Stealth 101 (John)

[Laurie Collins]

Someone had once told Laurie, or maybe she’d read it somewhere, that singing to yourself in a tense situation could make you more relaxed. So as she edges open the door to John and Tobias’ dorm room, the copy of American Gods she’d accidentally left the long-ago kitchen encounter with clutched in her hand, she’s also muttering a little tune (or what’s supposed to be a tune, Matthew generally handles any tunefulness that might be needed) to herself that goes something along the lines of, “I am an idiot, an idiot, idiotidiotidiot, and I’m probably going to get ki-ii-lled.”

In the time she’s had this book she’s read it twice and liked it very much both times though it isn’t her usual taste and considered how exactly she’s going to give it back to John about a million times. At first she’d been so generally jumpy about everything that approaching him at all was out of the question and then once she’d calmed down a little it had been months and he’d want an explanation which she really didn’t have, and whenever she was working herself up to handing it over he’d usually give her one of those looks or call her mouse and she’d go scurrying off like a…well, mouse. She’d considered a few plans before this one, capitulating to her own incredible wimp-ness and asking Matthew to give it back to him had been one, but it was no secret that her boyfriend and John didn’t really get along and the last thing she wanted was to indirectly instigate another testosterone-fest. Then there had been the run-down-the-hall-and-throw-the-book-at-his-head-without-slowing-down plan, but that one seemed likely to end with her on fire and death was really not on the agenda especially when her life was actually going really, really well. So it had seemed that the book was just going to live in her sock drawer, but then it had started taking on rather poe-esque qualities of repressed guilt. She’d actually had a dream about John asking her where it was and when she’d denied knowing there’d been this heat-beat sound and he’d heard it and ripped up the walls to find the book there throbbing away and leering at her.

So, in light of the Edgar Allen Poe leering book dream she had hit upon plan C- wait till his room was empty, toss the book in, and then run away. Run away very, very fast. “Okay so… I’ll just put it somewhere he’ll see it and then the running will commence. Okay.” she whispers, and steps fully into the room, debating turning on the light but deciding against it in the interests of stealth.

And then of course a moment later she’s regretting that decision very much as she trips over a pile of books and smacks face first into a dresser with a muffled thud and a slightly less muffled “Ow!”

[Pyro]

Life, it occurs to John, isn’t much like a box of chocolates at all, really. If you were unlucky enough to stumble onto a box of chocolates that was like life, you’d want your money back… no, scratch that, you’d want the souls, heads and firstborns of everyone involved in creating and selling something that fucking messed up.

He’s not sure how he got on this train of thought, except that chocolates are probably easier to get hold of than flowers (less likely to arouse Ororo’s wrath, at least, because procuring them wouldn’t mean mangling her prized collection – John’s not convinced she’s quite forgiven them for burying the flowerbeds in a snowdrift way-back-when, so fuck knows how long he’d be apologising if anything happened to them now) and thinking about those sorts of inane practicalities a million times easier than running over whatever-the-fuck just happened with Bob. Not that not-thinking about that, or thinking about it while pretending not to, or even giving up on the pretending and genuinely trying to figure it out, has made things any clearer.

On the plus side, he doesn’t smell like a locker room any more though that thought would no doubt be a whole lot more satisfying if he could honestly believe Bob was the sort to break a promise and would, therefore, be aware of this fact. On the downside…

… fuck.

He should go and see Rogue, really… except it’d be better to put it off until he can do all the stupid crap Bob suggested, right? (Yes, that sounds lame, okay? But we’re running with it anyway). And… it’s late, and it’d be better to do ‘all the stupid crap Bob suggested’ (c and TM) in the morning. Yeah. So… back to his room it is.

Given the way today has gone, he really shouldn’t be surprised to find Laurie sprawled on the floor, which is probably why the discovery merits little more than a raised eyebrow as he crosses the room and slumps onto the bed (still, despite all this time, not his bed…). Probably. Because that means he’s maturing and accepting how batshit the world’s become, and not that he’s more caught up in this whole Bob thing…

No, definitely not caught up in that.

No way.

… some random snarky comment’d probably be in order, wouldn’t it? If he’s fine – which he so obviously is.

