Pete Wisdom | Earth 616

     Slowly did his hand fall back to his side after he’d offered it to the wobbly legged boy getting off his bike. There was more time for curiosity now that they were not in the jaws of the beast and even Johnny had to admit he was full of it. Head tilted and his eyes squinted as he concentrated in on the mutation being used before him. So fixated on the actual trick was he, he didn’t notice how much effort was put behind igniting the spark. There was a pause, only just realizing what it was being used for. Clearing his throat, a low rumble and as awkward as it could have possibly been, he put some words behind sudden hesitation. “Ya shouldn’t smoke ya know.” Shoulders rolled and  hands were shoved in his pocket as he tried to maintain the ‘cool’ status he’d earned himself in the dashing hero category. “‘m not one to talk I guess since ‘m tryin’ quit myself but…-   they’re just bad for you ya know? Thought it was cool because my Pa did it but he can barely sit up without hackin’ no more. ” 

He paused for a moment, giving the ground a stiff kick and kicking up some dirt before he attempted to roll a causal laugh off in the conversation. “Guess I don’t run your life just ‘cause we got in one fist fight together, huh?” At the mention of walking, Johnny shot him a crooked grin, something he’d previously been almost sure only worked in the south. He’d assumed everything here was posh and proper but there was something familiar and comforting in the gritty realness of a fist fight and a boy who’d turned to cigarettes at such a young age in the heart of the Queen’s kindgom. “You don’t gotta walk nowhere if you don’t wanna. I don’t have any problems with drivin’ ya. ‘Sides I’m gonna have to come up with an excuse for all them posters I was supposed to be putting up going missing before I head off back to camp.”

Hand behind his head he ruffled the bed of brunette curls hidden away under his hood as he beamed at the sighting of a “thank you”. Johnny Blaze was rough, a little dirty, and not a friend to the basics of grammar but at the end of the day he loved to do good. Nothing made him happier than a sincere thank you. He oozed this enthusiasm in his smile and in the way he timidly shrugged, “Ain’t no big thing. It ain’t fair that they all gang up on you like that. Even if ya got a cool power it just ain’t right.”

“Anyway, how you legs feelin’? Something told me that was your first time on a bike.” In honestly it was the ironclad grip around his waste that had given it away, as generally it was frowned upon to cut off circulation of the driver among the community, but he’d spare him the details of what exactly outed him. “Let’s walk around ‘til ya ain’t bowlegged anymore. We can get you all walked home if ya want.” Hands did not leave his pockets but he did lead with a tiny bob of his head and a large step forward, his stride as big as he was tall. “You can tell me what you folks do around here for fun, yea? I’ll be in town for a little bit. Could use the tour.”

The scruffy one awkwardly fumbles with the cigarette despite the ache in his knuckles and the adrenaline still shooting through him and the fact the other seemed to care more about his health than his mutation was quite possibly the first time he’d encountered such. He didn’t really care, honestly. He was more than used to people and their constant leers and comments about the fact he was different so having someone with a concerned little pout coupled with an effortless nonchalance was something he could get used to. “I know. Me mum don’t like it much at all but part o’ me was hopin’ it’d kill me before those kids did.” He hesitates, not wanting his typical unhealthy coping mechanisms to drive the other off already despite the feeling they were more alike than he’d initially let on “took it up cause it keeps me calm. Not too good with nerves, kinda comes in a big rush and I end up doin’ something dumb y’know wot ‘m sayin?” he inhales again, allowing the faint white cloud to fill his veins before it exited his nose in little dragon like tendrils of smoke.

That little smile though made Pete feel the need to return the expression, an awkward flush of heat tainting his cheeks as he glances away, down at his feet, fiddles with his trenchcoat, anything to avoid the other realising he kind of enjoyed the way it looked (at least, on Johnny’s face anyway.) But he lets that nervous little laugh follow before tossing him a crooked grin of his own, unintentionally mirroring his expression “Would be real nice if you’d be able to, not a nice walk home from ‘ere but I don’t mind stallin’ before me pops falls asleep before I get in.” He’s more than thankful to not still be back there given that look that crossed his mother’s face every time he came back with bruises killed him inside. She hated seeing her baby boy all beat up and hurting but when his father reacted as he did, Pete tended to brush it off like it was no big deal. He could pretend all he needed, first aid wasn’t too hard anyway when you were holding a bag of frozen crumpets to your face until the swelling went down.

