Subject: [OTL]: (Neogeny Arc, Pryde/Wisdom) In The Field (PG-13) Date: Tue, 20 Mar 2001 21:50:32 -0800 From: Phil Hartman will1@earthling.net Neogeny Arc: In The Field by Phil Hartman DISCLAIMER: They're Marvel's. Their son is mine. The woman Pete quotes is Wildstorm's. Please don't sue. NOTE: Something of a prelude/other side of "Present Dense" ... ;) -------------------------------------------------------- 9/4/2017: Woodrow, New York: 18:00 hrs EDT: -------------------------------------------------------- Oh, God ... Oh, Jehovah ... It doesn't sound that reassuring EITHER way. Aaron's my only child. And I'm sending him away, to wear that stupid skintight killer bee outfit, and learn stupid combat crap, so he can keep from getting stuck in a wall or be kidnapped and brainwashed by stupid people with stupid names - - oh my God. I've turned into my mother. (Wait a minute. My mother never DID figure out that I'm a mutant. I've turned out at least half again better than Theresa Pryde, thank-you-very-much.) "cooo ?" Oh, thanks, Lockheed ... you always know what I need. "Cooo." Sit down, Pryde - it's not like Aaron's going to be brainwashed, after all, this IS Nathan we're talking about here, teaching him. And Domino. Sinister's daughter. Who did, admittedly, plug her father full of plasma fire when her generation of New Mutants graduated. (Gotta give Beatrice her props - oh God, where did THAT come from ? Gangsta Kitty ? Hello Kitty on rap ?) Deep breath, Pryde ... OK. Think. Ray and Frank's twins'll be there - good kids. Jared and Jennifer - not bad. N'Kera - practically your niece, after all, nothing wrong there, even if her temper REALLY needs work. Brin and Lari and Derek and Rosey and all the others. Blaine. Well, he IS Logan's grandson, how bad can he be ? (HE SKINNED CREED ALIVE AT AGE 3, KATHERINE.) Well, hell, Aaron's in the best possible company, then. -------------------------------------------------------- I sit'm down - hell, he's gettin' tall, good thing he's so respectful, a bit TOO much f'r my tastes. (Then I remember what a prat I was at his age, and tell the non-Guinness-enbalmed part o'my brain t'shut the 'ell up.) "Aaron," I begin - good beginning, remember his name, he smiles, even better - "y'r going off to the School, I hear." Oh, bluidy 'ELL, Pete, he KNOWS that ... "Yeah, Dad," Aaron replies - polite, he ain't takin' cheap shots, ought'er be thankful he ain't like me ... "Well, I jes' want y't' remember our talk the other day," I begin. (The one where I spouted some nonsense 'bout bananas, hormones, an' not makin' his mum cry. The Talk, Pete Wisdom style. The Talk I got involved me Da, a Guinness bottle, an' a sock.) "I remember, Dad. Just keep kewl, don't let the girls paw me," Aaron says - smart lad ! Wait a minnit ... "Paw ya ? Yer a Wisdom, boy. We gotter luck int' decent women, or work f'r 'em," I remind him - good, he knows what I'm sayin'. Gott'er keep him reminded, the only women what paw a Wisdom man are desperate, drunk, or Scicluna. (GOD, I need a drink after THAT image !) "I was kidding, Dad. I won't do anything stupid," Aaron points out, trying to laugh. 'Ell, he's got a sense of humor after all. If I was me Da (evil, EVIL thought, get outta me head, ya bluidy little thing), I'd buy Aar his first Guinness. But I'm not. Thank God. (Thought I was an atheist, did ye ? Jes' 'cause I don't attend synagogue or a church don't mean I don't pray. 'Cause someone upstairs sure mixed things up when I got ahold o' Pryde, an' we got even luckier when we had this boy ...) O'course, my prayers usually go down better with a beer. Or at least a few cigs. -------------------------------------------------------- He's not drinking yet. That's a good sign - don't get me wrong, Dad's never lifted a hand to me, and he doesn't drink like he did in the stories Mom's told me - but I worry about him, y'know ? Dad's 55 now, and that ... that's not OLD, not really really old like Grandpa (SHUDDER), but I worry 'bout him, y'scan ? (Dad. Grandpa can take care of himself, thanks a lot.) Maybe, I can ask ... God, this is embarassing. (But he's my DAD, he won't tease me ...) "Uh, Dad ?" I ask - stammer, great, and my voice breaks, maaan ... "Yeh ?" he says - lights another death-stick, please, Dad, put it OUT ... "Uh ... how'd you ever - I - it's the uniform I'm gonna hafta wear," I begin - blushing, God, I'm a dork. "Oh. Bluidy body condoms," Dad says. HUH ? "It was a sayin' one o'me old mates used't'say 'bout the spandex set," Dad continues - trademark smirk. "Called them costumes 'body condoms.' Right on, was old Sparks. You'd've liked Jenny, y'know - think a female version o'me, but better lookin', with much better comebacks." "Oh. So you never wore a skinsuit ?" I ask. Dad looks like he's gonna gag - I think he gets it. "God, no. Havin' y'r parts on show like that ? Bluidy sickenin'," he says - yep, knew he'd understand. "Problem is, lad, y'r gonna hafta deal with it," Dad continues. "School uniforms're a repulsive thing, but it's part of school - a long, painful process ye're gonna have't push through." "I get it," I mumble - he's right, think of it like a gym uniform, but even THOSE aren't skintight - Dad smiles a little. "Besides" - and he looks around - "y'r a LITTLE young f'r this yet, but wait a year or two. The girls'll be in 'em, too ..." Hey, maybe I CAN deal with that. "WISDOM !" We wince - man, how does Mom DO that ? -------------------------------------------------------- OK, so it was "legitimate" guy talk. But Aaron's 12, not 16. (Which still puts him ahead of Pete in maturity, most of the time.) I kid. I kid because I love. I finish piling his suitcases in the hover-van - Nate came down to get Aaron, someone Aaron knows, I can respect that - and I turn to my son. "Call," I remind him, hugging him. "Every Sunday," he says - black hair, crew cut, why so short ? - blue eyes - tall as me, about. "Love you," I tell him. "Love you, too," he says, giving me one last hug, before shaking Pete's hand and bear-hugging Lockheed, then he phases into the van. Aaron waves, Nate nods, and they're off. Shaky boards, on these steps. -------------------------------------------------------- She's wobblin' - Got'er. "Still catching me, huh ?" Kit replies, wiping her eyes, give'er a handkerchief, y'git - "Hey, I had t'chase after ya," I point out, walking in with her. Nip on the cheek, an' she's off t'er den, t'tame the Beast with A Thousand Wires, flyin' rat right behind. Chair, cigs, remote. ("Hidden" pension, don'cher'know, haven't worked a day in my life since leaving Black Air.) It's colder. Emptier. He'd be right there, fillin' th' couch, lanky as all get out. Gerr'hold o'y'rself, y' sentimental twit. Puir lad. Havin' t'wear a rottin' body condom ... An' the showers, an' the school food, an' prob'ly some kind o' stupid git o' a'classmate'll get in his face. Bein' 12 rotted, f'r me. Gott'er make sure Aaron can come home t'somethin' better than Harold Wisdom. (Crikey, how hard can THAT be ? I married Kit Pryde, f'r God's sake ! If she can't save me -) Maybe a magazine subscription f'r the lad, t' one o' those - "WISDOM !" (How DOES she do that ?) -------------------------------------------------------- end ;) --------------------------------------------------------