Waiter, There's Plastic in My Pool
or
How Much Can One Cajun Take Before His Head Explodes?
by
Lady-T
Disclaimer: Oh so so so so SO not mine. I want a bouncy castle too, damn it!
Dedication: Eek, you asked, so I did provide.
Author's note: Last one folks. The dancing nun reminded me of my old headmistress. (Don't ask)
2:06 p.m. : Poolside. Sunny with patches of light cloud
"Faster, Logan, faster!"
"I'm going as. . . fast as I. . . can, Darlin'. . . "
Panting broke up his sentence and Kitty paused on her way to the pool, the thick, high hedges obscuring all view.
Over the top, the luridly coloured turrets of the bouncy castle boinged up and down.
Her inflatable pool duck looked on, plastically.
"God, you're good, Logan. . . "
The girl's brow crinkled.
2:07: p.m. : Still sunny, although the cloud to the left of the larch tree is starting to look like a sleeping cat if you squint.
"Logan. . . Just a little more. . . "
"I'm almost done. . . "
"Just a little harder!"
"Nearly there. . . "
Remy looked away from his book, the noise carrying over the screens into the conservatory. His eyebrows shot up and the book fell down.
"Remy think the ole Wolverine be doin' something he shouldn't on the patio, non?" He said, eyeing the rhythmically waving plastic.
His eyes gleamed with the sudden possibilities piling into his head. Rubber and swimming pools made a composite that was both slippery and pliant and the book took the final nosedive to the concrete as he sprinted into the sunlight.
2:08 p.m. : Garden pathway. Still disgustingly sunny, but the cat has metamorphosed into a burning school bus being driven by a lecherous warthog. The larch tree has rustled its leaves a bit.
"You really shouldn't be listening to this." Chastised Jean, getting down on all fours to squint between the gaps in the hedge.
"The ole Wolvie is a little vocal this afternoon," observed Remy, rubbernecking Jean's wiggling butt poking out between the leaves.
He told himself to focus, but the boinging rubber was giving him signals and the inflatable duck was giving him the eye.
They could hear the harsh breathing, the panting, the sweat, the short, sharp gasps. . .
"Oh God," groaned Remy. "The sounds be having a bad effect on the poor Cajun, non?"
Kitty raised her eyebrow.
The duck would have blinked if it could have.
2:10 p.m. : Sun still shines, birds still sing and the grinning warthog has begun to make inappropriate gestures at the floaty nun forming over the top of a small birch tree.
"Hey guy's what's goi. . . " Jubilee fell off the end of her sentence.
"That's it, Logan! Right there, just a little more. . . "
Jean's eyebrows fell off her face, Remy's cards fell out of his pocket and Kitty pondered the possibility of finding a tape recorder in time to use it for blackmail.
The exerted grunting carried on through the hedge.
2:11 p.m. : The nun flips the finger back, and the warthog vanishes in a puff of divine intervention.
"They really shouldn't be doing that in public," frowned Jean, wiggling her way out from under the hedge.
"Oh God. . . " groaned Gambit, watching Jean.
"Jean, put your ass away, Remy's gone a funny colour," Observed Kitty.
"I guess it's educational. . . " Pondered Jubilee.
"Oh God. . . "
"Logan!"
"Oh God. . . "
"That's good. . . !"
"Oh God. . . "
"Gambit never figured Wolvie for the religious type, non?"
Kitty turned red and hit him with the duck.
The duck scowled.
"That's IT! Aaaah! That's perfect!"
"Oh God. . . "
"Oh, Logan. . . "
Panting hard the motion stopped.
The four stood frozen.
The four looked at each other. The duck grinned.
"Oh God. . . "
"Logan, you were wonderful. . . "
"Oh God. . . "
"Mmmm. . . "
"I think. . . I'm just gonna. . . lie down here for a second. . . "
The four looked at each other again.
Then they burst into poorly muffled hysterical laughter.
2:12 p.m. : The floaty nun dances in celebration and flashes the larch tree in a victorious show of prowess.
"I think she killed him," Snickered Jubilee.
"Someone better check he's OK," Grinned Kitty.
"Could be needin' a doctor after all that exertion. . . " Added Remy
Jean's smile dropped faster that Rogue's pants in L/R 'shipper fic.
"Oh, no no no no no. . . "
Jean felt herself being bodily pushed through the gate while her fellow conspirators ran like greyhounds.
2:13 p.m. : Poolside. The larch tree ruffles its leaves at the gratuitous nun's display and her antics are curtailed as her head morphs into a winged otter.
Logan, panting hard and sweating, lay sprawled on the floor, bare chest heaving in the bright sunshine.
"Oh God. . . "
"Hi Jean!" Waved Myst, grinning wildly.
"Oh God. . . " Groaned Logan.
"Logan?" Asked Jean.
"Hey Jean. . . " He panted.
"Sorry to interrupt. I was. . . uh. . . just leaving."
She bolted back through the gate screaming for Remy at the top of her lungs.
Myst blinked.
"Say, you don't think she thought we were. . . " Myst rolled her eyes and whistled expressively. "Do ya?"
"Myst. . . " Logan raised a finger and waved it limply in the air. "Next time Chuck hires a bouncy castle, make sure we hire a compressor. I'm not doing that with a foot pump again. . . "
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