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xp_logs2007-04-06 04:56 am
x-pyromania.livejournal.com) wrote in xp_logs2007-04-06 04:56 am
Yvette & John | Thursday Afternoon
Elusive eggs and sharp talons make for a reasonably good start to a conversation.
The secret to making a good sandwich, as Sooraya had showed her, was to layer everything carefully. Yvette had gotten her favourite fixings out of the fridge and was now standing on the low stool, constructing her lunch. One glove lay on the counter next to her as she used her long, sharp talons to spread butter and mayonnaise and slice tomatoes and cheese. As she worked, she hummed to herself, a folk tune her aunt had taught her, back in Kosovo. So intent was she, she wasn't really aware of anyone else - besides, the kitchen was a high-traffic area, and she'd gotten better at dealing with people over time.
"Hey, kid." John stepped up to the counter, a frying pan held in his right hand. His hair was in a slight disarray, having just woken up. He hadn't bothered to comb it, much less look into a mirror. It was now sticking out at odd angles. He had spent the entire night working on an article for his college paper and had only gone to bed at seven in the morning.
"You know where the eggs are? There's none left in the fridge." John Allerdyce had seen the young redhead a couple of times since he'd moved into Xavier's. He wasn't particularly bothered about her appearance. It was the bad english that got to him. Somewhere in his mind, he half-wondered if she understood what he'd just said.
Oh, new person. This must be the 'John' that people were talking about. He wasn't exactly friendly, but he also wasn't openly hostile. "Good afternoon," she offered, a little hesitantly. "Are you trying the vegetable part, in the bottom? Sometimes people are being hiding the eggs there." She gave him a little smile, glowing blue eyes flaring slightly brighter. "I am Yvette Petrovic. You are Mr. John, yes?"
He snorted out a bit of a laugh at hearing that. "Call me John." He opened the fridge again and started looking for the elusive eggs. "...reeeally not that ancient," he muttered out.
"You know, that's pretty handy." John eyed her sharp talons for a moment before he returned his attention back to the bottom drawer. He spotted the two eggs and took them out of hiding.
"So do they teach you english around here?" He pulled his zippo out from the pocket of his jeans, flicked it open with a resounding click and got the standard flame out. He sent the tiny ball of fire towards the stove, cracked the eggs into the pan, poured some oil onto it and dumped the whole shebang where the fire was at, really not giving a damn that he was supposed to have heated the oil up first.
Yvette, meanwhile, was watching the whole performance with a mixture of awe and amusement. Mr. Jo... John cooked like Mr. Forge did. "You are being like my friend Angel!" she exclaimed. "With the fire. Only, hers is being blue." Then she ducked her head a little, embarrassed. "And yes, I am learning the English. It is being the difficult language, and I am not being very good with the speaking. The reading and the listening, they are getting the better."
John pressed his lips together. "Guess it's not too bad," he said after a while. Well, at least he could understand what she was saying. He watched the eggs, flipping it over once and then intensified the heat of the flame a little before getting rid of it entirely.
He made a grab for the fork, took a seat on one of the stools and placed the pan on the counter next to Yvette's fixings. "How old are you? Twelve?" He stole a few of her tomato slices, dropping it next to his eggs.
She gave him a look at the theft, but simply sliced a few more pieces to replace them - it wasn't like it took that much effort, after all. "I am being fourteen," she said with all the dignity of an affronted teenager. "Fifteen in August. I am being small for my age." Tilting her head at him, she asked a question of her own. "You are being the college student, yes? What are you studying, please?"
He ate in silence for a while before looking back up at her. "A hell of a lot of stuff," he answered with a wry grin. He canted his head to the side, furrowing his brows slightly as he looked at her. "Who's Angel by the way?" John was a little intrigued that there was another firestarter around.
It wasn't exactly an answer, but she was realising John wasn't the chatty type. "Angel is being my suitemate," she said, finishing putting her sandwich together by placing the second slice of bread on her construction and slicing the whole thing in half before she hopped off the stool to go wash her hand under the faucet. "She is making the fire, and controlling it, like you are. She is being learning to fly, too." This last was said with a small amount of envy as she came back to the counter and picked up her glove to put it back on. Now she was done cutting things, she didn't want to risk any accidents.
John nodded, feigning only mild interest. He glanced down at her gloves as she was putting it on. "What are you learning then?" He took the remaining block of cheese and made it a part of his meal.
"To not be hurting people when I am touching them with my skin," she told him frankly, climbing onto one of the other stools at the counter to have her lunch. Her feet dangled in space, clad in socks made of the same material as her gloves. "Mr. Forge is being making the special cloth that is stopping me from cutting, but I must be learning to do this for myself. It is being... difficult," she admitted with a small sigh. "When I am being frightened or upset, my skin is becoming harder and sharper, so I am having to be learning to be calm. Laurie, my roommate, she is being helping. Her power is to be making my body be calm."
Interesting, he thought. "Well, you know," he said as he kept his gaze on her. "There are a lot more people hurting each other emotionally than physically everyday." He let out a hint of a smile. "You're not that bad, kid." John narrowed his eyes a little. "'cept you might be a little slow at making sandwiches."
He was like Mr. Logan, Yvette decided. Sort of prickly and gruff, but definitely with more to him underneath. So she wrinkled her nose at him, and replied, with her own hint of an answering grin and a glance at his plate: "Sometimes, good food is being taking the time, Mr... I mean, John."
The only response he gave her was a snort. But she was right of course. John thought she was pretty cool for a fourteen year old. He stood up after he was done, threw the remains of his meal in the trash, gave the pan a good scrubbing and left it on the rack to dry.
