Why Scott Summers Never Drinks

Summary:
September 16, 2014: Last night, Betsy convinced Scott that they should go celebrate the X-Men's victory over HYDRA. Well, she didn't intend to help cause what happened next.

Xavier Institute

<Location Description>


Characters

NPCs

  • Various Clubgoers
  • Some poor girl who got twerked on by Scott Summers

Mood Music:


It was early in the morning, and quite frankly, Betsy felt like shit. It's been a while since she had gotten as drunk as she did, to the point of puking in some back alley garbage can or.. nearly missing the toilet when it came to pee. That's right folks. She peed a little on the floor; this should be a service reminder that 'BEING DRUNK IS NOT CUTE NOR ATTRACTIVE!'

She at least had the common decency to wash up, her make-up still upon her face.. yet smeared as she spent the night probably crying about man troubles, hair looking like a rat made it's home in it yet slightly down. Thank god the kids were relocated while the damage was being fixed, cause seeing Betsy like that would have been bad for business.

She shuffles into the kitchen, pair of purple bunny slippers and robe on, a couple of old scratches upon her leg and her knuckles all bloodied. That hand lifts to cover a yawn, which stinks like.. ew.. rotten Tequila. Yeah, she was going to take her coffee to go.

-

Its been much longer since Scott Summers got that drunk, and that's counting the five years he's got on Betsy. Yes, even Scottt in his youth went through a wild stage - albeit short lived - but he never has more than two beers. Ever.

Which doesn't at all explain the piss-covered sheets, nor does it explain the vomit stains on his brand new shirt, nor does it explain the lipstick on his cheek or the five new phone numbers that have been sending him text messages since approximately 11:42 the evening prior.

The man wanders into the kitchen, barefoot. His ruby glasses are sitting just a bit cockeyed upon his face, and he's holding his head as if there was a knife slicing right through his frontal lobe. He barely even notices Betsy upon entering the kitchen, seemingly drawn toward the coffee like a heat seeking missile. He pours a cup, black, some of the liquid sloshing over and onto the counter top as he turns around and walks right back toward that door. Only half way there, he seems to recognize that he's not alone.

"What the hell happened?" he asks, before wrinkling his nose. "What the hell is that smell?"

-

Betsy had gotten her cup, dumped a shit load of sugar in it, opened the fridge and grabbed a large summer sausage to go. Though, that whip and turn caught her off guard, and she nearly, nearly blew chunks. In fact, she was sure that she was still drunk, that's how bad the night had gotten.. for her at least. The appearance of Scott though? He -actually- made her shudder, her eyes rolling into the back of her head as she turns to face away from him. No, she couldn't even -look- at him, that's how -humiliated- she felt.

"Ugh." She finally says, taking a sip of the hot ass coffee, then.. tucks the sausage underneath her arm so that she could grab the pot to take with her. "You happened. I -hate- you. Never again Scott." She was about to walk past him, her nose wrinkling as she lets out a little 'HURG'.

She was smart enough, at least.. to put everything down before she sped off towards her room to blow chunks.

-

"Wha- I happened??" Scott stares, mouth ajar at Betsy, before she turns and speeds off down the hallway. He blinks behind his glasses, and just stands there, dumbstruck, for a very long time. Eventually, he lifts the mug to take a long sip, which burns the hell out of is his tongue. "OW!"

Half the coffee spills on the floor, which prompts him to set the mug down and grab the nearest towell. He drops to his hands and knees, cleaning it up, when the wooziness comes at him full force. "Oh… ooohhhh….!" A hand goes out to steady himself on the side of the island. "Man alive!"

Somewhere, thousands of readers shake their heads.

Climbing to his feet, Scott snatches up his coffee and goes padding down the hallway toward Betsy's room. He does not get that drunk. He's not about to let her blame shift. He's got a damned good idea what went down, and it doesn't matter how hung over he is… there's always room for a good scolding.

-

Yep. Scott happened, he was a wild, wild person last night, totally unrecognizable. But most of that was her fault, really. She made it just in time to the bathroom, her back arching as she hurks up whatever she ate -LAST- week into the bowl, only stopping because there was nothing left but dry air and no bile. Ugh.. her head even hurt.

