2013.10.07 - A Good Night Of Fun

Ice. That's what she needs right now. Ice. And maybe a cold drink. With ice in it. With something stronger inside of it. And maybe two of them. Or three. Dog gone it! Kitty had wanted to have fun this evening, instead she ended up mucking about with gremlins, evil magic users, and snot nosed, punk magicians and their girlfriend that can turn into a gryphon. And she didn't even get to do a full dance, /or/ get her drink. It is this reason, the spunky mutant phaser is heading out the door to the mansion, with a bag of ice on her hand, and a set of car keys in the other. "And Lockheed. Do /not/ eat any more of Rachel's shoes." She admonishes the small, purple dragon that is flitting about Kitty as she heads towards the garage. "I mean it! You just can't go on and eat other people's shoes. Now I'm going to have to go buy Rachel a new pair! She loved those! It, also, mind you dragon, was not good to barf on Rachel's bed. That was another mess that I had to clean up, and I should have made -you- do it.."

As Kitty talks, the small purple dragon continues to fly around her, his head hung low as soft 'feh' sounds echo outwards. He almost looks sorry. Almost. "Don't you feh at me, dragon." Kitty continues to admonish, the car keys rattling as she points her free hand towards the dragon. "Now I'm going to go get something to drink, and then get a taxi back.. so I might be completely soused when I return. /If/ so. I'm trusting you not .. to ... " Kitty's gaze suddenly turns towards ...

...the large form of one Piotr Rasputin, who is standing in the driveway to the X-Mansion, a large duffle bag slung over one shoulder, and a taxi-cab starting to pull away from the curb behind him. There's really no mistaking the tall Russian, as he's as brawny and muscular as ever, with those same soulful eyes and broad shoulders as he's always had. Though - there is one immediate difference to him. In the time since he's last been at the mansion, the erstwhile X-man has grown a thick handle-bar moustache, the coarse black hair framing his upper lip and cutting down at right angles arcoss the corners of his mouth, to reach all the way down to his chin. The look is stereotypically Russion, and while it doesn't look *bad* on him, it's not necessarily a *good* look on Piotr either.

Piotr can't help but grin broadly at the sight of Kitty Pryde, however, his features lighting up and his eyes shining. "I didn't know you could trust Lockheed for much of anything, Katya," he remarks softly, a clear note of amusement in his deep, accented baritone. "Except for making messes in your room. It looks like he's still up to his old tricks on that account." He continues to smile widely then, keeping his attention focused on the small brunette. He had been wondering whom he might find here at the mansion, and even though he knew he needed to come home to collect himself after his last mission, he was still filled with no small amount of trepidation at how he might be recieved. After all, he has been gone for awhile. But for some reason, those doubts escape away from him at the sight of Kitty, and he's immediately put at ease in her presence. "If you can wait a few moments for me take care of my things, it sounds like you might be able to use some company, da?"

Soon enough, yet another engine draws near. This one does not belong to a conventional automobile, but rather, that of a motorcycle. Harley Davidson, Iron 883, to be precise. As the vehicle pulls into the garage, it's engine idles to a healthy (and powerful) putter, while it's helmeted driver pulls up alongside the edge of the garage closer to the mansion's entrance, a spot typically reserved for people who plan to come and go, without staying.

However, that doesn't mean that Kwabena isn't about to be extremely happy to visit a safe and civilized place, even if it is only going to be for a short time. He drops the kickstand, kills the engine, and lifts the helmet with a slightly disgruntled look that is soon replaced by a look of satisfaction. He notices the others, but for the moment, he seems content to take a few seconds, close his eyes, and smell the garage.

Yes, the garage. Because it's clean.

Finally hopping off the bike, he discards the helmet upon one of the handlebars, and looks across the way toward Piotr and Kitty. "Hallo!" calls the Ghanian, his tone sounding absolutely, and perhaps uncharacteristically jubilant.

