A Fly on the Wall
Chapter 2
by
Hunter
DISCLAIMER: I own not the X-Men nor the X-Grrrls. I only own the fly, the dip, the food for the fight and the Remote control.
DEDICATION: Once again I dedicate to Leylue. . . My one and only BETA. If it was not for her Gambit would have sounded like a badly speaking, drunken Englishman, trying out French for the first time.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is entirely a conversation. . . if you loose track with who is speaking. . . or do not know to whom or what they are referring. . . just make up in your own mind who or what you think it is. . . it doesn't matter. . .
A small fly buzzed along down the corridors following currents of warmth. Concentrating on one, it flew into a large spacious room furnished with a sofa, a large screen TV, a small coffee table, and two human males. Zoning in on the human which exuded the most heat, the fly began it's strategy of search and annoy. The human did not appreciate the fly's ministrations, especially when it attempted to land on his body. After numerous near encounters with the human's hand, the fly got board and moved on to land on the wall. It swiveled it's head, and looked down for some food to settle on. The fly kept a weary eye on the humans; a tall one with wrap around red-lensed glasses who was at a safe distance, and the shorter one who was a bit too close for comfort. That one was stalking the poor fly like a predator. After determining that the human could not reach it on the wall, the small fly began to clean dust particles off her little hairy legs.
* * * * *
"Goddammit!!!!. . . Where'd that fly get to?"
"Calm down, Logan. It's on the wall."
"Shove it, Scooter! I didn't see it buzzing 'round you."
"Right, you didn't. Sit down, Logan! You look like some kind of demented Jack-in-the-Box."
"Least I'm not tryin' t' beat up the TV."
"Now, there's a change."
"Listen Cyke, you got no idea how that buzzin' sounds in my ear. Can't you shoot it down?"
"Excuse me?"
"The fly. It's to high for me. Shoot it down."
"You want me to use my eyes to shoot down a fly?!?"
"Yeah."
"You're more insane than I thought."
"Nah, I just really hate flys."
"No way. Now sit down, Logan. The game's beginning in ten minutes."
"Goddamn, freakin' fly!"
The small fly tensed to soar off again if the human got closer. It relaxed as the man backed off to sit down heavily on the sofa.
Buzzing it's wings and relaxing, the little fly watched as the taller human continued to hit and prod the TV.
"What the hell is wrong with this thing?!?"
"Dunno."
"Strange how it's stuck on the Hockey channel, don't you think?"
"Maybe."
"I'm starting to suspect that you had a hand in this, Logan."
"Oh? And I suppose your superior mutant deduction abilities came to that conclusion?"
"No. The fact that you are sitting there with a huge grin plastered on your mug makes me reach that conclusion. And get your boots off the table!"
"Well, ain't I glad we ain't playin' poker right now!"
"LOGAN!!"
The fly's senses pickup the sound of footsteps, and the smell of food as another human entered the room.
"Mes amis! I bring gifts of snacks and beer."
"Finally!"
"What took so long, Gumbo?"
"Jeannie decided to liberate one of de gifts from Gambit."
The little fly perked up at the sound of bowls and six-packs being put down on a table.
"Where's the rest of the dip?"
"I t'ink les belles be enjoyin' Remy's petite culinary miracle, non?"
"Scott! Can't you control 'your girl'?"
"About as well as you can control Marie."
The sound of laughing startled the fly.
"Can it, Gumbo!"
The nervous fly settled down at the sounds of bodies settling into the sofa.
"Gambit beginnin' ta t'ink ol' Wolvie be sore whipped by ma petite Marie."
The little fly buzzed irritably at the snorts and laughter that ended abruptly by growling.
"Oooooo, touchy topic?"
"No. And the name ain't 'Wolvie,' bub."
More laughter disturbed the fly, but a new sound quieted the humans. SNIKT!
"Pass the beer."
"You know, Logan, that is really crude."
"Oh, yeah?"
The little fly began to get comfortable as a TV commentator droned on and the humans were silent for a few minutes.
"Why we watchin' hockey? I be won'rin wher' de basketball?"
"Logan did something to the set."
"Best twenty bucks I ever spent."
"What!? Even more so than those hookers?"
