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Meet the Drakes'; Bobby and Julian
Topic Started: Aug 30 2009, 07:24 PM (1,092 Views)
Bobby Drake
Unregistered

Date: 10 August 09
Time: 9am
Place: On the train headed for Port Washington, Long Island





Bobby didn't mind that sort of travel. Trains. It was fast and had a greater potential for not being crowded. And with a travel buddy like Julian no one would want to sit near the both of them. The seating made it so the two of them didn't have to sit next to each other. The two seats next to one another and then the opposing seats facing them helped to give them stretching room directly across from them.

They were on their way to see the Iceman's parents. After all the bugging and nagging his mother did he finally caved in. But he wouldn't be without backup. Julian was his room mate and one of his close friends. Of course, being the manly men they were, they'd most likely never admit it to one another. But it was true enough. The telekinetic was lightening up a bit. They both had went through a lot together. Having one another as a room mate, drug addictions, rehab, the end of the world, and now a force which would be more frightening then Apocalypse... Bobby Drake's mother.

That was a joke. His mom wasn't really that bad. Unless she was angry with him. Which wasn't too often. At least not until he went to stay with the X-Men at the institute. It was no problem while he was there for school and to safely get a high school diploma and education. But it got to be a problem when he was training his powers. Developing them, becoming part of the squad teams, joining in on the missions. Telling his mom he made full-fledged X-Men would surely cause an argument.

Both of his parents and the iced mutant never saw eye to eye. Especially when it came to the subject of being a mutant. They loved him sure. They were just scared. When Bobby first got his powers he was scared too. But then he was saved, by the professor. Near the end of July he had done it again. It was great to have the professor back. His guidance and sound advise gave him the courage to agree to go and visit. That and having a little backup

Leaning into his seat and giving a tired sigh Bobby was admittedly tired. They had to wake up and hop on a train really early, and they probably wouldn't get back until late. “Thanks for coming with me again, dude. I appreciate it.” Giving him a nod of gratitude, looked up at the rack that held his pack. It was only a day trip but he stuffed in some snacks and things to keep them occupied on the trip. Julian was right in their first initial conversation. The direct route from where they were to where they were going was destroyed. But there was another route that was longer and would take a few hours to get in. Going around instead of through.

It was a pain, but it was still better then the Greyhound bus.
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Hellion(old)
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Julian’s head still rang with the sporadic echoes of the cluttered chatter and the ropey instrumental smatterings that pieced together the memories of his eighteenth birthday party, held three nights previous. The gentle clack of wheels hitting rail, rumbling in burps and fits up through the car, seemed to repeat the choppy mutters in distorted whispers, and the lulling list of the train and the way the world splattered past the airtight carriage in confused messes of worn concrete and jilted greenery was hypnotic. He imagined, slid halfway down his seat, one leg slumped across the claustrophobic space, the other foot lazily propped on its opposing knee, face melting into his palm (since bad posture was another little fuck you to his patrician upbringing) that falling asleep here would be far too easy, and he wondered how many people missed their stops that way.

So his parents had bought him a yacht. To the guileless observer, this might have seemed like some jaw dropping, mind-blowing, generous display of parental affection, but it had infuriated the teen. They’d presented it to him at the party… on the deck of the damn thing… making grand sweeping gestures to try and encompass with flailing desperation precisely how vast and amazing it was, and spat out a well-prepared speech just for the occasion, about how proud they were of his achievements and how far he’d come over the past eighteen years. He’d accepted it through gritted teeth bared in a stiff grin to scattered bouts of applause, watched forced smiles peel themselves across botoxed lips and heard the stinted mutters. They were jealous… but that was the point really wasn’t it? The only damn point. Look how fucking fabulous we are.

One massive popularity contest.

It was sickening. He’d actually felt bile smack against his uvula, twisting itself around his oesophagus. His parents hadn’t even allowed him to invite along any of his friends from the mansion, you know, since they were all filthy mutants and so far below the class line that they couldn’t possibly attend a ridiculously pricey birthday party without causing a scene. Surely not.

