Tuesday night: Jennie and Monet
Apr. 4th, 2007 03:03 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsThe girls do their washing.
Monet glared at the washing machines. Both of them. And at her magazines. And the stack of textbooks next to them. She really didn't like doing laundry very much at all and if it wasn't for the fact that she was down to her nana undies, she'd have kept on putting it off. She made a mental note to find out who Medusa used since the people she used last time she lived at the mansion seemed to have changed their number.
There was a significant bang as the door burst open. Probably due to an enthusiastic kick, as the offending party had a laundry basket in both hands along with a textbook balanced precariously on top. Jennie'd been putting off laundry for a while, but unfortunately she was almost out of clean underwear, and she finally had the spare moment to do it.
Unfortunately, Jennie's luck being what it was, she just so happened to pick that exact day at that exact time to do it. She stared at the other occupant in the room for a few awkward seconds.
"Ah. Greetings?"
"Oh, hello. You'd be Jennie, wouldn't you? There can't be many other people with such … nice hair in the mansion." Monet looked at her critically. "You're too pale to pull that colour off, you know, unless you wear better makeup. More blush and a light foundation." She got up and walked around Jennie, examining her hair from every angle. "I think you need to go brown. Maybe keep the black as some darker streaks to give it some depth but you need to go brown. And put some red through it all, so it's a bit warmer."
The younger girl raised a dignified eyebrow at Monet. "Pleasure to meet you too, excuse me," she ducked around the Australian girl and set her basket down on the bench in front of the washing machine. "I tan in the summer, so I would try not to worry so much about my being too pale for my hair color." She began to load her colors into the washer. Privately Jennie had to wonder what was in the water down in Australia.
Well, if people wouldn't accept perfectly helpful advice, they could continue looking like dorks. It was entirely out of Monet's hands now. That said, she had at least half an hour to go before the washing machine finished. "So. Have you decided if you're doing maths or dance at uni yet?"
"Um, dunno," Jennie said, loading the last of her jeans and setting the load size and water before pressing "start". "The advisor said it was best to just wait and see which I liked better. Plus, I still have to do my advanced placement for both." No baby courses for her, otherwise she would more than likely go insane. She looked back over her shoulder at Monet. She had to admit, she was insanely curious about this girl, having heard stories about her for a good year and a half. "And you? You going to school?"
"So you can't just do a double degree in Performing Arts and Science? Huh." Monet sighed tragically. "I was a fashion design course. It was lovely and interesting and fun. Then we had a ... difference of opinion about it and my darling father decided that since I wasn't busy any more, I should study Commerce. Funnily enough, it isn't either interesting, lovely or fun."
"Well, I could," Jennie said, sorting the rest of the laundry in her basket into perm press and whites, "but it's too early to tell. I could find I suddenly have a burning desire to be a neurophysicist or a film director or something," she held up a shirt and frowned at it before setting it back into the basket. "You know, I've met your Dad, he seemed surprisingly . . .tolerant from what I had been told. Did Fashion Design just not agree with you?"
"Not precisely, no. They said, and I quote, that whilst I was technically adept, I had a minimal grasp of the intricacies of the semiotics of visual communication, failed to fully articulate my emotional state through the medium at hand and was both derivative and mechanical. "
"Ouch." Jennie settled herself on the bench with her textbook. "Well, commerce can't be that bad. Lots of playing around with money?" She was so reaching.
Monet grinned. "That sounds dangerously close to actual work. Crystal tells me you're one of Marius' best mates?" She was struggling here and covered a lack of conversational topics by examining her nails. Why hadn't she bought that new polish with her?
"Yeah, oddly enough," Jennie cracked the textbook but then leaned forward, bracing her elbows on the pages. "Look, I'm not so good at beating around the bush, so if you want to ask me something about him I'll give you an honest answer. If you care to know. I don't know what your Dad has said about our 'misadventure' but I can clear up any misconceptions."
"My dad hasn't actually said anything about it, ever. I know a bit from what my uncle tells me, since he ran into Dad a while back in France - this is my uncle on Dad's side, not one of the ones on Mum's. But it's kind of assumed that Dad won't ever talk about Marius' side of the family and that we won't ask about it." Monet shrugged. "He went off the rails a bit or something, and ever since, Dad's been coming down a lot harder on me."