She keeps herself by the toilet however, her hand lifting to press heel of palm to brow, lips forming a thin line as her eyes draw up to -sense- just exactly where Scott was, and if he was coming.

~You're forgetting the pot of coffee, my cup, and my sausage.~

-

~Fine.~

A few moments later, the door is opening and closing. Scott has both cups in one hand, the pot in the other, and Betsy's sausage in his mouth. He sets it all down on a table, then sits his rump down on the edge of her bed, dropping head to cradle his hands. "When I said we should have a drink to celebrate," he calls toward her bathroom, "I meant a drink, not… ten, or fifteen, or even three."

-

The door was wide open.

She couldn't see Scott from her angle, but if she did, she'd shoot him the finger. So she does it anyways, twice! Even bending a bit to emphasis it. Good thing he wasn't psychic.

She crawls up from the floor and heads straight for the sink, opening the mirror to take out a bottle of mouthwash to swish around her mouth to get rid of the smell of vomit.

Swish. Spit. Good.

And now it was her turn, slowly turning as to not dizzy herself into vomitting again, walking ever so carefully out of the bathroom with both hands out towards her side to steady herself. "Look. I'll admit.. that part is -my- fault. Okay? But do you even remember how last night went down, mate?"

She finds her way to the table, immediately peeling back the protective wrapper from the sausage to take a heaping bite. She chews, then points the end towards him to see if he wanted a piece, if not, she wasn't even going to bother crossing the room. "Cause -I- do. And we're never doing this ever again."

-

Scott pulls his feet a bit closer to himself, watching balefully as Betsy emerges. He seems utterly nonplussed, lips curling just a bit when she admits her wrong doing. The mug of coffee is raised to his lips, and he shakes his head in denial; the sausage sounds disgusting. "No," he answers dully. "I don't." Beat. "Do I want to know?" he asks, then his face pales. "Did I have sex with a stranger last night?" he asks, sounding worried. He starts to wonder if, well, if perhaps Rachel's mother was not Jean in some distant future.

-

She groans loudly, putting the sausage down for now, being content to just work on the pot of coffee. She too sips, swallowing hard, the sweetness causing her to shudder just a touch. "I think you have to know. I mean.." She pulls out the chair to take a seat, the dizziness hitting her rather mildly, it was annoying at best.

Her nose does curl up a bit at his question, "No.. oh god. Why the hell did you go that route?" Bleh!

"Okay. Listen. We were fine when we got to the club, well, you were. I already had a few drinks, so I was a mite tipsy, but.. I -had- to see the late.. great Scott get a drink, even if it was just two." Flippin boyscout.

"Maybe I put in a little suggestion that what you were drinking was a bit of water, and that you were thirsty.. but.."

LAST NIGHT:

It was one of those hip-hop clubs, where all walks of life came to party; a run way stage in the back so that people could show off their moves for the crowd below, a rather large venue complete with balconies and strobe lights. The typical crap you see in an urban hood, of course.

With Betsy already dancing as she moves away from the bar, a little glance back and a smile is given towards Scott to beckon him forward. "C'mon! You wanted to celebrate, lets celebrate! Shake a leg or two, I promise I won't tell!" Her voice was loud enough to compete with the music; Usher - Good Kisser dropping mad base that had couples lining up to either dance or crowd around the B-boys battling it out in the middle. Typical, but fun.

-

"Oh I'll shake a leg! I'll shake a leg!" Scott slammed the shot glass down onto the bad and ran haphazardly toward Betsy. Past Betsy. Right up onto that catwalk, and proceeded to do something nobody ever thought- ever wanted to see. He bent over, and began to twerk, sticking his ass right into the face of an incredibly sexy, scantily clad lady, whose stacked boyfriend looked on from the sidelines with a frown.

NOW:

"Water?" Scott asks, face growing more pale than it already was. "Thirsty?" He stares at Betsy, dumbstruck. "So, what was I drinking?" he demands. "Beer? Champagne? Liquor??"