As if to dump a sack load of salt on the wound and grind it in there just a little bit more, they’d invited Bailey along. Said she could be his escort for the night, like he’d needed a crackhead hanging on his arm smirking at him, too-white veneers covering up the gaps he couldn’t see gaping underneath that glistening smile. Everyone looked perfect, this polyfilla existence, cleaning up the cracks until more appeared and then just filling them in again some more. She’d looked perfect too, like he remembered her, but glazed and polished and just halfway there. Maybe she’d always been like that, and only now in retrospect could he spot the holes.

Doubtless, he’d been like that too, but the world grew a whole lot bigger when you were thrown into the deep end and had to learn to swim before the water popped all your bronchiole like swollen zits. Julian’s deep end had been drugs and stations falling out of the sky, and total world war, which should have been everyone’s. But no. Oh, no no. The socialites and high class couldn’t possibly have been affected by something so trivial as the goddamn Armageddon.

Julian pressed finger and thumb to his eyes, blotting out the scenery that bled in shearing blurs past the window. He felt suspended in limbo, caught in the midway between this way and that, no money to do anything with, no sense of direction to follow. He wasn’t even sure what was going on with Sofia anymore. Since everything had gotten really intense and crazy their time together had been sparing, fleeting and short-lived… and she was spending a lot of time with that Gale dick, which was pissing him off. But they had managed to steal a few chaste moments- they'd spent evenings watching the sun crash-land, swapped saliva, exchanged meaningful looks across the classroom, every now and then, during boring lectures particularly... like algebra. One sleepless night he’d slipped out of his window and flown around to hers and they’d found a cosy little divot somewhere up on the roof to curl up in together, at least until one of the telepaths had psionically bellowed about how they were breaking curfew and if they didn’t return to their beds immediately they’d spend the whole of the following morning cleaning dorm toilets with their toothbrushes. Fun times.

“Thanks for coming with me again, dude. I appreciate it.”

Right. The Drakes. Julian glanced back over at Bobby and caught the slight inclination of his head, and shrugged. “Mm.”

Rifling past all the jokes and the ribbing, Julian was kind of looking forward to something that didn’t involve dire straits, saving helpless idiots, coming within millimetres of losing some vital extremity… and that didn’t have anything to do with the shallow dregs of society and their squabbling and whining and turning the whole of their existence into a menial farce based solely upon popularity and price tags.

“So, any ground rules?” He straightened in his seat, shifting away from the slouch and the glassy-eyed window glare. “You haven’t really given me a great deal of info. Shoes off inside? Any subjects to avoid at all costs? Do they know I’m a mutant? It’s not really publicly broadcast; my parents like to ensure that little part of their lives is kept low key.”
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Bobby Drake
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Bobby had to think for a moment when Julian asked him about the ground rules. Scratching his ear for a moment the iced mutant replied, “Well… They didn’t ask me if you were a mutant. But I can’t really assume that they just don’t know. It’s most likely they do know you are, but probably won’t say anything. Pretty much mutants is a taboo subject at my house. They don’t like that I am one and like your folks they don’t want it publically known.”

Giving a sigh with a quick stretch he continued, “As for house rules… hmm. You can keep your shoes on in the house unless you got mud on them. No feet on furniture. Use coasters, my mom hates the little moisture rings. I tell she’s too obsessive about it. Not really much to home. It’s more of the conversations that get us. Cause somehow it always ends up to me and my mom arguing. We love each other don’t get me wrong. But she’s very insistent on not using my powers and not being a mutant.”

The icy mutant placed his hands behind his head for support and kept going. “Hehe, last time I was there my dad needed a case of soda chilled for a party we had. My dad filled the cooler with water to speed up the cooling process and went to get the ice. I snuck in and dipped my fingers, made the water nice and icy. After all the party guests left my mom came in with, ‘Robert Drake!’ I was like ‘What?’ My dad was, ‘Honey he just chilled the water. Not like her slide around on one of those ice beam things.’ Oh man. Then the conversation went on about the ice beams.”

Bobby chuckled at remembering that, it was one of several hysterical conversations he remembered having with his folks about him being a mutant. “Our fights don’t usually get to bad it’s just my mom laying on the Jewish guilt. Which sounds stereotypical, I know, but it actually happens in my house. Most of the time it’s not too bad, the arguments are almost always started by me so it’s my own fault.” Giving a small shrug as he spoke again, “Maybe it was living in the garage that made me argumentative.” He gave his friend a small smirk.