“I don’t mind you sayin’ so though, Not often someone steps in to get beat for a kid like me. I mean… y’know.” Awkwardly, he focuses on popping a pair of knives out once again, used to the sensation of what would be searing heat for any normal person by now and allowing it to linger for the briefest of moments before flicking them into the dirt well away from Johnny. It was evident he was curious and that it was practically about to bust out of him so Pete would offer the chance to simply ask if he wanted, following effortlessly along after the other as they wandered along the grimy streets of London.

   He didn’t emerge immediately. A minute, another, and a minute more without sighting of the brunette galavanter who’d interrupted the poor boy’s routine of getting beat up. He felt bad leaving him there all by himself on his bike, but had some loose ends to tie with a fist to his face and his own fist to theirs. He was a sympathetic guy and he was more than willing to get a sympathetic black eye to match the bloody nose that was sitting on his bike now. Perhaps the British kid was right, his nose was where it didn’t belong and he was lucky with all the swinging going on around him it wasn’t broken.

But with fleet foot did he turn the corner, offering a wave and a grin bigger than proportional to the situation they were in in both respects. He was more beat up then he’d been the last time he saw then boy now lighter, minutes separated him and sporting a bruised face but still he was a ray of unconventional sunshine. “Hey! HEY!” His run broke down into a hop as he reached down and into his boot looking for the key he’d aforementioned. “How you feelin’ kid?” Probably sore. Despite the stupid question he advanced giving a light tap to the helmet on the boy’s head. It was too big but it was something. He always told himself he needed a second but alas, he’d just have to make do. He was panting as he stood up straight, hands on hips and pose victorious despite purple marking lining his jaw that suggested he’d lost as he tried his hardest to catch his breath. “You got quite the following, kid. Too bad they’re pretty much cavemen.” His grin simmered for a moment: sincerity dripping through the happy go lucky attitude as he squinted through the darkened visor at the boy behind his helmet. “Nice to meet you, Pete.”

His leg went over the side of his bike and he gave a huff of contentment, feeling some sort of odd satisfaction from the whole situation. “Hold on tight, okay? I’mma a little bit of a speed demon and we got some people to get away from.” Despite the warning he didn’t dare sigh away from revving his engine for the sake of the show before taking off. 

His warning was not a tease or a jest, ripping up the streets of London as they made their escape. He weaved and bobbed through the streets of London without a helmet or evidently a care. In all honesty it was lucky he was even driving on the right side of the street. Of course he didn’t know where he was going, making any turn that tickled his fancy and at outrageous speeds.

But all thrill rides had to come to end and despite the fact Johnny was a seeker of them (jumping into fights that weren’t his and squeezing into space he didn’t fit in the thralls of traffic) even he knew he had to bring the ride to a close. Pulling up to a curb far away from the boys that were harassing him he dismounted, kicking the stand to his bike and offering Pete a hand to help him step down as the other ruffled at wind tousled curls. “Ya got a house to go to? Somewhere you’re a little bit safer? Don’t tell me that’s a regular thing ‘round here.”

Pete had scurried as quickly as possible away, never missing a beat as he sits, he waits, watching as he hopes to god the boy doesn’t end up beat to a pulp lying flat on his face. The helmet wiggles as he turns to look at the unknown passerbys, honestly wishing it was less busy as he fidgets awkwardly. He didn’t ride bikes in his spare time and this was no exception. But he plays it cool, honestly ready for a cigarette at this point before the sound of the others voice snapped him out of the idle train of thought and cravings as he gives a little lopsided grin in return.

“Nothin’ I haven’t dealt with before. Bit sore. Right uncomfortable to be honest.” He wipes at the blood seeping onto his top lip again, nothing the other was just about as beat up as he was as they probably looked as though they’d beaten each other before coming to a truce which was probably concerning anyone who realised the extent of the damage. But his shoulders rise and fall idly at the notion, not exactly caring for those who kept much too close of a watch on what he did in his spare time “That lot can bugger off. Getting right sick of them stickin their noses into my life. And their fists into me nose for that matter.” Accent as thick as ever he puffs his chest out ever so slightly, hoping to look threatening despite his weedy frame and damaged skin. If it wasn’t them bringing harm, it was done in a purposeful manner, honestly just a hot mess all round regardless of the choices he made from here out.

But he wiggles back to make room for the American now settled in front of him and before he can even inform the boy of his newness to motorcycles they had taken off with a roar in his ears and a hold so tight Pete wondered if Johnny could breathe. But he dares to peek up and over his shoulder at the vehicles zooming past them, unable to stop the faint grin that followed over the adrenaline coursing through his veins over the incredible speeds they must have been reaching (he was almost debating one of his own at this rate.)