-

"Yeeeah.." Betsy mumbles, her hand lifting to rub at the side of her head. "In my defense, I thought you were going to stick with the good boy routine and eventually quit. But.." She winces, even sucking in a breath to cause a hiss. "Uh.. you were drinking gin. Straight.." She wanted to duck, feeling the need to because the coffee cup that Scott held might come towards her head. "So when you…"

LAST NIGHT:

"Scott! No!" It was hard for Betsy to run after him in her punk stilletos, not to mention, the crowd that was slowly gathering around the catwalk to heckle the man who's lady Scott had momentarily stolen, and to admire the smooth moves of the X-Man.

She pushes her way through the crowd, using shoulder, elbow, anything to get near the end of the stage. This was starting to be a bad idea.

"Scott! Not up there! -Down- here! What the.. oh my god…!"

-

NOW:

Scott absolutely glares at Betsy. "You… telepathically made me think I was drinking water?" he repeats. "And thirsty?" The coffee cup does, in fact, tremble in his fingertips, but he does not throw it. Not just yet.

"When I what?" he asks. It's likely that behind those ruby glasses, Scott's glower is so hot, his eyelids will end up ten shades darker before the conversation is over.

LAST NIGHT:

"Down there?" called Scott, peering up from his twerking to look at Betsy. "Okay!" Clearly misunderstanding, he turned around and began grinding right up against that hot chick. After a few moments, he went low… the girl wrapped her arms around him and went down… and the dude she came with had had enough. Dude threw his glass to the ground and walked up on the stage, tattoos and all, and cracked his knuckles before shouting out, "HEY, ASSHOLE!"

Scott turned away from his prize to leer at the guy. "What, dick bag? I'M SCOTT FUCKING S-"

The dude threw a right cross. It knocked the ruby glasses right off Scott's face.

NOW:

"When I what, Elizabeth?"

-

"Yes. And mind you, I didn't hold it that long, it was just one stupid little suggestion.. maybe I don't know myself as well as I thought I did when drunk, my darling."

LAST NIGHT:

"Oh no…" Betsy's hand goes up upon the stage, ready to launch herself upright, but the man already beat her to the punch. Quite literally. She screams as the glasses fly off, scrambling upon the stage in hopes of tackling Scott to the ground..

NOW:

"I kind of had to punch the lady out because she jumped on my back." She shows her knuckles, scarred and bloody. "She was really taken with you Scott. I don't know what you did, but… she really was."

LAST NIGHT:

The tackle was officially dodged by the woman on stage, who knocked Betsy flat on her ass, the woman in tow. Betsy really didn't try to hurt the woman, attempting to scramble from the heap of red hair and long legs to get to her fellow X-Man, throwing elbows and screaming all the while… "SCOTT! Close your eyes!"

The crowd flew into mayhem, as violence does, it trickles into the club where the B-Boys began to fight, and a few other women who were itching to beat the other women who had better dresses then them. Yes. Women are petty.

The men who were with the women traded blows all the while the many bouncers that littered the club attempted to dash into the fray to keep the peace.

"It got worse.."

-

LAST NIGHT:

Scott finally closed his eyes, after getting a wonderful look at the starry night above. The optic blast left a gaping hole in the roof of the club, the edges of a perfect circle dripping with an assortment of building materials that rained shrapnel upon the quickly brewing fight. "Oh, man!" he cries, and drops to his knees, feeling about for his glasses. "I forgot! I forgot!!"

NOW:

Already, Scott is setting down his coffee. He reaches into his sweat pants and withdraws a StarkPhone, pulling up his local news feed. It doesn't take long for him to find the news article, and he lets out a deep sigh, head lowering into a slump. "Betsy…" he murmurs, pained.

-

As much as she wanted to cross the room to comfort him, it was all her fault. She was woman enough to admit to that. "I tried to get to you, but that woman.." She sighs a little, eyes closing. Truth be told, it was a fun night, but Scott had done something that pissed her off completely.

LAST NIGHT:

*THWOM!*

X-Men tore the roof off the club, quite literally. The woman who laid upon Betsy got a clear punch that bruised and hurt the knuckles, the glasses immediately snatched up and placed in his hand. She didn't stop there. With the club gone dark, she immediately teleports the two out of the place, somewhere into some ragged back alley far away from the club that they had ruined and the riot that was started.

"Oh god Scott, we're in deep shit.."

NOW:

"I.. really think we should just stop here and shower.." She was starting to look rather uncomfortable.