Life at the Drake house hold really wasn’t that bad. They fought and had fun like any normal family. It was just the subject of the arguments that separated them from the rest of the block. And Bobby knew good and well that it was just because they cared about him and wanted to keep him safe. They just had a hard time dealing with him being a mutant. He hoped it was something they could eventually learn to deal with. But things took time, yet this was taking too damn long.

The Iceman yawned while stating, "We should be getting there in another few hours or so."
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A smirk pulled on his lips, Julian glancing at Bobby as the thermokinetic related little family tales that felt so far removed from his own experiences and yet concurrently sounded way too familiar, like they clashed and correlated in some strange familial juxtaposition.

“Ugh, man…” he pulled a face, folding his arms, shifting against the back of the chair in an effort to get comfy in the severely lacking space, “Don’t talk to me about parents and powers. They see a flicker of green and bam, you’d think I just punched a small child in the freaking face or something. They’re kind of weird about it though, sometimes I don’t know whether they tolerate me at all because making a fuss and booting me out the door would kick off a massive press frenzy, you know; ‘Keller heir disowned as ousted mutant’ or whatever… or that they’re more controlling for that same reason. I dunno.”

Like either idea was comforting.

“They’re media paranoid. My dad loves the sight of his own face being fawned over and having the papers fapping over him like he’s the deified manifestation of corporate bullshit, having his reputation smeared would be like, hell, worse than Grandmom dying, probably. But frankly, beyond all that shallow surface stuff I don’t know them at all. But hey, that’s what happens when you get dragged up by a nanny and see your parents for like two hours or less every day.”

As if realising he was getting dangerously close to expounding on his life story Julian shot Bobby a hard look, frowning and clearing his throat, looking for a strategic stopping point.

“A few more hours? Stuck in this crap bucket with you? Christ. I’m gonna go insane. You know what I hate? Babies. On public transport. Not that I’ve shared transportation with many, but this one time, we got stuck in a layover with five kids and I swear to god, by the second hour, I’d have advocated dumping the demonic little brats in the nearest river.”

Nearby, a woman tenderly clutching her swaddled infant shot the telekinetic a death glare. Julian smiled and waved.

“I’m telling you man. Kids and transport? Spawn of freaking Satan.”
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Bobby Drake
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Julian talked about the troubles he had at home with his folks. It seemed that the telekinetic and the icy mutant had at least that in common. The reactions of their parents were different of course but the same general situation was there. Bobby smirked when it was visually clear that Julian realized he was telling to much about himself by shotting him a look and cleared his throat. He had to hold back a laugh when he changed the subject to babies and public transit.

Disguising his laughter with a cough as he saw the woman clutching to her own baby and giving Julian a glare. “It does seem that kids get more agitated with that.” Hearing the woman scoff she stood up and walked away from the two young men. Other then a few other people near the front and back of the cabin they were nearly the only ones there. Removing his hands from the back of his head to stretch them forward.

“I'll tell ya now Jules, I did tell my mom I was bringin you. She started asking me a million questions. 'What sort of foods does he like? Is he allergic to anything? How long have you known him' Yadda yadda, etc etc. So, yeah, my mom will do the 'mom' thing. And I apologize ahead of time.” The initial reaction would be pretty funny but Bobby would do his best to hold it back.
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Oh yeah, he saw that- that strategic little hand motion, hiding the chortle behind a well-placed cough. It was so fake; there was no fooling Julian Keller.

“Is she gonna make me look through kid pictures? She’s gonna make me look through your kid pics, isn’t she? Can I be spared that, somehow, please? I bet she has pictures of you running around butt naked on the beach during that nice little family vacay you guys took back in ’94, and that’s an image I do not want burnt on my retinas.”

He pushed himself forward, stabbing a vehement finger in the air, fixating his travel companion with a solemn stare.

“What has been seen cannot be unseen, pal. If I’m psychologically traumatised during this charity trip you’re paying for my therapy. And you can’t afford me.”

This was going to be a complete disaster, wasn’t it? Bad luck loomed overhead like an overloaded storm cloud; he could feel it, sitting there, waiting for the right moment to piss all over him. So far, attempting his one good deed of the year was proving to be less than worth the effort… although he supposed he wasn’t really being fair, since they hadn’t even got within fifty miles of the damn place.