It didn’t take a genius however to guess Johnny must have been very similar to Pete himself. Not in the fact he was a mutant oh no, but via means of purposefully placing himself in danger and the blatant lack of self-care. It was curious honestly. Made him wonder many a things, many which unfortunately were ignored once those incredibly high speeds came to a halt. Visibly, he hesitates, his hand hovering before throwing a glance up at the others face and accepting the hand to get back down onto land where everyone else was wandering casually along with not a care in the world.

“That was somethin’ else you know that?” Pete stretches briefly, trying to overdo the nonchalance as it was very much a place he would avoid until the moon was finally creeping along the sidewalk and his father was most definitely curled up in bed or passed out slovenly on the couch “it’s a little bit back round a few corners. But no worry I can make me way back, sure you got places to be an’ whatnot. Stuff to do?”

     He managed half a laugh through breathy winces as he got corrected, nickname swept aside in favor of formalities. His head canted, thumb running under nose as he tried his hardest to catch his breath before standing upright and covering the escape he’d staged as best he could. Once again his number one barricade choice was his body. “Alrighty then.” The smirk laid out in front of aggressors was nothing more then a flair of his feathers, trying his best to be nonchalant and finding humor in what he could. Of all the things that could have ticked this kid off being called Jesse James was what made him speak up? At least he had spunk. Johnny managed to throw out one jab, landed on the cheek of one of the boys who’s dare to advance before he heard the thud behind him.

Lucky for both of them (or maybe just the one of them) he was quick on his feet, spinning on his heels to witness the very reason they were both fighting. It’s not that it wasn’t strange to see a boy his own age spew fire from his fingertips because it was–it was more it didn’t matter at the present time. And he who entered this fray with no idea for what he fought thought it was silly for anyone to think it mattered at all. The gift of long legs allowed his stride over to be swift, strategically going around the downed bully who’d pulled the mutant down with him. Johnny had always been told he could have stand to be more gentle in speech and in action and today was no exception as he grabbed the boy by the gruff of the collar on his dirty trenchcoat and pulled him to his feet. Two hands clapped over his shoulders and with the same sly grin he’d given the crowd since they’d begun he stepped behind the boy he’d been protecting. “He ain’t kiddin’ boys.” His voice was sing song and heavy with his accent, almost sweet had it not been for circumstances. “’nd something tells me none of your Mommas would care much if you unruly bunch came home with a few new burns. Hardly even notice.”

“Listen to me okay?” He was loud and he was boisterous but just this once his voice dropped into a whisper, fingers gently curling into his shoulders as he played the reassurance card like a fiddle. It was easier to communicate in secret when he didn’t have the poor kid smooshed against a brick wall. “My name is Johnny. I got a motorcycle with blue flames parked up this alley on the main street corner. If you trust me I want you to back outta here nice and slow like with your hands up and pointed at these chumps, don’t turn around ‘til you get back to where the people are or I’m gonna get my ass whooped real nice. I got a helmet on the seat I want you to put on and the key is in my boot. You’re gonna go first and and I’m gonna follow and then we’re gonna drive you somewhere where you ain’t got a fan club this rabid, okay?”

    It caught him off guard as the other was literally able to tug him from the ground and drop him to his feet. He was preparing for the worst, to feel a fist, perhaps a laugh as the count opposite him went from four to five and he’d end up on the ground simply hoping they would leave him the bloody hell alone before he causes more damage than he wanted.

    The laugh came, yes, but instead of malice it was a sound that honestly made the shorter smile just a little, hooking off to the right as he stands tall to (honestly) impress this smug yank with his neat little trick. He was used to people running or bailing as soon as anything remotely abnormal showed itself, so given he seemed unphased at the fact he’d just fired boiling projectiles from his skin showed he was somebody Pete could trust.

            Until he stood behind him.

    Greasy little Wisdom hesitated for half a moment, glancing around to the side as he attempts to pay very close attention to the thick, southern drawl and the potentially dangerous situation they still could very much be in. But if the stranger could play it cool in his abilities to act so too would Pete, flicking his dark hair back out of his eyes as he repeats the action and thanks his lucky stars and Queen Elizabeth herself as another set of projectiles skittered and collided with the concrete just in front of their feet to prove a point. The littlest one took a step back to avoid being hit, Pete’s blue eyes honestly now fixated on the largest given he was the one who could probably take both of them out alone if he really wanted.

