Diary Of A Coke Fiend
Bobby cast his mind back to a particular memory from college.
He lay back on his bed in the dorm room. Beside him was the monolithic shirtless simian form of Hank McCoy; the newly-blue face bore a grin.
"We miss you, Robert. But I am grateful college has been so fulfilling to you, my friend."
"Thanks, Hank," Bobby replied as his fingers moved through the scientist's new pelt. "Jeez buddy, don't see why you think people would scream. I'd think you're more in danger of public groping than causing mass terror..."
Hank chuckled. "That would be enough to justify the image inducer, nevertheless." He reached for the box of Krispy Kremes that sat on the bedside table and rested it between himself and his best friend. He lifted one donut out of the box and took a polite bite from the side. "Thank you for inviting me over. I hope it won't be too long between our get-togethers, in the future."
"It's a great opportunity," Bobby responded casually. "Sure, Seattle, coffee's all overpriced, but right now a freelance accountant can make more there then anywhere on the East coast. And Lorna, she's got some contacts in the colleges there, so she could land a research job."
Dr McCoy smiled fondly, even wistfully. "I will miss you, Robert. But I know you are merely a telephone call away."
Bobby grinned back, "or Magneto threatens to blow up the Space Needle. Don't worry blue," he said, "I didn't leave my best bud behind just because I left Xaviers'. This won't be any different..." he reached towards the box and retrieved a chocolate-iced cream-filled donut.
Before he took his first bite, he shot a very defiant grin at Hank. "You know me, the only thing I regret is not snorting lines off the cue-ball's desk before I left."
They both laughed.
As Robert Drake, CPA, walked down the corridor to Xavier's office, that same defiant grin was plastered unrepentantly across his face. Once, walking down this corridor was the path to being given yet another detention, but now his stride was that of an unreprentant insurrectionist. Unfinished business. Part one, leave the latest batch of financials on the desk. Part two, stick it to Chuckles.
He quietly opened the door to the cavernous office - the site of so many verbal flayings - and softly snickered when he realized no one was in there. He walked towards the desk and opened his briefcase; he picked up the manila folder and left it atop the "in" pile. Then he circled around the heavy wood furniture and removed three items from his pinstriped coat's breast pocket; my Amex, a hundred-dollar bill, and the star of the show... being a small ziplock baggie containing a very familiar, very-slightly-granular white powder.
Bobby poured out a small pile of the cocaine and began using his Amex to shape it into two lines of identical length. He used his finger to clean the residue off his card and then rub the residue on his gums. The mutant took a moment to look at the dual lines sitting on the polished mahogany surface of the Professor's desk. Then he rolled up the hundred dollar bill, slid it into his left nostril, leaned over and snorted the first line.
He stood up, quite proudly, and then let out a quiet chuckle as he imagined the mortified look that would be on Charles Xavier's face if he were to have seen this. See, Prof? You can't stop me any more!
The accountant then shifted the rolled-up note to the right nostril and leaned down again.