”Wrong room, Mouse. I’m…” – no, that’s not a hitch, he can say it just fine – ”taken” (see? No problem…). ”Tobias’ll probably just drain you for some fucked-up child of darkness thing, and neither of us are especially stoked at the prospect of ending up all green, glowy and rotten when Microboy finds out about this.”

[Laurie Collins]

Laurie, after ascertaining that she still has all of her limbs and both her eyes after her tumble, lies frozen for a moment convinced that she’s about to be set on fire or yelled at or something terrible. One, two, three, four seconds of silence and no rage and she’s starting to exhale in relief when the door swings open and the light flips on and…

“Ah!” she yelps, rocketing into a sitting position and tucking the book under the dresser behind her to protect it from anticipated fiery-wrath. “Um, hi, I’m sorry I’m in your room and I have a very good…well maybe not very…or maybe not even good… but I do have an explanation and I wouldn’t be at all amusing to set on fire because I have a very low percentage of body fat so you won’t get that sizzling effect and-”

…and he doesn’t look mad. He doesn’t even look surprised come to that, just saunters over to his bed and flops down onto it. And then starts with the insults and awkward sexual commentary but this is still going better than she could have hoped and so she just sort of stares at him all wide eyed and silent until he’s finished.

”Wrong room, Mouse. I’m… taken. Tobias’ll probably just drain you for some fucked-up child of darkness thing, and neither of us are especially stoked at the prospect of ending up all green, glowy and rotten when Microboy finds out about this.”

“I-I didn’t, I don’t… you…” For a moment it seems like this conversation is doomed to die the slow, stammering death of all their few encounters but through a combination of her determination to complete this mission, indignation over the jibe at Matthew, and the tiny seed of confidence that’s been germinating since her arrival at the Institute and slow de-shelling she manages to scramble to her feet and muster a response.

“This, this right here is why your book was in my sock drawer for month after month until it started with all that hiding in walls in my dreams and beating like a Poe heart and…right not the point. Um, here’s American Gods.” she bends down and picks it up from where she’d shoved it under the dresser. “I put it under there so it wouldn’t get hurt if you did set me on fire after all.” she adds with a tiny smile and holds it out tentatively towards him.

[Pyro]

< I have a very low percentage of body fat so you won’t get that sizzling effect and...
”Okay, hold up.” That gets his attention, sort of, because it’s… weird. Okay, not just that it’s weird, because being weird doesn’t really make it any different from anything else that’s happened this evening. What stands out is that it’s an innocent sort of weird, divorced from any of the complicated crap that’s taken over everything else. And that makes it entertaining, and the fact it’s entertaining makes it easier to carry on as normal.

”Burnt fat’s fucking horrific, Mouse. Skinny little thing that goes up like kindling’s much more fun” John grins, almost predatorially, despite the way talking so coolly about his past exploits kinda turns his stomach – both the memories themselves, and the fact he’s not sure how much of the ‘pretending it was fun’ is really being having their own specific variation of sickening.

< I-I didn’t, I don’t… you…
Ah well, it was fun while it lasted. He quirks an eyebrow, as if asking her to go on, before giving a dismissive little screw it, what’s the point? shrug and turning his attention away from her, the ceiling mildly more interesting. Business as usual if she’s just going to…

< This, this right here is why your book was in my sock drawer for month after month until it started with all that hiding in walls in my dreams and beating like a Poe heart and…right not the point
… heh.

He sits back up, turns back to her, the brow quirk this time one of surprise. Looks like someone grew a backbone… kinda. It’s hardly a roaring display of confidence, but coming from Laurie anything more than a squeak of defeat’d be surprising enough. ”Very, very dreadfully nervous you were and are, but I will not say that you are mad” he mutters before he can think better of it (lame much, Allerdyce?) or wince at the mangling of the original (yep, definitely lame)… and no, that’s definitely not even the merest hint of a buzz at finding someone else with a literary inkling – not least because he definitely hasn’t got one himself. Nu-uh, no way. Fuck’s sake, he’s badass, did you miss the memo?