                                Listen to me.

      So it’s here he puts that trust wholeheartedly in his new companions hands, one of his own still up in threat while the other was bunched into the tightest fist he could muster into the pocket of his grimy trenchcoat. The instructions given seemed straight forward. Back away, don’t break eye contact, grab the helmet, pray they don’t come after you and suddenly leave quite the murder bounty on his head and further negative mutant relations. Simple enough really.

      He gives a nod towards the boy, finally catching his eyes as he hopes his appreciation was reflected in the briefest of moments “…You yanks needa quit messin’ with people bigger than you, gonna wind up hurt right good, yeah.” He too, speaks soft before taking a deep breath and walking carefully around his favourite group of people, eyes narrowing as he feigns a flick of his mutation and snorts as two of them duck in pure fear. He laughs loudly before unfortunately paying too little attention to those who hadn’t dodged his supposed danger, copping one last fist to the nose as he hisses briefly and send one last lot of knives scattered towards his aggressor, barely missing as he finishes the set of rules lain out by Mr. America himself and finishing up directly beside the aforementioned bike.

      The helmet was right where he’d said it was, slipping it over his head despite the trail of blood pouring from his nose and into his shirt.

    ❛  alright, queen elizabeth you have fries in britain too. they’re totally not all the same. and you were the one who didn’t believe fried oreos were real and had to try it.  ❜ a beat.   ❛  is now a bad time to mention there’s also fried pbj, ice cream, and twinkies?  ❜ she just wants to see his reaction to that one.

   If there was anything Johnny Blaze wasn’t it was a fighter. He had some muscle on him from doing his part, pitching the tent and learning the stunts, and maybe if he squared those off, with broad shoulders tensed and stance wide, he could come across like he knew what he was doing. If there was anything Johnny Blaze was it was an actor. “’Less one of you got real good at throwing your voices it looks like I’m the only one here to ask.” Perhaps it was a bold move but he strode past them, shoulders violently clashing with each and every last one he could hit before he turned, nearly eclipsing the small boy he’d been locking eyes with only moments ago. His posture was defensive; two curled up fists hiding his face as he was almost sure he’d break character as soon as one of these idiots started swinging. “Maybe ya big jerks should pick on someone who’s actually your size.”

A request too hot for him to handle. 

He couldn’t duck, that was his first thought as one fist went hurdling towards his face and foot to his stomach all seemingly in slow-mo. Ducking would defeat the purpose of shielding this kid with his body (like an idiot). Although Johnny was no stranger to bruises and cut (self inflected mainly, like an idiot) he chose a more defensive route this time. His flyers fluttered to the ground as he backed up and pressed the poor boy who’d incited this riot to the wall behind him, fielding a kick to the gut for the both of him and just barely missing out a blooded nose from a swinging fist. In the very least the boy who’d misplaced his punch tumbled, earning him a swift kick from johnny even as he resisted the instinct to double over. His voice was husky, the very voice you’d expect of someone who’d just had their stomach concaved but it was also this way because he was trying his hardest to make the loud way he spoke hushed, half a glance thrown behind him not seeing the boy but feeling the heavy patter of his rising and falling chest pressed up against his back. “If I ease up on the right ya think you can get outta here unscathed, Jessie James?”

   “What the bloody hell are you doin’?!” Pete was honestly stunned. This boy, this American boy walks with such ferocity, seemingly poised as he forces his way through and blocks off the direct path between the two groups before readying himself for what was inevitably going to be a right good punch up. He didn’t know if the other could fight, it probably didn’t matter when you were essentially outnumbered four to one but it was certain: this boy didn’t care. So he keeps a careful watch on his sudden protector from a good foot or so below him, highly unprepared for the flurry of kicks and hits thrown as his body barely managed to avoid them while nestled against the wall. His breathing is shallow, filled with worry and trepidation as his temperature was far too high for any normal person. He’d much rather the other not turn against him, teeth briefly scraping his bottom lip before hearing the familiar laughter of those morons over their apparent victory.

   “...names Pete, actually.” Attempting to catch a closer flash of the boy’s face he shuffles awkwardly to the side taking note of the attackers and their current placements. No direction he attempted to move was going to end well for him. He moved off to the left and nearby the larger of the four and wound up pummelled into the wall, take the right towards the little one and he’d probably just get tripped which was probably the lesser of two evils. Not really wanting to leave this boy alone after he’d been rescued Pete takes his chances, attempting to scuttle out of the narrow space as he attempts to bolt through them.