“So if I’m going to be subjected to mom, how’s her cooking? ‘Cause I don’t mind being force fed ancient Drake family recipes if she knows her way around a kitchen, but if I have to pretend that an e-coli infested lasagne is her gift to mankind then I’m walking.”
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Bobby Drake
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Bobby laughed, “I can spare ya from the photos. And by the way that family trip was in '90 not '94, pal.” Listening to Julian bitch and moan he then asked about his moms' cooking. “Hey now...” He leaned forward and pointed to the telekinetic, “My mom's cooking is the best around. She will most likely make everything she's got in the house and getting you to try it. But trust me, it's good eatings.” Leaning back in his seat to relax he continued. “Now you get to try an actual home cooked meal.”

Smirking at his friend he added, “Rich boy.” Chuckling out loud he spoke again, “Don't worry though. No family pictures. Last time she did that I dove for the album and froze the thing on the ceiling. Hehe, it took a month for the thing to get loose. She told me never to do that again and I told her to never show the pictures to friends. We agreed to that as long as she could show them to my future wife. My mom likes to plan for my future a lot.”

Bobby shrugged as he looked out the window. Yawning as he spoke he finished, “Wanting the best for her son but never asking what that son wants.” He paused for a moment, “Which is why I've been such a coward to tell her that I've made full X-Men. She never wanted that for me. While I on the other hand did. When I first went to Xavier's it was an opportunity to be... something better. To do something good and important. While I am really good at numbers, accounting is boring as hell, dude.”

“But I keep studying for it because it's what my mom wants. Never mind what I want in life. What I want to do.” Taking a longer time in the second pause he shook his head, “But today I tell her that I am and always will be an X-Man. It's all I wanna do.” Bobby found himself going into his own life story just as Julian did before. Trying to change the subject he finished, “Today's said to be nice out.”
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The weather? Real smooth there Drake. Generic subjects choice one, check. As long as he stayed away from religion and politics they’d be fine, but they were straying dangerously closer to default topics, and undoubtedly that’d only lead to awkward silences and or irritable debates, and Julian was so not up for a snippy theological argument or a discussion on Obama’s policies.

“Right.”

For a family who were supposed to be mutant intolerant, Bobby sure had a lot of cutesy, homely little tales to tell. Oh, one time he had frozen the family album to the ceiling and everyone had laughed and laughed, another time he’d chilled the beer to perfection and hah, that was just their Bobby… man. If Julian had stuck something to his ‘rents ceiling with telekinetic superglue, in their eyes that’d have been morally equivalent to punching an antiquity in the jaw, or letting rats eat a baby’s toes. Or feeding pigeons baking soda.

Well… nah, exploding pigeons were just funny.

“Eh, I dunno man. I can see you behind a desk, mashing away at a keyboard. Wearing a nice little shirt and tie job. If the air con got broke everyone would just love you.”

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Bobby Drake
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“Dude” Shooting a glare at the telekinetic. “If you say you can see me as an Accountant I'm gonna kick your ass up and down this train. Forget workin behind a desk.” He kicked back in his seat and exhaled. The dull boring life his parents wanted for him, it really wasn't what he wanted. With how he told the stories it sounded like a laugh. But when he froze the album to the ceiling his parents were furious. When he chilled the drinks his mother held it against him for the better part of the week.

Making the stories chuckle worthy was a front. The happy home making life of the Drakes', Bobby knew better. Or at least he thought he knew better. Thinking he felt resentment from his parents when it was just the fact that he was different. It was the mutant gene they could live without, not their son. Him going with the whole 'mutant thing' meant one day he could be fighting and loose. At least that was their fear, they made sure to tell him and guilt him into knowing that often.

They loved each other that was a definite thing. But it was far from perfect. “I'll jump off a building and ride on my ice beam to Antarctica and be the Ice King of... the... Antarcticans...” Bobby cleared his throat and took a deep breath, thinking he might have been over exaggerating or overly dramatic. If there was anything the Iceman didn't want, was to be thrown into a normal life. With and among regular people, something that he didn't feel was part of his destiny any more. Thank God.