A rush of air escapes Kitty's lungs, the last person in this world she expected to see, as she was heading out to do some honest go goodness drinking, was Piotr Rasputin. Complete with Russian handlebar mustache. It is, most assuredly, this reason that the mutant phaser is standing in the doorway to the mansion, hand still pointing towards the small dragon that has now settled onto the floor, looking out, her body half-swiveled around, and making quite the comical view. She's not sure whether to laugh, or be stern, or well. Whatever she does, Kitty swears, she will not comment on the .. the moustache. "Moustache." Dammit! Those are the first words out of Kitty's mouth, and her entire body cringes as she says it. "I.. I mean. Petey!" And well, Kitty wouldn't be Kitty if she didn't immediately dart forward to fling herself into the tall Russian's arms. (Or at least, her arms around his torso, given the height difference.) As she steps back, Kitty's head tilts upwards, hazel eyes twinkling. "It's good to see you. It's been..gosh. A long time." The ice bag that is wrapped around Kitty's fists is pealed off, and tossed to one side, while Lockheed remains in the doorway of the mansion, offering a soft snort of sound, as smoke billows outwards from his nose. Her fist shows a nice bit of bruising from where she smacked it into not just gremlins this evening, but the baddy that created them, her hand flinches slightly as her fingers flex, the cold having helped - a little at least.

"Yes. Please. Head on in, I was just going to go out, and enjoy the evening. Feel free to join me. I could use the company." And this, Kitty does mean. The sound of the Harley filters through Kitty's senses, before her gaze flickers towards Shift, and there's a fleeting expression of concern - followed by a bright and chipper smile on her features. "Hey. Shift. Have you meet, Piotr Rasputin?" And with a step back from Piotr, Kitty makes the proper introductions, just in case.

His own duffle bag dropped to the ground with a loud 'whoomph!', Piotr is quick to wrap the spritely brunette within the powerful wreath of his arms, his broad smile widening at the girl's enthusiasm. Some things, it seems, never change, and for this Piotr Rasputin is quite glad. He holds tight onto the girl for a long moment, even lifting her up off the ground briefly, before setting her back down and affording her the stability of her own feet. At the blurted comment regarding his facial hair, however, Piotr flushes up slightly, a noticeable bit of color meeting his cheeks and under the aforementioned moustache. "Da, moustache," he agrees, nodding almost a bit sheepishly. "I was undercover for my last assignment. I needed to be, how is said, in cognito." His smile widens once more, the expression warping the moustache a bit and making it seem even more foreign on the Russian's features. "I do not think I'll be keeping it. It makes me look too old, nyet?"

The bruise on Kitty's hand is not missed by Piotr, and his attention is drawn there as Kitty makes the offer for him to join her. "It looks like you have a good story to tell, too. I would enjoy joining you, much. It has been a long time... Too long, I think. It's good to see you too, Katya," he confesses. "It will not take me long to drop off my bag, I can unpack later tonight. Hopefully I still have a room and will not have to sleep in the hall..." Which is something that he really hadn't thought of before just showing up on the doorstep. But really, why shouldn't he expect to always have a home here at the Mansion? Piotr reaches down to collect his duffle bag again, when the loud sound of the motorcycle reaches his ears, and he turns to find out who it might be that's arriving. The signature noise immediately has him thinking it may be another of his friends, but his hopeful expression falls a bit when he notes that it's someone else entirely. "Da, we have met briefly before, I believe," he notes, nodding once to the new arrival with a polite and friendly smile.

Walking over with more speed than his steps have found in some time, Kwabena joins the other two. As he goes, a tentative glance is given to the left and right, looking for any wayward students who may not yet be aware of the X-Men's existence. The sight of Piotr and Kitty embracing is yet another bright spot in a life where there have been so few. It even goes so far as to slow his pace a bit, giving the two a moment to themselves.

"Yes," he says upon approach. "Piotr. Also known as de great Colossus, if I undahstand?" His heavy accent places him as another whose home is not in the States. Brushing his gloved hands off on his jeans first before stripping them off, he offers a hand in greeting. "Kwabena. Or Shift. Eidah one, nevah boddah's me. Pleasure is mine."