   The littlest one however was clearly preparing himself for the Brits escape attempt, managing to throw himself sideways to smack him aggressively into the brick once more. He grunts lowly as pain shoots up his side, unable to help the minor spray of hot knives that sparked from his fingertips as they aim to clutch the side of his jacket. It happened the same way every time. Maybe they knew it made him feel even more alienated than he already did and they had a sick enjoyment of that fact? Pete had no idea, only that his head was aching and it was going to end up happening again if they didn’t bugger off

    ❛  i told you, i’m on a quest to find the best cheeseburger. french fries are part of the deal. –and i never said you had to eat the deep fried oreo.  ❜

@peterpaulwisdom

   This was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Crash Thompson had been asked to perform in London and the whole circus, naturally, followed in suite. Behave Johnny. Don’t let them know you’re a foreigner Johnny. Blend in Johnny. BEHAVE JOHNNY. Each snippet of the lecture he received the second the entire troupe began their crawl out of an economy flight was mumbled under his breath as he put up flyers for the show next week around the back alleys of London. He could have complained all day, sinking into the over-sized leather jacket just barely hanging on his shoulders as he tried to hide form the cold that consumed England had he not been disrupted by the beginnings of a crowd.

A particularly nasty crowd from the snippets he heard.

Slowly did he approach the unruly group, bright flyers red white and blue tucked under his arm. “Howdy fellas,” The voice was low and cautious, as he analysed the situation eyes locking on the smaller boy they’d tucked behind their ranks. “Y’all having problems over here?”

    Honestly Pete didn’t know why he bothered going outside anymore these days, always ending the same way it felt with shouts and jeering. Sometimes he could outrun them—a quick, lanky physique did that to you but combine it with a packet of cigarettes a week and it didn’t get you all too far. But this isn’t anything he hasn’t felt before. Just another fist smacking into his cheekbone as another bruise that only worsened his relationship with his mother formed. One slammed into his lip as his father silently wondered why he wasn’t a manlier kid. All usual.

    Except the southern drawl that echoed from somewhere off to the side. He glances up through greasy bangs with a look of confusion, coughing idly before attempting to flick it off to the side

There were exactly three looks of disinterest that had befallen him as Kitty was dragged to the side. The arm in which he’d placed his grip was previously occupied sending the dragon into a brief flurry of purple wings aggressively batted at the pair before he fell on the opposite shoulder of Kitty’s with a look of disdain for he who had disturbed him. Tink was none the happier, flat expression from the time Kitty had begun talking not at all changed as they disincluded her from this party she had thrown just for them, watching them with sharp eyes and sharper claws at the ready. And the third judge, tiny as she was, was very annoyed that he dare question her skill. “First of all, you don’t get to say Chicago with that bloody accent.” There was an attempt at his accent at the end if for no other reason than to highlight her anger. Even as his thumb passed over her skin leaving a single clean streak in what was otherwise a mess she stood her ground with hands on her hips and a pout on her lips. “And I think it’s about time I start-      “

Before she could even finish the beginning of what everyone involved surely knew on premise would have been an amazing rant, Pete was offering either or up as bait to Tink. Chomping down on her bottom lip and hence all the words she’d yet to say she spared a glance for Lockheed who looked ever so subtly pleased she had not finished what she’d begun. If she’d been annoyed before certainly the look now she gave to the back of his head would have been enough to slay him had he been looking her way. “You wouldn’t be able to tell if one hair was missing.” The agitation transferred to her voice but still she stepped forward lifting his arm and placing herself underneath his grasp once more, flat stare falling on Tink although- just this once- she was not the cause. 

The very same agitation was mirrored in Tinkerbell herself, who obviously had not seen this alternative option coming. Suddenly all attention had fallen away from Pete and the air between ex and current was thick and sickly with an unspoken but ever so apparent hatred. An eyebrow raised and her posture slanted slightly more forward as her attempts to intimidate someone already a foot under her continued to fail. A sigh burst from her with an almost comedic over exaggeration of the rise and fall of her chest when it was evident Kitty was not in fact going to budge. A single taloned finger pointed at her the flair of dramatics continuing into the way her wrist twirled with the leisure of someone with less on their plate and a few more drinks in front of the them, “Well you can’t wear that facing down dragons.”