A few hours later (11:34am)


Port Washington, Long Island, New York. It was their stop, Bobby had managed to convince him folks that they could take a cab to the house. The rest of the ride to the house was steadily calm and uneventful. The light chatter and small talk made for an okay ride there. The cab pulled up in front of the house, the neighborhood still looked pretty trashed. The iced mutant took a deep breath as he paid the cabbie what was owed and told Julian, “We're here.”

Bobby slung on his backpack and got out of the cab. Walking up the driveway he saw the family car and something underneath the tire. Splinters of something wooden was around the car he paused for a moment to look at it quizzically before moving on. Knowing his dad, he still kept the hide-a-way key in the plotted plant by the door. Reaching in and digging into the side of the pot the iced mutant felt the key.

Brushing off the excess dirt from his hand and the key he stuck the key into the lock and turned it. Upon entering the house the aroma of something that came from the kitchen. Bobby called out, “Mom? Dad? We're here!” The sound of footsteps came in from the living area, the other entrance to that room being the kitchen it was only natural that his mother would be the first to greet them.

She gave the initial mom 'aw' to her son being home then yelled out, “William, they're here!” The elderly woman gave her mutant son a hug and smiled, “Welcome home, kiddo.” Separating the hug Bobby said, “Hey mom.” She directed her gaze to Julian and spoke again, “And this is your friend right? Julian?” She reached her hand out towards him and said, “Hello, I'm Madeline.” Just as she had finished the Iceman's father walked in and smiled widely, “Hey Bobbs.” Patting his hand on his son's back it caught him off guard for a moment and made him take a step forward.

Looking at Julian Bobby's father said, “And you must be Julian. Welcome to the Drakes' household.” Ugh, the parent thing, it was just like his pre-teen years all over again. Then again since he found out he was a mutant the iced mutant didn't bring too many people to his house for anything. Julian was the first friend, mutant or otherwise, that he had invited to his house in six years.


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“We're here.”

Oh right, because he couldn’t tell that from the way the taxi had neatly rolled to a stop, or how Bobs had slapped a few notes into the cab driver’s awaiting hand; you know, he’d just assumed that they were going to switch out taxis in some entirely unrelated suburban neighbourhood, or walk the rest of the way. Julian gave Bobby a sidelong stare.

“Really? Cause I thought we were stopping off to ask at some random freaks' house if you could go use the pot. I know how long journeys can be for you weak-bladdered folk. Don’t feel ashamed, I hear it’s a common problem.”

The Drakes’ house was smaller than Julian was used to, considerably so, its floor space probably a quarter that of his parents’ ostentatious sprawl, perhaps less. In stark comparison to the Institute it seemed again even less assuming, and Julian marvelled at the idea that an entire family could coexist in what appeared to him to be a box cupboard, cramped and with little room for any privacy. He wondered what the hell anyone living in these claustrophobic shacks did for personal space, and at how they seemed held together with spit and mortar… which probably wasn’t too far from the truth, given that half the houses in this tumbledown street might have been tacked and taped and pinned back together in the wake of Apocalypse’s mad furore, which was on reflection a disparaging thought.

Inside he was assaulted with an assortment of aromas; marjoram scented candles littered the mantel, living room door ajar enough so that he could see a crammed huddle of leering ornaments collectively glaring at him from behind a prison of glass. Garish wallpaper slathered the walls in mismatched sheets, and on that split-second examination, wincing reflexively, Julian was convinced that whoever had chosen it was utterly colour blind and should be banned from ever setting foot in another decorating store on pain of castration. Had his mom been here she would have either descended into a fit of acidic muttering regarding the unrefined state of the décor, or make not very subtle suggestions about how to improve colour schemes and refer to certain articles and magazines that could direct the house owners to some marvellous decorating advice.

Spare him.

There was a parental spillage from the kitchen, an explosion of motherly pecks and fusses and pleased noises following like some kind of affectionate rainstorm. Avoiding staring like some attention-starved puppy, his eyes tripped a steady path around the hallway, tracing the wood that delineated one set of doors and another, running from the stairs stuffed in the corner like a toadish wedge, onto the neatly framed family pictures adorning the sideboards, until Bobby indicated and introduced him.

Julian turned on the charm, a smile slipping onto his lips with practiced ease. The kind of smile that’d split across his face at social functions and gatherings as fast as a switch being flicked, and would just as easily snap off the very moment backs were turned. Yeah it was fake. It was fake as hell, but hey, that was the Keller allure. His dad was an expert at it, and if there was one thing he had passed on to his son, it was the ability to beguile the fuck out of whomever he pleased.