Once the greeting is over, he turns and takes another look around. "Dis place really is a sight for sore eyes. It is unfortunate I cannot stay for too long." He looks back toward Kitty, offering the fellow X-Woman a smile and a nod of his head in greeting. "I hope things have been-- aah!"

It seems that, just then, Lockheed caught the African's eye. He yelps, upper body darting backward in shock, and he can't help but point a hand at the creature. "What... what is dat?"

Lockheed, for his part, is only too happy to be noticed. Especially at such a fantastic reaction. Grrr. He gets out, smoke idly drifting up from the little creature's nostrils. He stomps out of the doorway on all fours, wings fluttering upwards, letting out (what he assumes) is intimidating 'fehs'. Which only cause Kitty to roll her eyes as she reaches down to collect the small dragon into her arms. "I'm surprised Rachel hasn't introduced you sooner, or at least complained about him. Kwabena." Kitty offers with a grin, "This is Lockheed. My.. well, he's my pet. My dragon. My familiar. Whatever you want to call him. Though he prefers to simply be called, my friend."

Lockheed huffs at each word he doesn't like, before nodding in agreement, pointing one clawed paw towards himself at the last. "Yah!" He states happily, turning his beady, dark eyes onto Shift. Kitty just offers a shake of her head, as the dragon winds his way around Kitty's shoulders, resting happily there, as Kitty's free hand lifts upwards, allowing the dragon to balance his front paws onto the back of her palm. "He saved my life in space, and returned here when we did." Kitty continues to explain. "He's been with me for many years now."

Her gaze moves from the dragon towards Shift, as Kitty offers a bright smile to the Ghanian. "And home - the mansion. It'll always be home, regardless of how long you're gone." To this, she announces to both Piotr as well as Kwabena, her eyes moving from one to the other. "I /was/ going to head out to Harry's but I think maybe a stay here, and a raiding of the kitchens seems better. I /know/ Logan keeps a stash of beer somewhere... If you both would like to join me, and catch up?"

Reaching out his own, large hand, Piotr offers Kwabena a firm handshake in greeting, followed by another polite nod. "Da, that is my name also, though often I just prefer Piotr," he answers with a friendly smile. "But I agree about the Mansion. That is why I've come here myself. I've found that I needed some time to collect myself, and I could think of no better place." The Russian turns to glance at Kitty then as he continues speaking. "Or no better people." The tone of his voice might be heard to change ever so subtly with the comment, and his features soften just a tad under that large moustache on his face. Anything else that he may have to say to follow up the comment, however, is lost with Kwabena's near-comical reaction to Lockheed, and Piotr himself finds it hard to stifle a chuckle at the man's shock.

He manages to compose himself, however, and listens quietly as Kitty explains her unique relationship with Lockheed, remembering himself the mission that brought the strange little dragon into their midst. "In many ways, the dragon is a more permanent resident of the house than the rest of us," Piotr comments. "I certainly can't imagine Katya without him," he adds with a smile. He seems quite comfortable with the presence of the small purple creature, but then, why shouldn't he? "I would not mind the trip to Harry's, but I also would not mind to stay here for the evening to unwind," he adds, repositioning his duffle bag to sling the strap of the large luggage of his shoulder again. He balances the bulky sack with his arm, bracing his partway behind his back as he glances upwards at the large structure of the mansion behind Kitty. "I think I remember some of Logan's hiding spots. But if they are empty, I am certain that we can find some from Kurt, instead." Yes, there's no shortage of X-Men who enjoy a good alcoholic beverage, even if it's not vodka. Of course, Piotr's not aware just who may or may not be still living at the Mansion - There's likely more new faces than just Kwabena here now, but he's optimistic that all of the familiar faces he knows are still here too.