"That's putting it nicely," Jennie said wryly. "Long and the short of it, it was one giant powers fuck-up on every level." She wondered whether or not to mention the fact that it was coupled by Marius's fear of familial pressure. Nah, his family, his business. "While I don't envy the added pressure, I had the joy of convincing my own father, who had only been recently informed of my existence, that that was not the norm for me. It could be worse."
Monet whistled. "Yeesh. That really sucks. And yes, it could be worse, but possibly only if you got attacked by giant monkeys. Or had to wear shoes from WalMart. You didn't, did you? Because they're just yicky."
"I was with your brother and Manuel. I think showing Manuel anything from Walmart would have made him hiss and make the sign of the cross at it." Past tense, seeing as how he was still recovering on Muir. Jennie sighed and stretched, wiggling her toes. "So, what do you think of the place again? Any drastic changes you would notice?"
Monet shrugged. "Same old, same old, really. I don't share a room this time round and there're a lot of new people, like, well, you. But it's really just the same. It's kind of scary."
"Yeah, I guess." From the stories Jennie'd heard, she liked to think that things at least had gotten better. Lack of demon invasions for one, no teachers had gone evil year. The students all kept in a neat little bubble. It was becoming rather boring, actually. "We have to leave the school to make trouble now. This place is wired to the teeth."
"That's just not fair. We'll have to stage a jail break at some point." Monet glared at the washing machines. How dare they be so slow? "Shit!" Suds started seeping out of one of her machines, dripping down its sides and onto the floor.
"How much did you put in there?" Jennie asked, jumping up at the same time. She slid on the suds on the floor a little, but was able to yank the knob on the washer to turn it off.
"Well, the little scoop in the box of washing powder was missing so I just kind of poured some in. Possibly too much?" She dared the other machines to start doing it, too.
"Possibly," Jennie agreed, shaking the suds from her arms. "Don't look at me, my PMS was last week, things don't blow up otherwise." At least she thought it wasn't her. Could never be too sure.
"You blew my washing up. You bloody blew my washing up." Monet set the machine to drain and glared at Jennie. "So this is you having power malfunctions, is it? What on earth is your power?"
"You insulted my hair. And I did not blow your washing up." Jennie fished for something to gather the suds up with. "If I did, and that's speaking hypothetically, the pretty lights in my vision would have gotten brighter." She scooped up the suds, and not sure what else to do with them, put them in an empty washer. "I'm a probability manipulator, anyway. Good and bad."
"I never said it was bad hair. Just that it needed work. Besides, what do you call this, if not 'blown up'?" Monet watched Jennie get rid of the suds. It really was a shame that she taken, what with Marius and all that. She put that thought out of her mind and piled her clothes in the basket. She'd rewash them in a bit.
"Blown up would mean the washer literally blowing up. Our suite's gone through at least four toasters. There are some mornings I have to get someone to make me toast." She put a hand on her hip and surveyed the rest of the laundry room. Not that she didn't trust Monet to clean up after herself...but she didn't trust Monet to clean up after herself. "I think that's all of it."
Monet looked around - there were some damp sections on the floor, a washer full of suds and a pile of needing-to-be-rewashed washing on one of the other machines. "I think so." Monet stuffed her clothes back in and set it it to 'rinse'. "Thanks."
Jennie settled back onto the bench with her textbook. "No worries." Half an hour left on her loads, and then there was the dryer. She would leave and go back upstairs, but several times she'd been the victim of dryer thieves, leaving her laundry on top of the dryer while they stole her time, so here she stayed. Such a pain. "So, a lot of the old timers are returning. Any interesting stories? Blackmail that can be used later?"
"I'll have to get back to you on the blackmail. I'm going to have to think about it. Oh! Amanda was weird, Rahne is a prig and Marie-Ange is just kind of strange. That's about all I can think of right now." Monet curled up with her magazine, waiting for her clothes to finish again.
"More things change," Jennie muttered, turning her attention to her trig textbook, but not without sneaking a glance at Monet. Yeah, some things definitely were genetic.
