The interesting thing about this whole process was that he hadn't been reduced to tears yet. That was usually one of the first things to hit after he'd started the alcohol and cigarettes. She grunted as if to let him know she was still with him, and so... he figured why not keep talking. John needed somebody, as much as he hated to admit it. he needed someone to talk to, someone to help him take the edge off. Even if the rest of the time, he hated her, or at least pretended to.
He sighed and tipped his head back, leaning back just slightly. "You know somethin'? I want to go someplace far away, where it doesn't matter what I've done, people will still look at me like every other person. I don't get that here, even though I'm sure that that's part of what Xavier wants for all of us. I don't think that will ever exist for me. I'm too far... gone." John groaned and slipped an arm around his knees, hugging them to his chest. Yindi was curled beside him, probably asleep, but he didn't even pause to take notice of that. As far as John was concerned, she was listening. "I don't get that."
He moaned and closed his eyes, squeezing them shut as if wincing in pain. "Oh God, why am I not allowed to have that?" John gave a quiet whimpering noise, trying not to let himself cry. Trying not to break. John couldn't afford to break, not here. Not in this disaster of a veedub, with the blonde girl curled up at his side. He couldn't break where others could see. He couldn't, and he wouldn't.
The bottle of alcohol seemed to lift itself to John's mouth, and he took a long drink. It was almost a chance to regroup himself, and he took use of it, shoving thoughts of 'why am I not allowed to have normal?' away from his mind. As soon as that was done, he extinguished his cigarette, pulling the fire from its end rather than actually crushing it against something. "Jesus Christ. People seem to think that we don't matter as people. They think we're afflicted with our powers. That because we're superior to them, we should be eradicated. I say burn all of the fuckers. They want a war, they can have one. They just can't have one they can win."
It was about at this juncture that John realized that he hadn't heard... anything out of Yindi. Not since that last grunt. Without even bothering to speak her name just to be sure, he had already jumped to the (accurate) conclusion that she was asleep. "Well, you're no help," he grumbled. Wrinkling his nose, he closed up his vodka, settling it on the floor on its side. Better to stop while he was ahead, capable of (mostly) coherent speech, and go ahead and sleep. The night's truce was already over, since she'd fallen asleep. As soon as one of them woke up in the morning... it was business as usual. Pyro taunting Princess, burning plants and making her crazy. Except maybe she wouldn't get it so bad. He kinda felt like he should be nice to her for being so willing to listen to him get all weird and angsty, although he refused to admit that this "nice" thing existed in his own behavior. St. John Allerdyce was not "nice," and everyone knew it. In fact, people had stopped looking for ways to encourage "nice." They just... had begun to accept that this big, seething mass of anger and hurt was all they were ever going to get.
Rolling his eyes, Pyro settled down, making himself as comfortable as possible in the disaster of a car they were in. He closed his eyes, thinking of a time when he wasn't quite so screwed up as he currently was. Losing himself in memory seemed to be the easiest way to get himself to sleep. And with that, back in his seventh or eighth year of existence, St. John Allerdyce drifted off to an alcohol-influenced sleep.