Between the equinoxes and judgement day...

[Pyro]

11.30 isn’t too late to have breakfast, really. It still counts as morning (evil fucking things that they are, growl) and besides, if an excuse becomes necessary he can always claim to be *avoiding peak meal times*. Nothing at all to do with not surfacing until about 10 minutes ago.

Well, John thinks, trudging sleep-blearily to the kitchen (in as far as one can gingerly trudge, because shit, the floors are cold!), he might as well take advantage of not having any schedule other than the sporadic Danger Room sessions before having to become a *real* student again. Besides, not running into anyone feels like a better plan than it should; even if they’re not old friends, and have remained ignorant of the whole, erm, reign of flaming terror thing, he’s hardly an ideal poster boy for the Institute, and it’s easier to just avoid the new mutants than go through the whole ‘Bad Boy’ rigmarole (he’s darkly amused, for the brief moment before yawning and general zombie-ness takes over again, at the idea of him keeping a low profile…). But it’s equally awkward staying in the room (it still feels wrong to call it *his*, when it’s still got that alien feeling… and when it’s so clear Bob’s not best pleased to be sharing with him again)… And of course, at its most basic level, this being John, he knows full well he’ll go stark raving bonkers stuck in one place… and needs coffee. Damn caffeine being so bloody addictive and all.

****

He’s pleased to find that no one’s around, and a short time later seems to have made himself as ‘at home’ as possible, the coffee machine (which took an age to figure out, because it’s a beast of a thing… but no fucking way he’s settling for instant, and he’s almost pleased to find that things haven’t changed that much and the teacher’s decent stash of the expensive stuff is still in the same place) gurgling in the background as he perches cross-legged on a chair nearby, flicking idly through a much-thumbed copy of American Gods (because it’s safe to read when no one’s looking, of course, and that too is weirdly amusing, how since getting back it’s almost become his shield the way it was way back when, though of course he’s graduated way beyond those oversized pages with their single syllable words and crayoned-in pictures, almost big enough a diminutive reject could literally hide behind them). Aside from the how the hand not flipping pages is hovering, encased in what seems to be a glove of flame, over cold pizza (no, the joys of the fridge haven’t changed either… and since he’s almost *shudder* an adult now he can have what he likes for breakfast… erm… brunch… whatever this is), it could almost be ‘normal’; given that this is, of course, a school for mutants, it’s not a bad approximation of whatever passes for functional.

[Laurie Collins]

11:30, too late for breakfast (Laurie’s mutinously rumbling stomach can attest to that) and too early for lunch, which means it’s the perfect time for Laurie to descend to the kitchen. She’s not so petrified of the institute as she was when she first arrived, the other students have all been perfectly nice and the teachers equally so, but even with all their encouragement and reassurances she still doesn’t feel quite comfortable being around them too much. After all she’d been there less than two days when she’d actually attempted to use her pheromones on Bob, even if her intentions had been good, she wasn’t anxious for a repeat performance of that or the various unintentional displays she’d made over the course of the past week or so. It couldn’t go on forever, she knew that somewhere deeper down, but for now avoidance was rather cozy.

With these cheerful thoughts Laurie rouses herself from her room, tucking Anna Karenina under her arm and making her way down to the kitchen via her usual roundabout and disused route. She’s congratulating herself on not encountering anyone and running through the comfortable mental business of deciding what to fix for breakfast when she comes around the corner into the kitchen and stops short, fond thoughts of toast and jam disrupted as she sees another student perched on a chair and reading a book while he waits for his coffee to finish. Laurie shoots a glare at the coffee machine which seems to be the main draw for people showing up during her kitchen hours to surprise her. No wonder I hate the stuff she thinks grumpily and then casts the other student an uncertain look as he reads. …am I supposed to let him know I’m here? Does he know and not care? Is it weird to just stand here staring at him thinking about this? Yes, yes it probably really is. Of course his hand is also on fire- (she's just noticed this rather interesting aspect of John's breakfast preparations and her eyes have widened in a properly horrified response before she realizes that he doesn't seem to be screaming or flailing about in pain and in fact looks quite pleased about the whole arrangement) which is also not nor--well no I guess it is now, for here, all that. Okay, well I suppose I don't want to take any chances with startling him then...

“Uhm… good morning.” she ventures tentatively, ducking her head and whirling away almost immediately after the words leave her mouth to busy herself with hunting about for some bread.

