Another pile of finances had been left on Scott's desk that evening, which meant the next item on Bobby's itinerary was (surprise!) snorting cocaine off the Prof's desk.
Ragnar hasn't added as much as I thought he would to the expenses the brown-haired mutant thought as he strolled into Chuckles' office. He smirked as he removed his amex, a hundred dollar bill, and the small baggie of Schedule 1 Controlled Substances from the breast pocket of his jacket. He then changed the song his cellphone's music app was playing to "True Faith" by New Order, and poured out a modest pile of blow onto the desk while listening to the new tune.
Cue-ball would have a stroke if he saw this he thought mischievously. Let's just hope that huge blond psycho asshole doesn't ruin my fun like last time.... And only snort the blow in one nostril this time - you've got a carton of gourmet ice-cream you picked up in town waiting for you in the freezer downstairs...
Several minutes later, with the familiar sensation of bubbly euphoria rushing through his brain, the accountant descended the stairs of the Institute with his briefcase in hand and an excited, devious grin on his face. Next stop: bourbon-chocolate-caramel icecream. The good stuff too, made with real bourbon.
Then he walked into the kitchen. That grin was immediately wiped off his face and replaced with a scowl when he saw the enormous brute at the refrigerator. Awww shit. Talk about a buzzkill. His exhales began to frost up immediately.
He didn't know the name of the oversized feral, but frankly he didn't want to. I shared my nose candy with you and you insulted and patronized me. And pulled the wise-old-man card. Douche. "Don't mind me," he said with palpable hostility in his voice, "I'm just grabbing something of mine I stashed in the freezer." And if you're an asshole I'll freeze you to the floor with an ice gag in your mouth. And that gag will be in the shape of my dick.
The idea that this was a second Victor didn't even cross his coke-accelerated mind.