narcissistic natural disaster

[ … ] ( 📩 → Julio Richter ): Well, obviously.  ( 📩 → Julio Richter ): What exactly are we setting on fire?  ( 📩 → Julio Richter ): I’d like to know before I’m committing a crime. ( 📩 → Julio Richter ): Not that anyone would even find out.  ( 📩 → Julio Richter ): I just like to be prepared. 

Sharon was on her side, leaning over the side of the couch and letting her head hang, wishing that the new position would help settle her stomach, but she was starting to believe that absolutely nothing would help tame the nausea. Her hand came over her stomach. The movement, however slight, was enough to make her groan again. And then Rictor spoke again, using the word puke. Bastard.

“Shut up,” Sharon grumbled, not daring to move her head enough to look in his direction. “Say puke one more time and I’ll be redecorating your… living room?“ She was on a couch and there was a TV and a coffee table - but it was hard to tell what the function of these rooms was supposed to be. “You’re not allowed to die. Sorry, but I already RSVP’d and my ducks need someone.” Cat food? Sharon lifted her head and looked at him lazily. “Where is the cat? I want to scratch ears.“ And hold something small and warm. “I think… the bar we were at had a bar cat. Did you steal that from Mischa’s competition?" 

/

It was some consolation, at least, that Sharon seemed to feel just as bad as he did. There were sayings about misery and its feelings regarding company, and while a more valiant hero might deny them, Rictor was adamant that they were very much true. He always felt a little better knowing he wasn’t suffering alone. That was probably, he figured, part of the reason why he joined a team full of X-Men rejects who pretended to solve crime. Definitely one of the top five reasons.

“No,” he muttered, muffled by the arm his face was currently resting on. He lifted his head slightly, squinting his eyes in her general direction. “This is a lobby. It’s a business. We’re professionals.” As evidenced by the two hungover individuals passed out in said lobby, he was sure. Madrox couldn’t even bitch at him for it, considering the sheer number of hungover dupes he’d wrestled out of this very lobby on more than one occasions. “I deserve to die way more than you do. I fucking earned it. I’m the one who got us here.” Even if he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten them here. Squinting again, he turned his head to the other side. “Mischa,” he called. The sound of soft padding moved towards him, a quiet purring becoming evident as she approached. Rather than do something helpful, the cat jumped up onto Rictor’s back, curling up on top of his head. He blew out a long exhale through his nose. “Figures,” he muttered. “Oh. I probably did steal it.” It sounded like something he’d do. Pulling the can from his pocket, he rolled it in Sharon’s direction. “You can see if she’ll eat it, I guess.”

(✉ → ricky 💚): It’s the only time I get some kind of peace. (✉ → ricky 💚): You know there are other people you can call when you need bail, right? I have no money, Rictor. (✉ → ricky 💚): You won’t survive the hour without me, (✉ → ricky 💚): Please tell me you haven’t /already/ dropped a cop car in a crater?

(✉️ ➡️ Ric +group): maybe (✉️ ➡️ Ric +group): hold on, let me just heal this hangover […] (✉️ ➡️ Ric +group): okay so we started drinking around 8 (✉️ ➡️ Ric +group): Jade showed up around 11 (✉️ ➡️ Ric +group): we did some more shots (✉️ ➡️ Ric +group): and then by midnight you were gone 

[📱to sir shakes a lot, +group ] everything boils down to the TV you broke [📱to sir shakes a lot, +group ] I loved that TV [📱to sir shakes a lot, +group ] it was a prized family possession, there was a strong emotional attachment, it saved me once […] [📱to sir shakes a lot, +group ] from boredom, but that’s beside the point!! […] [📱to sir shakes a lot, +group ] you can always add to the pile! I’m adding to the pile […] [📱to sir shakes a lot, +group ] perseverance! see, you just insist you can handle things, and then the next thing you know, you’re handling things [📱to sir shakes a lot, +group ] like jets, and classes, and world-ending cosmic threats in space […]

[…] [📱to sir shakes a lot, +group ] :( [📱to sir shakes a lot, +group ] :( :(

Rictor was usually the one with the vocal crisis. He’d look into the distance while they were on a roof, and they’d talk about something that they’d never talk about when looking each other in the eye. And this time, it was Rachel’s turn. Sprawled out on the couch that wasn’t hers in an apartment that was open (as Rictor described it at least) to anyone who wanted to stay. But it wasn’t hers. It was just… there. Just like she was just there. Existing in an undefined space. Unsure of what she was doing or who she was supposed to be.

“Is this place ever open?” She asked, waving vaguely to the closed sign as Rictor started trying to ‘give her purpose.’ But she made no moves towards the fridge. It was a nice attempt though, but it was hardly an inspiring one. “If I wanted to serve alcohol, I’d be a bartender. I could be so rich. Imagine me telling people I could guess their favorite drink without them telling me. Drunk people would over tip thinking I was magic.”

/

Rachel deserved better friends than Rictor. He knew that. She’d been there for him throughout a great deal of crises, talked him through things well enough to convince him not to jump off a roof, but when it was his turn to do the same for her? It was all Ric could do to keep himself from high tailing it out the front door. He should be better at this, he knew. A man who lost his way as often as he did should know how to help someone else find theirs, but he wasn’t. All he could do was make bad jokes, was distract, was cover a gaping wound with a fifty-cent Band-Aid. He didn’t know if that was enough.