[Pyro]

A sound in the doorway, and the book is forgotten- can’t have a student thinking he reads, or a teacher thinking he’s studying and therefore happy to be back in the system – and, given that he’s not officially been trusted with a lighter and should therefore at least pretend to be all *neutered* and powerless (the combination of those words stinging, of course… but no, fuck that. He refuses to think about Bob just now), reluctantly extinguishes the flame, switching to balancing the chair back on two legs and regarding the newcomer coolly with a well, go on stare.

He doesn’t recognise her, though he’s getting used to that – for some reason there seem to be more new students than ever (he’s guessing Ororo failed to mention the terrorist rehabilitation programme and impromptu ‘inspections’ by obscure government agencies in the prospectus). Nothing about this one strikes his interest, really; few people do, but she’s especially… bland. Washed out, like a faded photograph, and, he’ll bet… yeah, mousey to boot. Wonderful.

When it seems she’s not going to say anything, he shrugs, and returns his gaze from looking at her sidelong back to the tabletop. Given that she’s both alien and not ostensibly a threat he has few qualms about retrieving and flicking open the Zippo, letting the flames crawl back over his skin… and not-watching-for-her-reaction. No, definitely not. He’s matured beyond wanting to shock newbies (yeah, sure. Into wanting them to confirm that being here hasn’t left you useless and pathetic where you used to be the 3rd most wanted and all… but that’s a whole other issue). Her salutation is met with a dismissive pfft sort of grunt – the sound of a shrug, probably.

Ororo would be proud; so wonderfully sociable, even decaffeinated. Definite progress from the good old days (well, he shrugs inwardly, mental voice surprisingly petulant they wanted the old me back, right?). ‘sides, it probably counts as… erm, sensible mentoring behaviour, or something, rather than launching into hey, I’m John, I burn shit, what’s your power? which, he guesses, she’s heard plenty of times (from people who either care about what it might be or about pretending to be polite) and still not got comfortable with, having that whole not yet settled into mutant vibe alongside everything else…

Stupid bloody machine... when did it get so slow? He can only hope her simple, dull tastes spill over into food... not that having her around is going to bother him too much, because she's the type who only requires the barest effort to render invisible. But it'll be much easier if she's not a chipper morning person, or a culinary genius intent on taking over the kitchen to work some magic.

[Laurie Collins]

The older student’s dismissal of her is written plainly across his face when she darts a look back at it after his response- if one can call the ‘pffft’ noise a response- and Laurie blushes, fighting the urge to apologize and slink back to her room. Just make some toast and then you can get out of here and finish up this chapter. She’s reached the horse race section of the book and it’s one of, if not her favorite parts, the most interesting sections of the book to read. Unsettling and all teetering on the edge just before, just before, and then it all goes. She smiles idly to herself as she finds some bread tucked away in a cupboard, actually having managed to forget about John for a moment as she contemplates the book tucked under her arm.

Click. Fwoosh. She flinches at the sound of flames once again engulfing his hand and can’t resist sneaking another peek at the spectacle over her shoulder, wincing slightly at the sight of flames licking at his skin, though it’s obviously not painful, perhaps even pleasurable judging from his facial expression. It’s like watching a horror movie, you know, you know that somewhere just beyond the lens there’re camera people and makeup artists and that girl who just died is getting the fake blood washed off and having some bottled water as she chatters on a cell phone, but you can’t quite convince your heartbeat and adrenal glands of that fact.

Stop that before you start emitting and make him barbeque the institute, she admonishes herself mentally and attempts to forget him again as she occupies herself with a hunt for the toaster. The hunt is unsuccessful.

She turns back. His hand is still on fire. His face is still about a thousand light years away from welcoming. Her nerves fizz around in her stomach and chest like carbonation and she says a quick non-religious plea to…well the ceiling she supposes if it’s non-religious… that they aren’t spilling over because this one seems like a bad sort to antagonize and clears her throat.

“Er… would you mind telling me where the toaster is?”

[Pyro]

He’s almost forgotten about Laurie, enough to note that the pizza’s ready and almost enough to go back to reading without worrying about her destroying his ‘cred’ – he almost knows the book by heart, but having reclaimed this copy from the *John’s junk* section of his Bob’s the room, and with ‘hood duties not exactly leaving much room for reading, re-discovering it one small pleasure he’s not supposed to feel guilty about. The coffee machine gurgles back into silence, finally, and he contemplated a semi-dignified skulk off to… anywhere there won’t be people, really, as he extinguishes the flames with a wave, juggles book, pizza and mug and heads over to the great hulking shiny beast.