“Morning ma’am. I appreciate you letting me come visit, especially give the state of things.”

He turned to Bobby’s father and shook the older man’s hand with a firm grip.

“Julian Keller. Your house wasn’t too badly hit, I hope. It looks great though, if it was I can’t tell.”

Twisting on his heel as if to take in the less than impressive household, he threw a self-satisfied smirk at Bobby.
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Bobby Drake
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Bobby simply shook his head and smirked at his friend. His mother was impressed with Julian though, “Oh don't think anything of it, we're always glad to meet Bobby's friends.” His father nodded his head in satisfaction to the firm gripped hand shake. The iced mutant's mother continued, “Well you boys make yourselves comfortable and the food should be ready in a bit.”

The Iceman looked at his mother as she left to go into the kitchen. “Food?” His father reached behind his neck to scratch it and spoke up, “Yea kiddo, your mom is fixin up an early lunch for you two.” He headed to the kitchen behind Mrs. Drake and shouted behind him, “Thank your mother, Robert Drake!”

He rolled his eyes and looked up towards the ceiling, “Thanks mom.” She replied with a 'your welcome and the iced mutant looked back to his friend, “Dude... one word... and I make your room colder then Greenland.” He paused to hold out his arms and say, “Welcome to the Drake household. Hall, living room, kitchen back slash dinning room, stairs, bedrooms, bathrooms etc. I know it's not as posh as what you're used to...” He knew the smirk Julian flashed to him earlier. When you live with a guy like Julian for as long as the iced mutant did he knew the smirk that was given.

“Ya smug bastard.” Smirking back at friend Bobby shook his head. “Come on, man. Live like a commoner, and relax.” He gave Julian a pat on the arm and walked toward the kitchen. Motioning for Julian to follow with him.
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“Dude... one word... and I make your room colder then Greenland.”

Julian shrugged, holding up his palms in mock surrender. “Hey, I didn’t say anything.”

To humour Bobby he gazed around, following the grand sweeps and gestures that encompassed the whole damn palace. What a remarkable place. Such splendour. How could he possibly take in all this mind-blowing glamour? He wasn’t sure he could handle it. That strange tickling sensation at the pit of his stomach could possibly be the beginnings of Stendhal syndrome.

Or it was gas.

The door had been left ajar; Julian doubled back and called out that he’d get it. Something large, black and hairy rocketed past his legs and sailed out into the world beyond.

Fido bolted through the open door, yipping in frenzied excitement as though he’d caught the whiff of a female in heat.

Julian watched it disappear, deadpan. He had a love/hate relationship with animals: they loved to hate him. His mom owned several rat-like abominations, which were by all accounts purebred Chihuahuas, except they looked more like mutilated piglets, and did nothing but shiver and shit and snarl, twenty-four freaking seven. Get within fifteen feet of them and he’d be set upon by the whole pack. Pathetic little runts.

After having his foot trodden on by a great hulking monstrosity of a horse he’d developed an intense loathing of anything equestrian. His aunt had cats, all of which had bitten him. One by one his fish had died, met their god in the gleaming white pot, leaving his early years plagued by traumatic nightmares of dead marine life emerging maggot blown from the depths of whatever dark unholy places the toilet led to.

Suffice to say; when it came to animals, he was jaded.

So he sauntered into the kitchen, thumbed over his shoulder, and said in a toneless quip,

“Your dog got out.”
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Bobby Drake
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“Your dog got out.”

Bobby turned his head to look at Julian and sighed, “Aw crap...” The dog that Julian said had escaped was the family dog, Rocket. The black lab had a habit of getting out of the house and laying under the car. They figured out that it was his way of getting the family to stay at the house. It was something he tried to do when Bobby left for Xavier's. It always took the iced mutant hours to get the dog out. “I'll be right back.”

He stood up from the seat he had plopped himself into and headed out front. As he headed out Bobby grabbed a bag of doggie treats. Once outside he walked to the car and laid down on his stomach. He took out a treat from the bag and held it out. Low and behold the black furred dog laid under the vehicle and wagged his tail upon seeing the Iceman. In a cooing voice he tried to coax the dog out, “Hey Rocket! Who's a good boy? Who the good boy who wants to get out from under the car? Rocket is! Yeah he is! Come here, Rocket.”