For a few moments, Kwabena remains fixed on Lockheed, his mis-matched eyes tracking the dragon's every move. Only when it climbs into Kitty's arms does he seem to relax, though there's still something altogether unnerving about it. Had either of them known of his recent encounter with The Darkness in Brooklyn, they might understand him being a bit, shall we say, easily spooked, but for now, Kwabena is going to keep that whole mess a secret. He was still trying to process the whole mess, anyway.

Kitty's words draw his attention back to her, and they do little to dissuade the look of disbelief from his face. "Saved, your life, in space...?" His mouth hangs open for a moment, but then it clamps shut in one of those classic, I'll-ask-later motions. He's had to swallow too many time travel stories lately, another story about people, mutant, metahuman or not, being in space? That might just be too much for him to handle tonight. Still, he doesn't want to be rude. Peering at the creature as it perches upon Kitty's shoulder, he hazards a wave and hesitantly says, "Hello dere."

There's a bit of a delayed reaction to Kitty mentioning Rachel. He looks back to her, blinking. "Oh, well, Rachel? No, de opahration is keeping us busy. Not too much time for small talk, unfortunately." When she mentions having a beer, however, his expression seems to grow much more comfortable. He happily reaches into his leather jacket, producing a beaten up, old hip flask. "I thought you'd nevah ask," he quips. "It's been dry on de island. Best way to keep Magneto's telepaths out is a clear head."

Tucking the flask away, Piotr's mention of Kurt seems to cast a shadow over the African's face. "Well, if not, I undahstand dey kept my quarters clear. I left some few things behind, had to pack light. If dere's no beer, well, I can guarantee some few bottles of whiskey. Just don't blame me if eidah of you ovahdo it. I hope you undahstand what I mean." The last phrase is spoken differently, as if he were apologizing for the thickness of his accent. Many of the people he's encountered have found it hard to decipher at first.

Kitty's listened to too many different accents in her life time - Russian, German, Japanese, Canadian (okay well, it is a strange language in and of itself), African, Demon, Douglas. (Yes, Doug gets a language all his own.) She doesn't have too much difficulty understanding Kwabena words. Instead, a wry grin is offered to both, as Kitty turns about, collecting up the pack of used ice she tossed earlier, to lead the way into the kitchen.

Before long, the kitchen is filled with three people, a dragon, a found cache of Logan's beer, a table full of munchies to enjoy, and a few bottles of 'other' liquor that Kitty managed to snag from the depths of /who/ knows where. (A cheap brand of Vodka, Cap'n Morgan, and Jack Daniels of course).

Hopping up onto the counter, versus settling into one of the chairs at the table, Kitty's legs dangle down as she pops open the can of beer, to take a slight sip of the contents and place it back down. A small pretzel stick is dunked into some warm cheese later, and Kitty's munching happily as she talks.

Lockheed, for his part, is not allowed to have any alcohol after an incident with a stolen six pack, and an entire Thanksgiving Turkey. (Good thing they always make more, or have more available!). A story for another time, for certain. Regardless, he's happily nestled against Kitty's side, drinking his own bottle of lemonade, and munching on his own bowl of munchies and crunchies, which he takes in his paws and idly chews about happily.

"So, anyway. There I was - in the middle of all of these aliens that wanted nothing better than to devour me whole, thinking I was going to -die- when along comes Lockheed, and just turns them into well cooked bugs." Lockheed happily 'yahs' at the end, as Kitty shrugs upwards. "Been with me since."

As Piotr's own Russian accent is fairly thick as well, he seems both to have no difficulty understanding Kwabena, nor harboring any misgivings about the other man's enunciations. Despite his own provincial upbringing, Piotr has led a life which has exposed him to a number of varied accents as well - though, not quite as many as Kitty has. And, for his part, he *still* has trouble deciphering Doug on occasion. Or, most of the time. But, the point is, as pronounced as Kwabena's accent may be, Piotr doesn't have issue with it. What he does have partial issue with instead is the suggestion, even in passing, that the Russian may 'overdo it' on mere whiskey! "Do not worry," he assures the Ghanian with no small measure of pride. "I have not met an American drink that can match the vodka of Mother Russia I was weaned on." He offers a wide grin at that, again bringing that pronounced moustache up at the corners with the expression. He really does cut the picture of a Russian mobster or strongman with the facial hair, and even though he's half-kidding with the comment, it makes it quite believable that he could easily throw back a few bottles of whatever hard liquor he might choose without batting an eyelash.