Monet glared at the washing machines. Both of them. And at her magazines. And the stack of textbooks next to them. She really didn't like doing laundry very much at all and if it wasn't for the fact that she was down to her nana undies, she'd have kept on putting it off. She made a mental note to find out who Medusa used since the people she used last time she lived at the mansion seemed to have changed their number.
There was a significant bang as the door burst open. Probably due to an enthusiastic kick, as the offending party had a laundry basket in both hands along with a textbook balanced precariously on top. Jennie'd been putting off laundry for a while, but unfortunately she was almost out of clean underwear, and she finally had the spare moment to do it.
Unfortunately, Jennie's luck being what it was, she just so happened to pick that exact day at that exact time to do it. She stared at the other occupant in the room for a few awkward seconds.
"Ah. Greetings?"
"Oh, hello. You'd be Jennie, wouldn't you? There can't be many other people with such … nice hair in the mansion." Monet looked at her critically. "You're too pale to pull that colour off, you know, unless you wear better makeup. More blush and a light foundation." She got up and walked around Jennie, examining her hair from every angle. "I think you need to go brown. Maybe keep the black as some darker streaks to give it some depth but you need to go brown. And put some red through it all, so it's a bit warmer."
The younger girl raised a dignified eyebrow at Monet. "Pleasure to meet you too, excuse me," she ducked around the Australian girl and set her basket down on the bench in front of the washing machine. "I tan in the summer, so I would try not to worry so much about my being too pale for my hair color." She began to load her colors into the washer. Privately Jennie had to wonder what was in the water down in Australia.
Well, if people wouldn't accept perfectly helpful advice, they could continue looking like dorks. It was entirely out of Monet's hands now. That said, she had at least half an hour to go before the washing machine finished. "So. Have you decided if you're doing maths or dance at uni yet?"
"Um, dunno," Jennie said, loading the last of her jeans and setting the load size and water before pressing "start". "The advisor said it was best to just wait and see which I liked better. Plus, I still have to do my advanced placement for both." No baby courses for her, otherwise she would more than likely go insane. She looked back over her shoulder at Monet. She had to admit, she was insanely curious about this girl, having heard stories about her for a good year and a half. "And you? You going to school?"
"So you can't just do a double degree in Performing Arts and Science? Huh." Monet sighed tragically. "I was a fashion design course. It was lovely and interesting and fun. Then we had a ... difference of opinion about it and my darling father decided that since I wasn't busy any more, I should study Commerce. Funnily enough, it isn't either interesting, lovely or fun."
"Well, I could," Jennie said, sorting the rest of the laundry in her basket into perm press and whites, "but it's too early to tell. I could find I suddenly have a burning desire to be a neurophysicist or a film director or something," she held up a shirt and frowned at it before setting it back into the basket. "You know, I've met your Dad, he seemed surprisingly . . .tolerant from what I had been told. Did Fashion Design just not agree with you?"
"Not precisely, no. They said, and I quote, that whilst I was technically adept, I had a minimal grasp of the intricacies of the semiotics of visual communication, failed to fully articulate my emotional state through the medium at hand and was both derivative and mechanical. "
"Ouch." Jennie settled herself on the bench with her textbook. "Well, commerce can't be that bad. Lots of playing around with money?" She was so reaching.
Monet grinned. "That sounds dangerously close to actual work. Crystal tells me you're one of Marius' best mates?" She was struggling here and covered a lack of conversational topics by examining her nails. Why hadn't she bought that new polish with her?
"Yeah, oddly enough," Jennie cracked the textbook but then leaned forward, bracing her elbows on the pages. "Look, I'm not so good at beating around the bush, so if you want to ask me something about him I'll give you an honest answer. If you care to know. I don't know what your Dad has said about our 'misadventure' but I can clear up any misconceptions."
"My dad hasn't actually said anything about it, ever. I know a bit from what my uncle tells me, since he ran into Dad a while back in France - this is my uncle on Dad's side, not one of the ones on Mum's. But it's kind of assumed that Dad won't ever talk about Marius' side of the family and that we won't ask about it." Monet shrugged. "He went off the rails a bit or something, and ever since, Dad's been coming down a lot harder on me."