As for what was going on inside the house, as soon as Bobby left the kitchen Mrs. Drake rolled her eyes and said, “He going to be out there all afternoon trying to get the dog out.” Mr. Drake nodded in agreement with his wife as she continued, “Julian maybe you can go and help Bobby. You might have better luck then he would.” Both of them knew that it would take their son a good few hours at least to coax the dog out.

One time a neighbor came over to help and had better luck then any Drake family member could. The dog was very eccentric, but smart. Rocket knew if he was under the car there was no way they could leave. The canine was excited to see the iced mutant again, but wanted to make sure he stayed.

Back outside Bobby had his head on the pavement still holding out the treat still trying to get the dog to move even an inch. “Come on Roc... please get out from under the car.”
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Telekinesis / Flight
Great. He was on dog collection duty with the retard making baby sounds and cooing noises. Julian let Bobby whimper and wheedle and mewl at the cowering Labrador, thumbs hooked lazily in pockets, an amused grin threatening to split his features. He wondered just how long Drake was going to awkwardly wrestle with the ground before trying to ice the lab out. He wasn’t about to vouch for the intelligence of an animal that had picked directly underneath a car’s radiator as its personal hiding spot, but he imagined zapping it with a few subzero bolts would have it scrambling the hell out of there before any other extremities dropped off.

After about ten minutes Julian crouched and cocked his head to the side, ducking it to get a glimpse of the elusive mutt. While this was so damn hilarious that he feared for his health on the off chance that his ribcage might actually shatter and rupture one of his precious lungs, staring at Bobby’s butt waving in the air was getting really freaking weird.

“Yeah, ok. You sound like Adam Sandler on helium.”

He straightened, raised his hand in a lazy swing, and the car lifted from the driveway with a metallic groan of protest.

Mrs Simmons was a god-fearing woman. She was also an avid gardener, and on her beloved flowerbed all two hundred and forty pounds of her left a pair of indentations embossed deep beneath well-padded knees. Tending hydrangeas required getting down and dirty amidst the grot and grime, feeling the soil clump up through ones fingers, filling ones nostrils with that glorious musty essence of loam.

She also did a fantastic impression of a statue.

Secateurs poised mid-snip, mouth hanging agape, an innocent bee very nearly trundled its merry way into her gawping maw. Julian and Bobby encased in a glow greener than her lawn, floating cars; she’d already had to deal with the aftermath of one apocalyptic manifestation, and while her bookmark had become permanently fixated in the pages of Revelations, the Rapture had not yet arrived, and she wasn’t about to put up with any more meandering heathens.

Turning a marvellous shade of purple, cheeks bloating like a puffer fish, she huffed and rolled her way to the telephone, cursing a whole plethora of deities and devils as she tromped her way through the living room towards her kitchen. The next five minutes were spent screeching distraught into the speaker about mutants and their mindless trashing of the neighbourhood.

Julian turned his head towards the muffled sounds of shouting, and wondered if someone was having a domestic. The dog got a telekinetic boot through the door, and he set the vehicle down a little less ceremoniously than it deserved.
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Bobby Drake
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From behind the iced mutant he heard the voice of his friend remarking that he sounded like Adam Sandler on helium. To which he replied, “You got a better way?” Just then, as if to answer his reply, Julian lifted the car. Bobby sighed as he did so, “Dude... subtle much? This is suburbia, man.” He reached over and grabbed Rocket's collar. “Come on, Rocket. In the house.”

The Iceman got the dog out from under the shadow of the car, tilting his head at the car far above his head then it should have been. Standing upright he ushered the dog towards the house. Then Julian shoved the dog through the door via his powers. “Jules! Man... Be kind to the dog, the dog is your friend. At least dogs are suppose to be your friend.” Bobby put his hand to his head and rubbed his temples.

Putting a free hand on Julian's shoulder he spoke again, “Dude, we need to get you to learn how to be a regular person. Pet a dog, enjoy a visit to someone else's house, re-lax. You owe Rocket a treat.” He gave Julian the bag of doggie treats and motioned for the telekinetic to go in first.
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