McCoy Fluff Who: Pete, Phil, and Hank (gorgeously NPC'd by Carla) What: After the baseball game, Hank is ushered off like King Lear or James Brown. The rain makes him mopey. Phil and Pete mill around and then steal a book from him. When: BACKDATED! Shortly after the baseball game on Memorial day! Where: The Faculty Building
Hank McCoy was old and he didn't like it.
Sure, the boys were quick with a towel (that honestly wasn't going to stop anything, being the large soggy mass he was) and once he got inside, he could simply slip away into a nice warm bath and turn it all around, but until then he was just a wet old cat. And it bothered him. Seeing his sons in action just reminded him how far he was from the handsome young turk who'd arrived with Xavier's first class and how many years had passed since. Where did the time all go?
Against his will, he was hit with a yawn and sneeze combo, baring large fangly teeth as Hank and his entourage made their way to his room. His room, yike. Not his house, or his mansion and a yacht, but his room. This evening was a humbling experience.
"Are you okay?," Pete asked, eyes wide with curiousity and concern. "Mrrn," mumbled Hank McCoy.
Phil rubbed a spot of towel near the middle of his father's back. "I know, I know." The tone you'd take with a child who'd just scraped their knee and is bawling their eyes out.
Hank turned with as much dignity as he could muster, the towel around him like a cape and yellow eyes tired but with enough spite to keep him growly. "Don't take that tone with me, boy," he levels at Phil, opening the door. "After what I have accomplished in my lifetime I am more than allowed more than your 'pity' for being wet and tired." A heavy sigh, he entered, stage left, like a Shakespearian dramadian. "Years steal fire from the mind as vigour from the limb, and life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim," he quotes, taking the edge of the door in his hand. "Now leave me be."
Phil sticks his foot in between the door and the wall. "Hey, hey, Big Guy? How about Pete and I find four hair dryers and go to work on you?" Phil holds his two hands up, mimicking a hair dryer in each hand. He knows he's kind of being a jerk, but he's allowed to tease his father. His old, furry father.
Hank shoves the door closed, unwittingly about to hit Phil's foot as he leaves the door to shuffle his way towards the private bath, throwing the towel over his head and desperately rubbing at his soggy fur.
Pete slowly puts his foot in as if he wasn't realy sure if he should be doing this, sort of sneaking in after their father.
Phil scoffs, following Hank (and Pete) into the room. "Pop!" Don't be that way! "C'mon! Pop!" Phil has no real argument here. Hank has ever right to be left alone. "You didn't even tell us how great we were today!" He moves to the drawers and starts to pull out some fresh clothes for his dad.
Pete turns on a lamp and looks around. It's a humble little suite, more than the room that he and Phil share for certain. It's cozy, in a booish sort of fashion, someone who's nested neatly to keep himself company. A particular someone who waves a hand and rm of matted fur before he slinks away behind the bathroom door. "Leave me, you walking harpies of my lost years!," he grumbles, closing the door behind him.
Pete looks back at Phil, not sure if he should be taking that seriously.
To Pete, Phil shrugs. Who knows? Phil removes a pair of jogging pants -- if Phil and Pete wanted, they could each climb into a leg and hop around. Why would they do that, though? He finds a tent-like buttoned up shirt. He opens the door to the bathroom, averting his eyes (oh please, not like it matters, but it's only polite) and haphazardly tosses the clothes in. "We learned it all from you, Pop. We'd be nothing without you!" He feels he should quote something here, but the only thing he can think of is Parents are the bones on which children sharpen their teeth. Yeah, that's no good.
The clothes are grabed before Phil can complete a throw and the door slammed decisively shut, the sound of a lock turning shortly after. "Be gone!," comes a great roaring voice from inside, echoy from tiling. Pete is sitting on the couch, thumbing through a book.
Phil takes a seat next to Pete. "Well. What's that all about?"
Pete checks the cover. "The Theatre of Albert Camus, a Critical Study," he recites, flipping back to where he'd just started reading. "Or did you mean the rather irritable disposition Pop has?"
"I HEARD THAT!," came a shout from the bathroom, followed by the sound of running water.
Phil leans over to skim the pages Pete is looking at. "The irritable disposition," Phil whispers.
Caligula is Camus's first complete original play and undoubtedly his best and most enduring... says the book.
Pete sits very still as if their father were in the room across from them. "I don't know," he whispers back. He looks around.
"I think it's the water. Cats don't like water, right? Should we go get him a tuna sandwich?" Cats like tuna, right? Is Phil joking or not?
Pete points between the two of them. "Shouldn't we not like water then?" A pause. "A tune sandwich does sound really good."
"We're not kittens, Pete. I like water. Do you like water? He likes water, he's in the bath right now." Phil realizes how silly it all sounds. Unless Hank is in the bathroom licking himself. Well then. "--Oh yeah, let's have a tuna sandwich." Phil stands. "Be right back, Poppa!"
Pete gets in a shrug and an offer of, "Genetic predisposition?," before standing becomes the other of the day. Yeah, that's going to be a bit of a soggy spot on the couch; after all, Phil and Pete were also out there playing ball.
Pete gets up and hunts for a scrap of paper and a pencil as a roar comes from the other room. "OUT!"
Phil looks slightly frightened and he grabs Pete's elbow, "I don't want him to have to get out of the bath after us, c'mon, -- go go go." No seriously, let's get moving.
Finishing his note ("I borrowed this book."), Pete places it where he found the Camus essays and takes the book with him as a hasty retreat is made. Closing the door behind them, he looks back. "We probably could have gotten a sandwich in there," he notes. It was kind of cozy at Pop's place.
Checking out the hallway, Pete heads towards the lounge and kitchen for the staff building. They always have better stuff in there anyways.