< Um, here’s American Gods. I put it under there so it wouldn’t get hurt if you did set me on fire after all.
Still slightly stunned, he reaches out and takes the book - ”Oh…” – before quirking a slight smile - ”Thanks” – which turns into a half-laugh. ”For bringing it back as well as giving a fuck whether it got toasted.”

And then... it's not exactly unprecedented, John taking an interest in someone who might have a semi-articulate opinion on something he gives a damn about, but it might as well be because even he's surprised he asks. Maybe she'll go off on another random tangent and distract him from thoughts on Bob's advice-come-freak-out-thing, even dry half-joking thoughts like whether the sequence with The Queen of Sheba's incredible man-eating nether-regions might qualify as a real enough story now he's got the book back. "So... what did you think?"

[Laurie Collins]

”Burnt fat’s fucking horrific, Mouse. Skinny little thing that goes up like kindling’s much more fun”

That, along with-especially with- the predatory grin elicits a squeak from Laurie as she takes a reflexive stumble-step backwards towards the dresser. You, she thinks, are immeasurably lucky that I’ve gotten my pheromones pretty well under control. The thought of John giving his own squeak and cowering, however, takes the edge off that rather disturbing comment and gives her the courage to stand her ground.

After her little back-bone episode she’s tensed and waiting but he just gives her this inscrutable look and comes back with-

”Very, very dreadfully nervous you were and are, but I will not say that you are mad”

Did he just understand that? And have an on topic response paraphrasing Poe? And complete an entire sentence without insulting or terrifying me?

“True!” she says back after a minute, almost in a whisper, with a wary look as if he’s just offered her his hand and she’s not sure yet whether it’s to shake hers or punch her in the stomach. She looks a bit more reassured after his thanks though slightly puzzled as if to ask who []wouldn‘t[/i] save the book? She nods slightly and picks at the hem of the tee-shirt she’s wearing, one that actually fits her these days and that was bought at Target new instead of picked up at a garage sale though it‘s still plain as can be. Sometimes she misses layers of ill-fitting fabric and hair in her face and nervous tics, there’s a comfort in being all alone and invisible, but mostly she likes it this way better. She feels taller, though she isn’t, a little older, a little more present.

"So... what did you think?"

She stares at him blankly for a moment before the tiny smile works its way into a fair sized one and she drops her fingers from the hem of her shirt. A less trusting girl would wonder if she’s being wound up, led into some careful conversational trap to be mocked, and Laurie gives that a thought but she can’t really consider it seriously- shy is one thing but it’s painfully obvious that she’s ready to step wherever directed, that she’s never been hurt enough to learn caution beyond a surface uncertainty.

“I-I really liked it.” she starts, and then, abruptly, laughs at herself, touching a hand to her forehead for a moment and shaking her head slowly. “Wow, that’s probably the silliest beginning to answering that question, that is I think Matthew gets sort of exasperated with that as an answer to his music and such.” she natters on, half to herself, and it’s tragically inevitable he’d come up because even nervous and uncertain and terrifically weirded-out as she is she’s still sixteen and it’s out of the question for her to forget for more than five minutes that she’s rather triumphantly in l- …like! In…like! That’s what I meant…right? Because it’s only been two months, well, I’ve known him about a year and liked him most of that but…BOOK! “Anyway!” she jerks herself back with a little too much emphasis and blushes slightly, “It was… well I’m not much for stark modern sorts of things usually that try to shock you with the sex and the violence and the sad bleak modern life but this book…” she waves her hands around incoherently a bit, coming dangerously close to swatting one of Tobias’ goth rock posters, “It was all there, the sex and the violence and the sadness but they weren’t just isolated or for shock value and they worked how they’re supposed to, together, and so it had an impact like the things I like do, Rilke and Charlotte Bronte and all that, but it was here and now and… that’s actually something like what the book is about sometimes, maybe?“ she has to take a breath here and blushes at how carried away she‘s gotten, how frighteningly open and earnest without any garnish of restrained intelligence, or even coherency at most points. “I liked the coming to America bits, especially the one with the cab driver? Salim? That’s the one that really lasted.” she adds quickly for a less…frantic… stab at input.