Title: Witches' Parking -- All Others Toad -- Part 1/?
Author: Troll Princess
Email: trolprin@nep.netRating: PG, as far as I know.
Summary: Just when the mansion thought it could handle Mick, along came his sisters ...
Archive: Go ahead, just give me a heads up.
Author's note: This is the second in the series about the Walton family. The first was "All Foam, No Beer," and the way it's lookin', I'm just going to keep going until I run out of relatives and inspiration. :) Enjoy ...
-----------------------------It was the Friday that Scott Summers, Bobby Drake, and Mick Walton had gone to the airport that Mick decided he needed a new personal motto.
It had started rather innocently, with Scott vehemently stating that there was no way in hell and various other postal districts that Mick's sister Tess would be allowed to stay longer then one weekend, and she would definitely *not* be flying into New York on anything other then a Friday.
Mick had been the only one confused as to why, until Jubilee, his constant shadow even after a whole month at Charles Xavier's school, had pointed out that Scott's personal motto was, "Always be prepared." And, being a part-time superhero, Scott tended to be more prepared on the weekends, since even supervillians worked day jobs and had their little favorite TV shows. For example, a nasty rumor had been circulating that Mystique wouldn't defend her own life when reruns of "Full House" were on.
Mick wasn't surprised that Scott's personal motto had been blatantly ripped off from an organization of helpful little boys, but he was rather disappointed that Scott's was better than his. Mick's personal motto was, "Jello always tastes better through a straw." He had no idea what it meant, but he was told it fit him quite nicely. Then again, "Always be prepared." A classic. Mick wanted a classic. (Actually, at the precise moment I'm starting with, Mick wanted a beer, his own personal serving wench, and one of those plastic barrels of cheese balls. But I digress.)
As he strolled through the airport, trailing behind Scott and Bobby like a lost puppy dog, Mick mentally discarded "Never put your finger where you wouldn't put your nose" and "Never piss off a dragon, for you are crunchy and taste good dipped in chocolate."
"How 'bout 'Friends help you move, but real friends help you move bodies'?" Bobby asked.
Mick rushed to catch up to the other two. "No, t'ey don't," he said.
"Mostly, t'ey just complain 'bout the bloodstains on t'eir upholstery." Mick thought on it for a second and flashed Bobby a warning look. "Forget I said t'at, kid."
"So, why didn't you fly out to pick her up again?" Scott asked.
"Huh?" Mick asked, scowling as he turned away from staring at the back end of a pretty stewardess.
"You can fly."
"And?"
"Why not save her some money and go pick her up?"
"Bloody 'ell, are y' mad? 'Ave y' ever flown for ten hours over the Atlantic? It's bleedin' cold, it is, and I'm not about t' stuff me pockets wit' peanuts and show an in-flight movie on me arse."
"Lazy git."
"Don't y' people own a plane?"
"Shut up."
Bobby had to stifle a laugh. Watching Scott and Mick banter was like watching one of those old comedy teams, without the threat of a long, drawn out monologue involving baseball and name recognition. Any "Who's on First?" parodies would have ended somewhere in the middle, with Scott snapping, "Shut up," like a sulky five-year-old and stalking off to annoy Jubilee. (Bobby thought that it was mostly to see which one of them would end up whining the loudest. As far as he could tell, Jubilee was 4-1.)
Hey, speaking of which ... "Why didn't Jubilee come along again? I thought she was all gung ho about coming with us."
Mick shrugged. "Somet'ing 'bout a frog in 'er t'roat. Y'know, I don't know what 'er problem is. If she'd chew the bloody t'ings before she swallowed t'em, t'at wouldn't happen." Mick took one look at the expressions on Bobby and Scott's faces and frowned. "What?"
Scott readied himself to issue Mick a warning, but froze as he looked around. "Wait a minute. Are we at the right gate?"
All three guys stared at the parade of punks pouring off the 12:55 from London. None of them looked the least bit like Tess, who, if Scott was not mistaken, was still using the same Holly Hobby bedsheets she had been when he'd first met her.
Mick, meanwhile, had given up on trying to distinguish his younger sister from the Sex Pistol wannabes who apparently had hijacked the flight. Finding anyone else in a crowd was not one of Mick's strong points. Mick's stong points were restricted to giving off the illusion of being sober, thumb wrestling, basket weaving, and surviving the 24-hour "A Christmas Story" marathon every Christmas without leaving the couch, none of which would help him in the middle of a busy metropolitan airport.
"Mick! There you are!"
All three young men turned towards the sweet, innocent, little-girl voice coming from the center of the crowd.
Scott blinked. Then blinked again. Then blinked once again, just to make sure his eyes were still working.
Yup. That was Tess, all right. Which was funny, because the Tess he knew was this tiny, blond, porcelain-doll type, and this Tess looked exactly like a Deluxe "Now in Technicolor!" Marilyn Manson action figure, complete with Most-Offensive-Shade-Of-Pink-Lipstick-Known-To-Man hair color, The-Doiminatrix-Store-Had-A-Blue-Sale vinyl pants and Any-Paler-And-I'd-Be-Invisible white makeup.
Mick didn't seem to mind, though. Even if he did shield his eyes before his obligatory "'Ello!"
"I thought you said she was still a little princess," Scott hissed under his breath.
Mick shrugged. "I said she didn't 'ave a criminal record. It don't count if y' 'aven't been convicted, right, Mr. 'T'ey'll never miss t'at team mascot'?"
Scott merely frowned and avoided Bobby's gaze as Mick rushed off to greet his sister.
None of this could be any good.
Hmph ... why did that sound familiar?
TBC ...