"Whoa, now whose getting crude, one-eye?"
"Gambit be t'inking Wolverine be baitin' our fearless leader. Dat may be uh bad ider, homme!"
A snorting sound woke the fly from a short nap.
"Now there's a scary thought."
"Never knew I had it in me."
A few minutes of silence only interrupted by the sounds of the game from the set settled the fly down to continue her nap.
"Holy Shit!!!! What the flamin' hell does that friggin' ref think he's freakin' doing?!?"
"That was colorful, even for you, Logan."
"Whatever. Pass the beer."
"Hey! How's de' drivin' lessons wit' Rogue goin'?"
"Yes, Logan. Did being confined to the infirmary on the last mission have anything to do with Marie's lessons the next day?"
"Har, Har, Scooter."
"You do realize that Jubilee is next on the list?"
"Dat tres amuser! Gambit sends sincerest condolences, Wolverine."
The fly paused in her meditation of the snacks at the abrupt sound of feet scraping off a table, and a body spinning around on a sofa
"There is no friggin' way on God's green earth, am I gonna to teach Jube to drive!!"
The fly resumed her meditation at the ensuing silence from the humans, and the drone from the TV.
"So, you're not going to teach Jubilee."
"No fucking way, Scott!"
"Oh."
The continued silence and the TV noise was making the fly feel sleepy again.
"Logan, will you please stop squirming."
"I do not squirm."
"Then what do you call what you're doing?"
"Trying to get comfortable."
"You are squirming."
"Am not."
"Yes, you are."
"Cyke?"
"Yes?"
"Shut the fuck up, and watch the game."
* * * * *
A sighing sound was the last thing the fly heard as she dozed off. An hour later into the game, an hour punctuated with random swear words, munching noises, and TV drone, the fly decided to buzz off the wall and land on the TV set.
"Remy! Put that beer down!"
"Eh? Pourqoi, homme?"
"Is that the last one? I don't think you should have it."
"Why not? Remy's only had three. I've only had four. You've had almost two six-packs!"
"C'est Vrai, mon ami!"
"Hey, that ain't my fault."
"Yesh it is, une petite cochon!"
The laughing was followed by a hiccup which was totally ignored by the fly.
"Do ya' think if I got him to drink another beer, he'd drop the accent and speak English?"
"Logan. . . "
"What? Is it my fault the Cajun here can't hold three beers?"
SNIKT! That sound always startled the little fly.
"Ya' know, I think if I see you spear one more snack on your claws I'm gonna to be sick."
"Scott, if you have one more beer, you are gonna to be sick."
"Four! I've only had four!"
"Yep, my point exactly."
The silence was always comforting to the fly who was making a beeline for a crumb on the floor.
"So, uh, like. . . You wanna try and get Gumbo to drink that last beer?"
"Cyke, you just called Gambit 'Gumbo'"
"Uhhhh,wha's your point."
The laughing that followed didn't disturb the fly at all.
"Why, Mr. Summers, I think you're drunk!
"Me? Nahhh. . . HIC!"
"You haven't eaten anything today, have you?"
"Shuddup, and pass me another beer, 'Wolvie'"
During ten minutes of silence, the little fly had her fill with the crumbs on the floor.
"WHAT THE HELL. . . !!"
The fly didn't even notice the laughing that followed the outburst.
"Now tha'sh funny!"
"What the fuck do you think yer doing, ya' one-eyed, over-grown. . . !"
"I think ther' ish sommin' in yer hair!"
"Dere is somet'ing in your hair? I don' see nuttin'"
"I don't believe it. You are drunk!"
"Who, drunk? Not me! You are! You had fourteen beers. I've only had. . . HIC!. . . five."
"Mon Dieu! I t'ink you are. . . HIC!. . . drunk, too!. You jus' dump da petite sausages in Wolvierne's hair!"
The "GrrRRRRRr" hardly rattled the fly at all. She found some spilled beer, and settled around that.
"Food fight!!!"
* * * * *
The small fly licked some of the beer, and watched the chaos around her. When some solid food started to land around her, the fly buzzed it's wings and flew over an over-turned sofa, around the three food covered bodies, and through the door She was off to find a quieter spot.
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