< would you mind telling me where the toaster is?
Not going to make it easy for him, right? Brilliant. Patron Saint of Invisible Girls and Lost Little Sheep.

Still, he’s not going to turn down an invitation to show off, now, is he? Because he’ll take any excuse to get to play, no matter how pathetic, and this one he can probably come up with some half-baked excuse for if Ororo challenges him… because it’s a *creative use* just like she and Bob want… because it might just stun this kid enough that she’ll remember to let him be… and, well, because he’s still John, and he can’t not.

”Don’t need a fucking toaster, Mouse.” John sets his book down on the side, turns to face the watercolour-washed-out blonde with a grin. It’s not exactly a welcoming grin, but it’s not his usual smirk either; it’s a paler version, if anything, of the yay, let’s burn shit! smile, and he sticks a hand out for the bread (and sure, it’s total coincidence it’s the one she’s just seen him set on fire) ”You’re at Mutant High now.”

[Laurie Collins]

Laurie can feel herself shrinking as he turns his attention to her again. If she were the sort to imagine these things of people she’d think he practiced that disdainful smirk in front of a mirror. As it is she merely thinks, oh, he’s uncomfortably good at that, and bites her lip.

”Don’t need a fucking toaster, Mouse.”

The grin is unsettling and she shifts her weight slightly as she ponders what exactly he means by that, suddenly seeing the merits of un-toasted bread in a new and glorious light, a light far away from this rather intimidating flame-controlling person. They should have two kitchens, she thinks rather nonsensically, one for terrifying people who call you Mouse or steal your food with strange teleportation powers and one for people who just want to get something to eat and then leave.

He’s holding his hand out, presumably for the bread, though for all she knows he’s requesting that she hand over her immortal soul for charbroiling. Okay, well, he’s being helpful. Maybe. So maybe he doesn’t mean to be so off-putting. Maybe. She places her book carefully on the counter beside herself and then extends the hand with the bread out towards him as he speaks again.

”You’re at Mutant High now.”

She wonders briefly if he means to make that sound like he’s saying ‘Welcome to Hell’ but knows better than to ask. The book he’s laid aside is obviously drawing her eye but she’s too shy to ask what he’s reading as she obviously wants to, settling for introducing herself both out of politeness and the likely futile hope that if he knows her name he’ll stop calling her ‘Mouse’.

“Uh, thanks? I’m Laurie by the way…”

[Pyro]

He’s moved off before she introduces herself, attention on the task and not on her as he lays out hmm, shrimpy little thing... two? three pieces of bread, fully prepared to treat whatever she says with the same blasé lack of attention which befits a comment like nice day or this is the kitchen, dispassion suggesting that whatever it is is obvious and totally not worth commenting on… and for a split second that’s exactly what happens, an eloquently silent yeah yeah, whatever… until the name hits.

”Laurie?” John’s reluctant to properly spare her a second glance, though he can’t help but look back towards her, run over a second summation. So, this is Laurie, Bob’s… what, exactly? Nothing. He’s being an idiot. Just because he mentioned her in passing. Nothing there to interest him either, is there? It’s almost bloody laughable, really, that he considered her even a passing threat as far as Bob’s attentions went (though of course he’s not got much right to them any more… but shit, he still has to have the edge over her, right? With another dismissive noise – a markedly less callous one, but still a noise which suggests he hasn’t found anything worthy of attention – he turns back to the task, flicking his lighter open again and…

… and pausing, snapping the Zippo shut, when, following that trajectory between girl and bread, his gaze stops on the book (which is somehow more interesting than either). Heh… Full credit to the kid, if she’s reading something like that for fun. There’s no flash of kindred spirits (ha. Ha ha ha), no realisation that maybe he’s being a little harsh in his estimation because no, she’s still distinctly underwhelming. But where ‘whelming’ lies, it’s a step up towards it. ”Bit early in the day for modernist realism and bare exquisite Russian elbows, Mouse” he cocks an eyebrow, smirk firmly back in place as he sparks up the lighter again. ”How carbonised d’ya like your brain-fuel?”

[Laurie Collins]

”Laurie?”

She blinks as he repeats her name and turns towards her again shifting uncomfortably under the momentary intensity of his gaze and feeling the odd urge to apologize for… what exactly? Existing? Being named Laurie? She looks back down at her shoes and scuffs one of them lightly on the tiled floor, she’s been in the kitchen for under ten minutes and already she’s getting the feeling that she’s being weighed or tested every other moment and coming up short. I just want some toast! she thinks rather desperately, watching him lay out the pieces on the counter, and taking his own good time about it. Though that’s rude, after all, he is helping you even if he’s not being very friendly about it.