“Occasionally. It’s annoying when it is, though. Being a mutant PI is kind of depressing, as it turns out.” A lot of hopeless causes, a lot of people wanting something they could never give them. It felt a little something like this, really, like Rachel lamenting about having no purpose and Ric having no idea how to change that. “Drunk people think everything’s magic. If you sneezed they’d probably applaud. Maybe you missed your calling there, though. You’re right, you’d be good at it.”

i did my best. || @rictorscales

It took a lot to get Rictor to open up – at least without screaming and hurling insults at each other that would sting far more in retrospect than they did in the moment. Privately (because only a telepath of her calibre could avail of such a thing) Jean wondered if that was why Rictor spent so much time with her; if the potential of something hurting in the long run made it far more worth his time than something that would provide any benefit, even if she did try to aim for the latter as much as possible. It was always easier to damage than it was to build, at least when you were Jean Grey.

She’d worked out something of a system, though, to get him to have only a few words of honesty before he built those walls up again. Burning off excess energy and helping Genosha at the same time was a surefire way to do it, and they’d spent the afternoon with Jean constructing buildings while Rictor created an ecosystem around it – a living city even before its inhabitants had arrived. “I think you’ve done very well,” Jean said, looking around at the buildings. “I like the azaleas.” A moment passed, the wind blowing lightly through her hair, and Jean turned back to look at him. “Are we talking about the flowers, Rictor?”

/

There were flowers crawling up the sides of the buildings, vines weaving their way through the cracks between the bricks. Rictor was getting better at controlling their growth now, better at making them grow how he wanted and when he wanted instead of just sprouting up at random in all directions. He was still getting used to it, because it was different. Ever since he was a teenager, when the Right snatched him off the street and started torturing him for their own private purposes, all Ric had really been good at was destruction. He tore apart the ground, the buildings, the people the relied on them both. He tore apart his friends when they dared disagree with him, cutting them down with sharp words to push them away. Sometimes, he did it even when they didn’t disagree, when they told him with low tones and sad eyes that they were worried about him.

Jean, he thought, knew this better than anyone.

She’d been on the receiving end of his anger more than most, had learned the best response was to be angry right back because if she weren’t, he’d tear her into pieces before it was over. He could feel her behind him now, watching the flowers and the trees push their way out of the dirt, and when he spoke, it was quieter than their usual fare. (But it always started quietly, didn’t it?) He nodded when she spoke, letting himself focus on the azaleas in question. “My mom likes them,” he said, looking down at his feet in the dirt. His stepmother loved azaleas. Rictor wasn’t sure she loved him, these days. He tensed at Jean’s question, hands suddenly clenching into fists. “What else would we be talking about?”

[📱to Wrong Actually ] since I needed to in order to win this argument […] [📱to Wrong Actually ] are you discounting Lucky right now? I’m insulted on behalf of my dog [📱to Wrong Actually ] how dare you [📱to Wrong Actually ] he’s an important and essential part of my team, and if he wants to assist in drunk pizza he gets to assist in drunk pizza

This kind of shit happened so often in New York that it felt like old news now. Alien invasions, superpowered criminals, magnetic assholes seeking vengeance on all the wrong people... Rictor had seen it all at this point. And he was kind of sick of it. If something was going to kill him, he kind of just hoped it’d get it the hell over with.

It wouldn’t be this particular alien, though. This particular alien was being lead away in some kind of weird, tentacle version of handcuffs by the damn alien police or whatever the hell they were. And the alien police chief was looking down at him, head tilted to the side as he sat on the curb, leaning against a light pole. 

“If I say yes, is the government gonna give me money? Am I entitled to financial compensation?” He looked up lazily, quirking a brow. 

Julio Richter was, arguably, the absolute worst person to come to in the midst of an existential crisis. And he knew it. He wasn’t someone who knew how to help with that sort of thing. It was one area, he supposed, where experience did not make a person qualified to offer advice. Because while Ric had had more than his fair share of crises, existential or otherwise, he’d never actually... solved one. But Rachel knew that. Better than most, really. 

“You and me both,” Rictor chimed in, holding his beer up in the air from where he lay sprawled on his desk in the corner of the XFI office. The sign was flipped to closed even though he could see that they’d forgotten to lock the door again, but he doubted anyone was going to walk in. “But, hey, if you want a purpose, you could see if we’ve got any more beer in the fridge. I think Madrox bought a six pack that he totally won’t mind sharing.”

[📱to sir shakes a lot, +group ] no <3 […] [📱to sir shakes a lot, +group ] I’m going to make you calling me Katherine your new crisis […] [📱to sir shakes a lot, +group ] BOOP [📱to sir shakes a lot, +group ] BUZZ [📱to sir shakes a lot, +group ] BOOP [📱to sir shakes a lot, +group ] how’s the headache? […] [📱to sir shakes a lot, +group ] I know how to fly the jet! I’ve been flying the jet for years! well, even, thank you very much [📱to sir shakes a lot, +group ] only a few pigeons were harmed in the making of this skill […] [📱to sir shakes a lot, +group ] been chilly [📱to sir shakes a lot, +group ] and no snow, was kind of hoping for some snow [📱to sir shakes a lot, +group ] anyone else hoping for snow?

(✉️ ➡️ Ric +group): together, or at least at first (✉️ ➡️ Ric +group): I lost track of you… I want to say midnight (✉️ ➡️ Ric +group): hold on let me ask Jade

[ text ]: I replaced your apple juice with whiskey six months ago.

@rictorscales

(✉️ ➡️ Rictor ): I know. (✉️ ➡️ Rictor ): That's why I make eye contact with you when I drink it. (✉️ ➡️ Rictor ): I would never describe you as "subtle." (✉️ ➡️ Rictor ): But don't tell Kitty, she'll probably confiscate it.

[📱to Wrong Actually ] I value my arteries [📱to Wrong Actually ] and my dignity […] [📱to Wrong Actually ] it’s also very bold of you to assume Lucky and I haven’t polished off 3 whole large pizzas