"That's putting it nicely," Jennie said wryly. "Long and the short of it, it was one giant powers fuck-up on every level." She wondered whether or not to mention the fact that it was coupled by Marius's fear of familial pressure. Nah, his family, his business. "While I don't envy the added pressure, I had the joy of convincing my own father, who had only been recently informed of my existence, that that was not the norm for me. It could be worse."
Monet whistled. "Yeesh. That really sucks. And yes, it could be worse, but possibly only if you got attacked by giant monkeys. Or had to wear shoes from WalMart. You didn't, did you? Because they're just yicky."
"I was with your brother and Manuel. I think showing Manuel anything from Walmart would have made him hiss and make the sign of the cross at it." Past tense, seeing as how he was still recovering on Muir. Jennie sighed and stretched, wiggling her toes. "So, what do you think of the place again? Any drastic changes you would notice?"
Monet shrugged. "Same old, same old, really. I don't share a room this time round and there're a lot of new people, like, well, you. But it's really just the same. It's kind of scary."
"Yeah, I guess." From the stories Jennie'd heard, she liked to think that things at least had gotten better. Lack of demon invasions for one, no teachers had gone evil year. The students all kept in a neat little bubble. It was becoming rather boring, actually. "We have to leave the school to make trouble now. This place is wired to the teeth."
"That's just not fair. We'll have to stage a jail break at some point." Monet glared at the washing machines. How dare they be so slow? "Shit!" Suds started seeping out of one of her machines, dripping down its sides and onto the floor.
"How much did you put in there?" Jennie asked, jumping up at the same time. She slid on the suds on the floor a little, but was able to yank the knob on the washer to turn it off.
"Well, the little scoop in the box of washing powder was missing so I just kind of poured some in. Possibly too much?" She dared the other machines to start doing it, too.
"Possibly," Jennie agreed, shaking the suds from her arms. "Don't look at me, my PMS was last week, things don't blow up otherwise." At least she thought it wasn't her. Could never be too sure.
"You blew my washing up. You bloody blew my washing up." Monet set the machine to drain and glared at Jennie. "So this is you having power malfunctions, is it? What on earth is your power?"
"You insulted my hair. And I did not blow your washing up." Jennie fished for something to gather the suds up with. "If I did, and that's speaking hypothetically, the pretty lights in my vision would have gotten brighter." She scooped up the suds, and not sure what else to do with them, put them in an empty washer. "I'm a probability manipulator, anyway. Good and bad."
"I never said it was bad hair. Just that it needed work. Besides, what do you call this, if not 'blown up'?" Monet watched Jennie get rid of the suds. It really was a shame that she taken, what with Marius and all that. She put that thought out of her mind and piled her clothes in the basket. She'd rewash them in a bit.
"Blown up would mean the washer literally blowing up. Our suite's gone through at least four toasters. There are some mornings I have to get someone to make me toast." She put a hand on her hip and surveyed the rest of the laundry room. Not that she didn't trust Monet to clean up after herself...but she didn't trust Monet to clean up after herself. "I think that's all of it."
Monet looked around - there were some damp sections on the floor, a washer full of suds and a pile of needing-to-be-rewashed washing on one of the other machines. "I think so." Monet stuffed her clothes back in and set it it to 'rinse'. "Thanks."
Jennie settled back onto the bench with her textbook. "No worries." Half an hour left on her loads, and then there was the dryer. She would leave and go back upstairs, but several times she'd been the victim of dryer thieves, leaving her laundry on top of the dryer while they stole her time, so here she stayed. Such a pain. "So, a lot of the old timers are returning. Any interesting stories? Blackmail that can be used later?"
"I'll have to get back to you on the blackmail. I'm going to have to think about it. Oh! Amanda was weird, Rahne is a prig and Marie-Ange is just kind of strange. That's about all I can think of right now." Monet curled up with her magazine, waiting for her clothes to finish again.
"More things change," Jennie muttered, turning her attention to her trig textbook, but not without sneaking a glance at Monet. Yeah, some things definitely were genetic.
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