His eyes are traveling towards the bread and she winces when they stop on her book. Oh here it comes, now he’ll make fun of me for being a huge dork and carrying a book around with me everywhere.

“Bit early in the day for modernist realism and bare exquisite Russian elbows, Mouse”

…or maybe he’ll mock her slightly but also reveal knowledge of the book in the process. While his opinion towards her hasn’t really changed Laurie has a much easier point system and a bone-deep inclination to try to like everyone that crosses her path. His comment, mocking though it may be, earns him a smile that is neither shy nor tentative but lights up her face in a way that shows she could perhaps be called pretty if she brightened up a bit and someone educated her on not dressing like she just emerged from the trash bin behind a Goodwill and not holding herself like she expects to be smacked or has a hunchback. “You’ve read it then?” she asks quietly, “Er, it’s one of my favorites so no time’s too early really, I suppose.” she adds, going back to tentative and humorless as the mocking aspect kicks in a bit late. He’s going to just keep calling me mouse isn’t he? Oh well, I suppose it’s better than Future Pile Of Ashes On The Floor or Next Victim or something of the like.

“How carbonised d’ya like your brain-fuel?”

“Oh, er, anywhere between soggy and blackened, and uh, thanks.” she responds distractedly, peering as best she can without moving a muscle around his shoulder. “What were you reading when I came in? If, ah, you don’t mind me asking.”

[Pyro]

< You’re read it then?
It’s not hard to see why people like Laurie usually end up invisible. It takes so much bloody effort to actually see or hear her sort of wallflower, and when you put it in… it doesn’t really seem worth it, unless you’re the type to get all hyped up over managing to coax the ghost of a smile onto those features. Which John isn’t, and so while someone else, someone who would make it their mission to take Laurie under their wing and bring her out of her shell, might have noticed that flicker of enthusiasm and latched onto it as a way of reaching her, John… doesn’t work like that, just shrugs in response to her first question.

His attention, of course, is on the flame, which breaks free of the lighter and stretches itself into a sheet, like a much smaller version of the shield trick he and Bob have been working on, hovering a few inches above the bread. Once that’s place he’s fine to turn his back on it, wander back over to the coffee machine with a slight yawn and retrieve his own ‘breakfast’ while hers turns from white to golden.

< What were you reading…?
There’s a flicker of a scowl, for a fraction of a moment, at being caught out, and again at her stumbling postscript (because apologising for a question is ridiculous, and it’s not even like she’s asked anything offensive or sensitive… well, not anything which would be an issue for *normal* people, anyway). Handing the book (which, with its dog-eared pages, cracked spine and brown-gold crisping where the edges have got in the way of hobby number two, seems sad and almost profane next to her more carefully loved text) back to her without turning around, he blinks out the flame, guess-timating that the toast should be about midway between soggy and blackened, pouring first coffee and then enough sugar that the spoon should by rights stand up into a mug. ”Knock yourself out"

[Laurie Collins]

More silence. Laurie is beginning to feel positively chatty compared to her reluctant companion in breakfasting. His seemingly typical blasé response doesn’t phase her much or dim the enthusiasm she’d felt a moment before. Even after spending just a few moments with the other student she can tell that he’s consistent and even if that means consistently rather short with people and superior-looking it’s still something. Laurie, after all, is the type to rather selfishly value consistency as it means that there’s not much chance he’ll suddenly break character and startle her enough to cause her to emit pheromones.

She shifts her glance to the shield of flame hovering over her toast, not for the first time feeling a pang of envy for those with such straightforward powers. If she had to be a mutant fire or wings or most anything other than pheromones only good for making people miserable, or wanting to make them happy and knowing she could but shouldn’t and therefore making herself miserable, would be preferable. Oh don’t start with the angst, she chides herself, moving away to collect the jam and a knife as the other student- whose name she still doesn’t know and is rather afraid to ask- tends to his own breakfast needs.

When the book is offered she wipes her hands on her jeans before taking it and seeing that she really needn’t have bothered for all the difference it would have made to the book’s condition. She smiles when she sees the cover, murmuring, “Gaiman? He wrote Smoke and Mirrors. Hmm…” obviously to herself judging from the absent quality of her voice, and leaving the jam-knife dripping all over the counter as she promptly forgets both her breakfast and John in a brief perusal of the volume’s contents.