He gave her a wink and a pat to the shoulder as he passed her by. "I'll see you around, Petrovic."
The secret to making a good sandwich, as Sooraya had showed her, was to layer everything carefully. Yvette had gotten her favourite fixings out of the fridge and was now standing on the low stool, constructing her lunch. One glove lay on the counter next to her as she used her long, sharp talons to spread butter and mayonnaise and slice tomatoes and cheese. As she worked, she hummed to herself, a folk tune her aunt had taught her, back in Kosovo. So intent was she, she wasn't really aware of anyone else - besides, the kitchen was a high-traffic area, and she'd gotten better at dealing with people over time.
"Hey, kid." John stepped up to the counter, a frying pan held in his right hand. His hair was in a slight disarray, having just woken up. He hadn't bothered to comb it, much less look into a mirror. It was now sticking out at odd angles. He had spent the entire night working on an article for his college paper and had only gone to bed at seven in the morning.
"You know where the eggs are? There's none left in the fridge." John Allerdyce had seen the young redhead a couple of times since he'd moved into Xavier's. He wasn't particularly bothered about her appearance. It was the bad english that got to him. Somewhere in his mind, he half-wondered if she understood what he'd just said.
Oh, new person. This must be the 'John' that people were talking about. He wasn't exactly friendly, but he also wasn't openly hostile. "Good afternoon," she offered, a little hesitantly. "Are you trying the vegetable part, in the bottom? Sometimes people are being hiding the eggs there." She gave him a little smile, glowing blue eyes flaring slightly brighter. "I am Yvette Petrovic. You are Mr. John, yes?"
He snorted out a bit of a laugh at hearing that. "Call me John." He opened the fridge again and started looking for the elusive eggs. "...reeeally not that ancient," he muttered out.
"You know, that's pretty handy." John eyed her sharp talons for a moment before he returned his attention back to the bottom drawer. He spotted the two eggs and took them out of hiding.
"So do they teach you english around here?" He pulled his zippo out from the pocket of his jeans, flicked it open with a resounding click and got the standard flame out. He sent the tiny ball of fire towards the stove, cracked the eggs into the pan, poured some oil onto it and dumped the whole shebang where the fire was at, really not giving a damn that he was supposed to have heated the oil up first.
Yvette, meanwhile, was watching the whole performance with a mixture of awe and amusement. Mr. Jo... John cooked like Mr. Forge did. "You are being like my friend Angel!" she exclaimed. "With the fire. Only, hers is being blue." Then she ducked her head a little, embarrassed. "And yes, I am learning the English. It is being the difficult language, and I am not being very good with the speaking. The reading and the listening, they are getting the better."
John pressed his lips together. "Guess it's not too bad," he said after a while. Well, at least he could understand what she was saying. He watched the eggs, flipping it over once and then intensified the heat of the flame a little before getting rid of it entirely.
He made a grab for the fork, took a seat on one of the stools and placed the pan on the counter next to Yvette's fixings. "How old are you? Twelve?" He stole a few of her tomato slices, dropping it next to his eggs.
She gave him a look at the theft, but simply sliced a few more pieces to replace them - it wasn't like it took that much effort, after all. "I am being fourteen," she said with all the dignity of an affronted teenager. "Fifteen in August. I am being small for my age." Tilting her head at him, she asked a question of her own. "You are being the college student, yes? What are you studying, please?"
He ate in silence for a while before looking back up at her. "A hell of a lot of stuff," he answered with a wry grin. He canted his head to the side, furrowing his brows slightly as he looked at her. "Who's Angel by the way?" John was a little intrigued that there was another firestarter around.
It wasn't exactly an answer, but she was realising John wasn't the chatty type. "Angel is being my suitemate," she said, finishing putting her sandwich together by placing the second slice of bread on her construction and slicing the whole thing in half before she hopped off the stool to go wash her hand under the faucet. "She is making the fire, and controlling it, like you are. She is being learning to fly, too." This last was said with a small amount of envy as she came back to the counter and picked up her glove to put it back on. Now she was done cutting things, she didn't want to risk any accidents.
John nodded, feigning only mild interest. He glanced down at her gloves as she was putting it on. "What are you learning then?" He took the remaining block of cheese and made it a part of his meal.
"To not be hurting people when I am touching them with my skin," she told him frankly, climbing onto one of the other stools at the counter to have her lunch. Her feet dangled in space, clad in socks made of the same material as her gloves. "Mr. Forge is being making the special cloth that is stopping me from cutting, but I must be learning to do this for myself. It is being... difficult," she admitted with a small sigh. "When I am being frightened or upset, my skin is becoming harder and sharper, so I am having to be learning to be calm. Laurie, my roommate, she is being helping. Her power is to be making my body be calm."
Interesting, he thought. "Well, you know," he said as he kept his gaze on her. "There are a lot more people hurting each other emotionally than physically everyday." He let out a hint of a smile. "You're not that bad, kid." John narrowed his eyes a little. "'cept you might be a little slow at making sandwiches."
He was like Mr. Logan, Yvette decided. Sort of prickly and gruff, but definitely with more to him underneath. So she wrinkled her nose at him, and replied, with her own hint of an answering grin and a glance at his plate: "Sometimes, good food is being taking the time, Mr... I mean, John."
The only response he gave her was a snort. But she was right of course. John thought she was pretty cool for a fourteen year old. He stood up after he was done, threw the remains of his meal in the trash, gave the pan a good scrubbing and left it on the rack to dry.
He gave her a wink and a pat to the shoulder as he passed her by. "I'll see you around, Petrovic."