#nutpunch

"I will not." He folds his arms and lifts a brow, the corner his lip curling with disapproval.

"You totally will, dude; it's a dare," says Johnny, appearing as if from nowhere. "Now c'mon, call Chillmaster on over here and let's see what kinda mushy bullshit you got."

If Scorpion thought he could growl and get away with it, he would be doing it right now. "I do not have a nickname for Liang," he says, "I..."

"You super do, though." Johnny catches sight of the grandmaster in question. It is only by coincidence that all three are in the same place at one time, a relatively rare occurrence. He waves the kryomancer over and, delayed only by a few words with one of the cyberized Lin Kuei--Cyrax, by the color of his armor--the man heads over, suspicious, but clearly not offended by the summons.

Hanzo's countenance softens as the other man approaches and likewise, the perpetual ice about Kuai Liang's heart thaws. He bows, and Scorpion returns the gesture. Heedless of Johnny--they are both accustomed to him by now--Sub-Zero clasps his former rival's hands.

"What is it?"

"It is nothing, my Heart... Cage is playing pranks. Again." The side-eye Johnny receives from Scorpion is all the warning he needs to keep his phone stowed and his mouth firmly shut.

"I would be unsettled if the case were otherwise, my Fire," responds Sub-Zero without missing a beat. "At any rate, we have much to discuss and you did say you would join me for tea." The kryomancer's blue eyes fall on Johnny. "You are welcome to join us."

His tone says otherwise and Johnny raises a hand. "Nah, I'm good. Thanks anyway, fellas."

Johnny Cage raises both hands to indicate that he’s got this one—against everyone’s better judgment.

“Please do not eat any of my kombatants,” warns Raiden, lightning dancing over his limbs threateningly. It isn’t clear if he’s joking.

“Easy Raidude, they mean he’s hot,” interjects Johnny, intent on saving the day as is his wont. “Which, I mean…” He tips his sunglasses down and ogles the busty monk. “If I had to pick a… nother monk.”

“I am standing RIGHT. HERE.” Kung Lao is, in fact, fairly close by, arms crossed, lips drawn into the pout of irritation that really only enhances their size, shape, and color, all of which are appealing on their own, but in tandem, it is a difficult view to resist.

Johnny could never tell if he offended her or got her engines revving, so to speak. Sometimes it was a combination and he honestly wans't complaining. She was a hard woman to read, Sonya Blade, and that, Johnny assumed, was by design, but when she saw something she wanted, she could always be counted on to go for it and right now it was him, praise god or whomever the fuck was up there, it was him. He responded by folding into the gesture, melting, becoming soft, like putty. She could do with him whatever made her happy. He'd be okay with that.

"You ah... wanna try that again?"

"Wasn't even in a film," he says by way of response. "Totally ad-libbed that shit, but that's why they pay me the big bucks, innit?"

Crossing his arms and nodding, he seems very proud of himself, lost in the memory of it. "Yeah, it was... fuckin' great." He tilted his head as if viewing in on a screen hovering somewhere in the middle distance.

"There I was, facing off against this big asshole with four arms and a bad hairdo... Me? I'm lookin' good...like all things considered, for a guy who's been a couple days at the freakiest resort ever, like, picture some kinda BDSM getaway when you're NOT down with that shit.

"Not saying I'm not, but if you weren't and—well you get the idea. Anyway, so I take my shades off... gunna give this dude some respect 'cause I watched him straight KILL a man.

"And what's he do? He takes those babies outta my damn hand and CRUSHES THEM! Like, bare-handed CRRRGGHHH, smash. Drops 'em like they're nothing. So what do I say to him? You GOTTA know this one:

Johnny can sense Cassie’s discomfort. He mirrors it, both in his body language and the crazy torrent of his thoughts. This is his fellow soldier, but also his baby girl. He cannot help seeing her that way and it is eating at him that his separation of the two is so difficult. He raised her, however—hell, he named her!

“Tiff and the girls,” he echoes, his tone speaking volumes for how much he is not talking about Tiff or the illustrious “girls”. It isn’t, in fact, a girl to whom he is referring. He wishes it could be so. He wishes he could just be prying into her personal life as a curious dad, not a concerned father. Somehow, the words have different weight.

“Cass… I think you know I’m not talking about your usual club crew.” Johnny Cage feels trapped, disliking this world in which his own mouth cannot work him out of the awkward situation into which it has put him. “Listen,” he amends after a second, pushing his sunglasses up atop his head, eyes the color of the sky focusing on his precious child, so much like her mother, but so much like him—complete with bad taste in men, apparently. He is older now, however, and his tastes have matured, or at least they’ve turned toward safer waters, so to speak. “You know I love you, kiddo… and you can tell me anything—I wish you would, but I think I know why you can’t… or don’t want to.”