”Knock yourself out"

That brings her back to the task at hand and she shakes her head as she gathers up the toast, slathers some jam quickly onto it, replaces the supplies, and prepares to beat a hasty retreat back to her room. The flame wielding occupant of kitchen hasn’t been outright hostile yet but the utter contempt is probably worse, and Laurie’s eager to be out from under his measuring gaze. “Well, thanks, bye!” she rushes out in a mumble, balancing toast in one hand, book in the other, and heading for the exit as fast as politely possible, completely missing in her flurry of nerves that her own book is sitting on the counter while John’s is clutched in her hand.

[Rogue]

Lately, it seems she’s taken on a new sleep schedule, one where she doesn’t sleep much - or at all - at night, but stays in bed ‘till nearly-noon once she does…which is more like her old schedule, really, back in the day. It’s not the first time this week Rogue’s barely crawling out of bed at this time, throwing an annoyed glance at the clock, and sitting in place for a few moments, and trying to collect her fairly fuzzy thoughts.

She hasn’t really gone downstairs much lately, not since the psykes thing, ‘cause she just hasn’t wanted to deal with seeing most people… Still, she probably should at least make an appearance, prove she’s not dead…

That doesn’t mean she needs to look all that ‘together’, not this soon after waking up. She doesn’t bother to do more than pull on a pair of gloves and absently comb one hand through her hair as she wanders her way downstairs. She’ll get presentable later, once she’s actually awake, if she decides not to lurk in her room for the rest of the day.

She’s not really got much of a destination in mind, at first – just sort of wandering around – until the smell of coffee hits, and then she’s heading towards the kitchen as if magnetized there. She hasn’t had any coffee in awhile now, and she’s looking forward to it.

‘Course, she’s not expecting someone to be leaving the kitchen at the same time she’s coming in, or to slamming into said person. There’s a moment of panic – is she covered properly? She has gloves, but what kind of sleeves...? – and she tries to scramble away before anything bad happens, throwing out a quick half-mumbled apology.

[Pyro]

John mumbles something almost in the vicinity of ‘you’re welcome’, which somehow comes out sounding more like ‘whatever’ (yep, big surprise there), as Laurie dashes out of the kitchen, and would probably have totally forgotten her if it wasn’t for the collision, which raises another smirking smile, because it’s really just too easy, isn’t it? ” ‘said knock yourself out, but…” he says, turning to face the doorway as he does so ”you didn’t have to take it litera…”

Spotting who it is she’s stumbled into, he trails off. Again, it’s hardly a transformation, the flash of concern which sits so seemingly unnaturally in his dark cynical features, nor the warmer version of blank which it melts into as soon as he realises he’s looking anything which might serve to make Rogue less okay. Because even if the rest of their… whatever is still… erm, whatever, he seems to have taken this whole *Guardian of Her Sanity* thing to heart, same way now it’s too empty in there as he used to when it was too full, and he doesn’t quite dart over to her side, but is in between her and Laurie quickly enough for that, one hand on each of Rogue’s shoulders, pulling her back away from the startled kid.

”S’okay, y’didn’t get her this time.” words surge as quickly as possible, with John breaking into a grin at the end of it in his attempts to reassure her. Shit, she’s a state, and that shouldn’t surprise him given that last night was one of the harder ones, but it still manages to both startle and sadden. Shooting a glance at Laurie, the right answer to his question (i.e. agree completely) is clear enough in his eyes - ”She didn’t right, Mouse? So..” – before they’re back on Rogue and he’s steering her towards the corner he was occupying, releasing her and swinging fairly flawlessly back to flippant and blasé as soon as he’s sure she’s on the right trajectory. ”No newbies for breakfast today. Coffee okay with you?”

[Laurie Collins]

He- still no name- mumbles something at her as she goes through the doorway, sounds like ‘whatever’ but she doesn’t turn around because she’s almost free of this rather unexpected and unwelcome social encounter, almost back to the safety of her room where she can get on to reading the race scene and-thud. She yelps and jumps back, toast falling all over the floor, at the same time as Rogue as both girls scramble away from the collision as if afraid the other will catch fire after contact with them. The male student’s remark about not taking something literally flies a mile over her head as she struggles to maintain her calm so as not to alarm anyone who could, say, spew fire in the vicinity.

Laurie’s expression of shock turns to one of dismay as The Human Toaster (because “he” is getting repetitive even in her mind) pushes between them and she catches a real look at the girl she’s bumped into. She doesn’t look good…really scared… was that me?.

