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Disclaimer: Emma Frost, GW Bridge, Sean Cassidy, Sam Guthrie, and anyone/place else recognisable do not belong to me, and most likely belong to Marvel Comics, the Devil, Mainframe Entertainment, or some car company. No money will be made from this, or has been. And suing me is really not a good idea, my car has Issues, and I have no money. I do have red velvety fabric for a cape, though.
Notes: This was inspired by the fact that I couldn't write anything. At all. And considering the 50-some odd stories in the Incomplete folder, that's sort of sad. But. It did produce this, with the help of some friends on IRC. I borrowed a term from Lise the Evil, and improved, as it were. Oh, and canon? What's that? If it helps, think of it as an alternate universe. This one's for Kiko and Threnny and Times. *smooches*
Insipidity Repealed It wasn't the first time the instrument had irritated her. Of course it wouldn't be the last, either, Emma Frost reflected tiredly as she finished rinsing off the potatoes. The potato peeler lay under the cabinet, smug in its knowledge that she would have to fish it out at some point before doing the dishes that night. Claws tiptapped on the floorboards in the small kitchen, and she glanced over her shoulder as the dog finished bounding in and flopped full-length in the small space between sink and refrigerator. "You're no help." "Rowrf." Scooby replied. He was a rather large Great Dane and something else. Sam wasn't sure what the other was. Sam had also been the one to bring him home, give Emma a big PuppyDog stare, and name him Scooby Doo. "I've stooped to talking to the dog," she muttered under her breath. "Great. Next thing I know I'll be putting toasted coconut in Sean's transmission." Scooby deigned not to reply, instead deciding to become very involved with the hunt for a flea. Emma tossed him a disgusted look and picked up the rinsed vegetables. The cutting board was in the shape of a fish. She had no idea where it had come from, but suspected it had been Sam's fault. Once the potatoes were chopped into smallish pieces she dumped them in the pot on the stove, adding some salt and a little bit of pepper. With that covered and beginning to cook, she decided to go check on the clothes in the dryer. Unfortunately, Scooby was in the way. "Ahem." "Rroowr?" Emma waved the large chopping knife at the recalcitrant dog. "Move, or I show Sam that I really do dislike animals." He gave her an injured look and shifted two inches over. Sighing, she stepped into the space provided and exited the kitchen nook into the dining area. The washer and dryer were squeezed into the corner under the countertop cum bar. Opening the dryer she checked the contents, and found that it was dry, for the most part. Good. She could put Sam's underwear and socks in his room. Maybe he'd actually remember to put them away this time. It irritated her that Sam and Sean could go outside and do things while she was stuck here in this tiny apartment. Granted, they were better at disguise than she was, but it grated on her nerves to be stuck in domesticity. At least she had a computer to use. And they let her type all the reports for SHIELD, and read all the incoming orders and email. It still sucked the Pacific through a straw. The small apartment had two bedrooms, a tiny living room, a small bathroom, and the kitchen/dining area. It was all they should be able to afford on the salary Sean was 'making' out in the 'real world'. In reality, Emma's vast holdings at Frost Enterprises could have bought the apartment a million times over. But they had a cover to uphold, and that meant shacking up in a horrible little dwelling that made her miss the girls' dorm at the Massachusett's Academy. Emma headed for the bathroom to check on the clothes hamper in there. As she did so, she passed the tiny hall closet, and paused, considering whether to pull on the garb inside and go for a walk. It could be too dangerous. If only she could use her telepathy, but Bridge had been specific about that. No mutant powers, they'd be looking for that sort of thing. She could do it so easily, too. Make it look to everyone as though she were garbed head-to-foot in black muslin when in reality she was naked as a jaybird. Could be amusing, too. A cold nose nudged at her leg, and she jumped then glared down at Scooby. "Idiot." He hurffed at her, then sat on his haunches and looked at her, big brown eyes innocent and liquid. "You've almost got as good a stare as Sam." His tale moved up and down slightly. "But you're not going out." It drooped. "If I can't go out, you can't go out. And don't go around messing things up, either." He whuffed. She snorted. The smell of boiling potatoes reached her nose. "Damn." She abandoned the idea of going out and headed back into the kitchen to rescue dinner. -- "I thought you were making roast potatoes?" Sam Guthrie almost whined as he took his helping of mashed potatoes. Emma shot Sean a Look. "Och. Aye. Lad, leave her be." Sam gave her a penitent smile, "Sorry, Frost." "Not at all. I suppose you'd like meat pies, and real vegetables, too." Coughing, Sean Cassidy attempted a change of subject, "So, Sam. I hear there was an attack on the perimeter today." He blushed. "It was only a squirrel." "Ah, attack squirrels," Emma sneered, "What will they think of next, random suffocation chinchillas? Suicide-bombing cats?" "Em." She set her fork down. "I'm going to bed. You boys can do the fucking dishes." "Em--" "No." she snapped, cutting Sean off, "I'm tired. I've been stuck here all day and night for the last MONTH. I'm going to bed before I kill the both of you and half this city." The two watched her leave, chastened. Sean looked at Sam, "You ought to go softer on her." He shrugged, "Yeah." "She's doing a hell of a job, putting up with us and our dryer lint." A chuckle escaped Sam. "I didn't ask her to wash my laundry." "Who else is going to do it?" Emma's voice demanded from the bedroom. Sam shot the closed door a look, "Thinner than paper, these walls." "Yep." They ate in silence for a time, both lost in their own thoughts. Scooby wandered into the dining area and flopped under the table, his chin resting on Sam's bare foot. After a time, this became uncomfortable, since there's a lot of drool involved with a dog's mouth. And Sam hadn't wanted to take a shower that night. "Ye on rake detail t'morrow, Sam?" He grunted. And moved his foot. It didn't help. "Every sand dune in the desert." "Could be worse, lad. You could be stuck in a computer forever fighting Megabyte." Sam snorted, "I'd just have Dot and Bob take care of him. Vacation in a small section where there's lots of air freshener, and remote control cars." Eyeing him, Sean chuckled, "As implausible as Daemon being the Green Goblin." "Or a Honda Accord beating a Ford Mustang GT in a car race." "I can still hear you." Emma announced, voice sounding tired and irritated. "Oops." Sean winked at Sam and raised his voice, "We'll be quiet and sleeping soon, woman." "Don't 'woman' me, Sean Cassidy." "Yes, Ms. Frost." A sigh came from the room, then the sound of what was probably a pillow being drawn over her head. Sean began picking up the dishes from the table, "C'mon, lad. Let's do the dishes." =-finis-=
These are the people you have to thank....
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