Moments later, Piotr is in the kitchen with the others, his duffle back left in the main foyer for the time being while he enjoys food, drink, and friends. Naturally, he's appropriated the bottle of vodka, cheap though it is, and has poured himself a glass of the clear liquor as he munches idly from a bowl of pretzels and cheese puffs. He's heard the tale of Lockheed's arrival many times - and was in fact, on the same mission wherein it happened - but Piotr doesn't tire of hearing the story. More precisely, he doesn't tire of hearing Kitty's telling of the story, and raptly listens until she is finished, enjoying the dynamic way in which the girl weaves the tale. "You have always been a wonderful storyteller, Katya," he compliments, grinning. "I still remember the fairy tale that you told my little snowflake..." The memory is recalled with much fondness by Piotr, a rather wistful and nostalgic expression on his face as he lifts his glass of vodka to take another swig of the liquor.

With a conspiratorial tilt of the eye, Kwabena lets a smirk spread across his face, baring his pearly whites. "De game is on, den!" he answers, and happily follows them into the mansion.

He's even happier when his Douglas-encrypted phone receives a message from Jocelyn, explaining that his flight back to Genosha will not leave until late morning.

Soon enough Kwabena's flask has been emptied, and he's eyeing the bottle of Jack Daniels suspiciously. Usually he's a fan of finer bourbons--Blanton's would be a fine example--but in this case, he's not one to be picky. Kitty's tale has, of course, kept his rapt attention. "Alright, I surrendah. First time travel, now mutants in space. White flag!" He also surrenders to that bottle, and begins pouring a healthy portion of Jack into an empty glass. He eyes it loathsomely before taking a sip, then grimaces. "God. Why did I have to develop such good taste in liquor. Dis crap can only be shot." And shoot it he does. Seems the Ghanaian is also no stranger to heavy drinking.

Resting the glass on the table, he leans forward and eyes both of them with a waggle of his brow, clearly about to tell a story of his own. "Reminds me of de first time I got properly fried. Here I am, unskilled mutant living on de streets, and I stumble upon a bank robbery. Long story short, I'm in dis place surrounded by well trained mutants and oddah meta types, you know? And dere's dis force field we can't take down. So my dumb ass gets de great idea. Bullets can't hurt me, right? So I throw myself into de force field." He leans back and makes a zapping sound, spreading his hands apart dramatically. "Psssht! Disintegrated! Took my molecules a whole week to piece demselves back togedah and rematerialize. But wait, it gets bettah." He leans forward again, letting some silence linger for dramatic effect. "Betsy comes looking for me. Senses dat my life force is still beating. When she finds me, I'm sitting on a toilet in de women's room, naked as baby Jesus!" He leans back again, reaching for that bottle of Jack with a grin. "Dat was de first, and last time I threw myself into a force field."

Listening with rapt attention as Shift offers his tale, Kitty's eyes twinkle with delight and merriment. Laughter. It comes naturally for Kitty. She's laughing with a hearty shake of her shoulders, the can of beer next to her is drained down, as another fills her hand afterwards. "Oh my /gosh/. That's horrible!" Though really, Kitty's still chortling softly. She should feel ashamed, really that must have been horrific! But - well, it is an amusing story to be told.

The rest of the evening is spent chatting, laughing, drinking, and telling tales of woe. It might be noted, even with the cheap vodka and cheap bourbon - both Piotr and Shift's drinking will most likely - at least for this evening - be even with each other, leaving Kitty to have four beers and be heavily tipsy as she wanders back to her bed, collapsing within it.

A good night of fun for all.