scott says cryptically as he grabs a waffle to follow after Jean. Oh, she's not getting away that easy. She can grab the toilet later.

Kurt Wagner sighs as his onesie is slashed, "Now I'm going to have to spend the evening sewing those back on," he says, shaking his head. "Younglings and their mischief," he says, although with good humor. The back of the onesie is open to show some of his blue-furred back, the hoodie portion at least keeping the rest of it in place. "I hope you have a good time. I will leave out some muffins for when you return, to soak up all the alcohol. Don't forget to drink plenty of water," he says, before teleporting upstairs to change clothes and lay his onesie out for repair.

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