“Did I scare you?” she blurts out, looking worried and vaguely guilty.

”S’okay, y’didn’t get her this time.”

Get me? What? Laurie blinks rapidly but has no real time to process this before The Human Toaster is shooting her a look that says wordlessly ‘smile and nod or else’ and adding,

”She didn’t right, Mouse?”

“Uh…no. I’m fine. Not…gotten. No, very much, er, un-gotten.” she rambles, realizing how silly she sounds but unable to stop herself in her rush to appease the The Human Toaster’s glare and reassure his friend who she’s not convinced she hasn’t had a hand in causing to look so shell shocked.

”No newbies for breakfast today. Coffee okay with you?”

Goodbye toast Laurie thinks sadly as he speaks, looking down at the remnants of her breakfast which have been trodden upon in the excitement. Leaning down to pick up the smushed slices which, she notes with surprise, have defied the laws of life by landing jam-side up.

[Rogue]

Eyes squeezed shut, she’s bracing for the expected onrush of someone else’s mind in hers, tensed as if physically doing so will help her hold up mentally…

…It doesn’t feel like anything’s happened, though. No flood of thoughts or memories, no new presence…But that was too close. Too close. She should have looked, walked more carefully and…and not even come down here.

“Did I scare you?”

Rogue opens her eyes, looking at the girl and her scattered breakfast, pushing a small apologetic smile onto her face with some effort, ”I…no, it’s…” she starts. Too close – she should have been paying more attention. She could have killed her… She doesn’t finish her sentence, just shakes her head slightly, as if half-brushing off whatever she’d been about to say, half still answering the question, though it’s not really thought out enough to really be that.

She cringes slightly as she feels someone touch her, still fairly spooked, and she wants to tell them to be careful, to pull away and just bolt back upstairs and away from everyone, because this was a mistake in the first place…

”S’okay, y’didn’t get her this time.”

She blinks up at John almost dazedly – he’s in here? …Right, that shouldn’t be such a shock to her, really. He lives here now - again, so seeing him at random in the mansion isn’t a strange thing. It’s not like he’s just lurking around in his room all day, like she has been…

”She didn’t right, Mouse?

“Uh…no. I’m fine. Not…gotten. No, very much, er, un-gotten.”[/color]

Rogue’s very glad to hear that – even though she’d already recognized that, hearing the confirmation helps because... well, could she have absorbed someone without noticing? She’s not sure, and not really sure she wants to find out, and she doesn’t even like thinking about it…

“'Kay. Good....”

She lets John steer her…wherever it is he’s steering her. Towards the back corner of the kitchen, it looks like; where it appears he was sitting before, judging from the coffee and the pizza on the table there.

” So…No newbies for breakfast today. Coffee okay with you?” [/color]

”…Yeah, coffee’s good. …Thanks, Sugah.” she responds, giving a small nod and an even smaller, but no less genuine smile, and moves towards the cabinet the mugs are kept in, absently running the gloved fingertips of one hand across a few almost indecisively.

[Matthew Craft]

At the rate that the growls are coming from his stomach, Matthew figures he'll die of starvation before he ever reaches the kitchen, so he pushes himself a little faster. And when each stride covers about 6 feet, that's pretty fast.

Just as he rounds a corner in the hall, imagining the plate of pancakes he plans on making, he catches sight of an altercation in the entrance of the kitchen.

Not one of those fight-type altercations, just an innocent accident.

"Morning Laurie." He greets, smiling brightly despite his morning fatigue. Laurie's busy picking up her toast when he reaches her. "What had you rushing out of there in such a hurry?" Matthew had seen her collide with Rogue only moments ago after fleeing the kitchen in a rush.

Laurie wasn't the most social person at the Institute, but that didn't make her anti-social. Whoever she was trying to get away from, it couldn't be good.

Peering into kitchen, Matthew spots Rogue at the counter.

"Good morning!" And then he sees the source of Laurie's urge to flee. "John." He manages in a neutral acknowledging tone. It's the first time he's spoken to the pyromaniac since the teen ran off to join the Brotherhood, and even before then, they hadn't talked much. Most of what he heard about the blonde had come from Toni, who had been his mentor for a number of months before the Alkali Lake incident.

Matthew had never really cared much for John, often finding him to be antagonistic and rude. It didn't help that his return to the Institute had involved the risk of his sister's life, as well as Josh's, Warren's, and Bobby's.

Breakfast was quickly becoming a bad idea.