It almost seemed silly how much time she wasted with the burning landscape painting the scene and the direness of it behind her which might of been why a snort garnished Kitty’s blank face before looking up at Pete with a smirk. “Gimme your coat.” It was almost a request, but dreams of politeness were dashed as she grabbed and pulled at the article of clothing she wanted. As per usual the arms were too long and the tails dragged but she’d managed to cover the so very sloven pajamas she’d come to this land with. Excitedly did she throw her hands up in the air, although the hands were shrouded by the fabric of the sleeves, as Lockheed peaked through the neck of the jacket. “SHOW ME THE DRAGONS!”

Grandly did Tink roll her eyes at the notion of this being her savior and with good cause, as far as she was concerned. But through her annoyance a reptilian smile was shot Pete’s way as one hand reached out to grab the kitten’s outstretched hand and pulled her closer snaking that arm around her waist as the flick of her pointer finger on the hand not too busy curling around Kitty Pryde pointed behind him strumming up another another portal. “Well I don’t need you. You can go if you want. Doesn’t Lizzy need you?” 

“Ew.” Idly did Kitty phase out of the grip around her as an hand reached out for his. “Petey come on. I bet we can out run her.” Tossing her head back she took a glance at where the dragons were, giant talon bearing down on trees and a small village and without a second thought, or really any thought at all, she took off running small dragon in tote.

Astonishment painted Tink’s face, “PETE! Stop her!”

       “Alright, alright luv no need to get your knickers in a knot!” Honestly, the Brit couldn’t be more thankful that they’d just barely managed to avoid a full-scale explosion from the one and only Kitty Pryde given her history of long winded tirades, so for once he and the bloody lizard could relate on an emotion other than pure annoyance. It was unsettling though having her mad at him to begin with, let alone around the Fae. Quite frankly it left him more on edge than he had been for a long time and ready to strike regardless of whether they be friend or foe so long as his Kitten was happy. Even if that happened to not be directly with him… because Pete was a good boyfriend. He was a bloody good boyfriend. Who would quite indeed know if she was suddenly losing hairs rapidly.

His hold would tighten around his love, fingers curling into the light fabric as quite literally every movement from the oversized fae made his hairs stand on end worse than he could have prepared for. Kitty was rough when she wanted to be, Tink however was something else, throwing her weight around with boots twice the size of your head and fists even more dangerous if you got on her bad side (which, for the record, was both.) So, it was only natural to suffer from an innate fear of the person you’d seen with a paddle clutched between her fingertips eyeing down the woman you loved with no reassurance of whether she was most definitely safe.

Again would he question why he had to get involved with this split situation, that maybe he was better off in MI-6 or MI-12 rather than stuck dealing with those bloody idiots on the other side. They only ever caused him trouble and that was on a goodday when they weren’t letting dragons and mythical occurrences loose in the bloody streets of London of all places. Sorting it out was one thing, dealing with the government after such however was another story entirely and his life was filled with quite enough drama without the addition of strange occurrences leaking into his living room.  

A sigh follows almost as dramatic as the first as his oversized trench coat is tugged aggressively from his shoulders and drags across the floor when she’s wrapped in it, swatting him in the face with the sleeve as he stares, quite blankly, forwards to the aggressive woman as she works up both ends “Luv you really oughta be a bit more careful when dealin’ wi—” Tinkerbell would never grow out of this apparent nastiness.His own pained expression shifted to one of pure annoyance and almost a tinge ofanger as he drags the tiny brunette against his chest, for once wishing she would have turned and walked away alongside him regardless of their ability to get home.

But no.

                Not Kitty Pryde.

                                           Not a damn chance.

“Like to see me try, Tink!” With wide eyes and a loud mouth he was dragged and honestly wondered if the woman had realised she still had a firm grip on his fingers as her legs powered the both of them along for this little ride. Really though, as Pete mused over whether or not he might just die today, he established running into places they weren’t supposed to be was essentially the base of their relationship and he should have a little more faith in their uncanny ability to make it out alive. “I trust you got a right good plan goin’ on up there, Kitten?”

As if on cue, hearing a rather aggressive shriek from above indicated that just maybethis was another of those times and they’d make it back still alive yet barely breathing with dirt staining their clothes for the next two weeks. There were trees that no longerwere trees anymore and houses reduced to the blackest pile of ash you ever saw with glowing embers just barely lighting the way as they charged head on into the chaos. It was madness for lack of a better word, almost upsetting as the normally green and luck place was racked with so much destruction the mutant couldn’t decide whether he wanted to rub it in his ex-girlfriend’s face or cry just a little. He’d probably do both later.