-

"Bets, Bets!!" Scott fixed the glasses onto his face more firmly before reaching out to grasp Elizabeth by the shoulders. "Hey, hey! Look, we're…" He looked about drunkenly, then laughed with a slighted snort. "We're out of the club, in an alley! We're not in deep shit. Oh, no!" He looked down at her bruised knuckles, and promptly began to hold them, touching them gently. "Look at that. You… must have… that must hurt." His fingers rose, massaging the back of her wrist, then kneading a tender and soothing ease into her forearms. "Betsy, you…" He stifled a hiccup. "You know, you're a beautiful, powerful, wonderful… woman." She smelled mighty fine, too, all perfumed and sweaty and smelling of physical prowess. It must have been the water talking.

NOW:

"I don't think a shower is gonna fix…" Scott's words catch in his throat, and he looks up at Elizabeth with a baleful, confused expression. "Wait, you… we… shower? That's…" Not appropriate. Say it, Scott, say it.

-

"No! Not together goddamn it! Never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever.. ever ever.. together. Never. No. No." She even goes so far as to point a finger towards him, scolding him. But why?

LAST NIGHT:

Betsy may have been drunk, and.. goddamn.. she was drunk, but she knew where the hell this was going next. "Scott.. thank you.. but.." She tries to pull her hand away from his, no matter how much liquor was in her system, touching fresh wounds actually hurt. The hand that pulled away reached out for his, which was soon slung over her shoulder, an arm snaked around his waist to try to walk him out into the street. "C'mon.. lets find somewhere else to go. You like to sing? There's this nice kareoke bar down the street from here. No one to offend.. no one to punch you in the face…

NOW:

And she kept on. "No. No no no no no no no.." This time, she shook her head. And she nearly fell off of the chair.

-

LAST NIGHT:

"Karaoke?" Scott blurted out, mortified. "Bets," he complained, at being shot down or being drug off to some karaoke bar, that remained unclear. "I can't hold a note for anything!" Regardless, off he went, staggering along and hiccuping as they went, "Man, I could use some more water…"

NOW:

Blackout drunk has a way of, shall we say, browning out. Bits and pieces come back, and Scotf can remember… a karaoke bar? No matter, for when Betsy nearly falls, he bursts from the edge of her bed with surprisingly fast moves. "Look out!" Hands come under her arms to steady her. "Bets, I… I think you're still drunk," he groans. "Come on, on your feet." He tugs and pulls, trying to help her up. "Did I sing 'Purple Rain' last night??"

-

Thankfully, it wasn't a long distance from the bed to the chair. She immediately grabs ahold of him, allowing him to help her stand up as her stomach starts to roll again. "Ugh.." Yeah, she quits. She quits drinking, right freakin' now! For a week, at best. "Yeah. You did. We both did. It was a Prince night for us. We did Purple Rain, Seven, Kiss…"

LAST NIGHT:

There she was, at the mic along with Scott, holding onto his waist with a bottle in her hand, lifting it towards the ceiling. And they, sounded, terrible! But the crowd went wild because they had passion, they had soul, the telepath within her lashed out and moved everyone to their musing.

"I just want your extra time and your.." Betsy makes the kissy noises within the mic.. "KISS!"

NOW: "I think I need to go back to sleep…" She mumbles, clutching her stomach. Maybe it was the sugar that stirred her, or the greasy summer sausage which she thought would help.

-

Memory is, indeed, flooding back. Scott is reasonably sure that '1999' was in the mix. They might have even signed up for 'Sussudio' and sang '1999' instead, but who cares, the songs are pretty much the same. What he does remember, is blurting out the end of 'Kiss', only to muffle both voices by turning Betsy around and planting a big, sloppy, wet kiss right onto her mouth. It was probably the worst kiss ever, but as far as Scott Summers is concerned, it was full on, hot blooded make out session, which is entirety confusing to the overgrown Boy Scout.

"Yeah," Scott breathes, mind swimming as he guides her back to her bed. "Sleep sounds nice, doesn't it?" He gets her to the bed successfully, before he loses his balance. The two of them topple over, ending up a tangled mess of arms, legs, and purple hair upon the mattress.


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