xp_logs | Remix: Life Skills

Just because they're in the wrong bodies doesn't mean that they don't still have work to do. If only someone had told Illyana.

Illyana sighed as she 'ported to Xavier's, wondering what, exactly, she was here for this time. Another question-and-answer session? It seemed likely. And she wouldn't have gone, but she'd somehow agreed to it, and she was uncomfortably lacking in space to argue, these days. Besides, it beat doing her English homework. For the time being. That thought in mind, she made her way to the kitchen, wondering what possible reason Mr. Haller could have to meet her there; she pushed the door open, and stopped, staring.

There were two people in the kitchen, neither of them familiar. At the flash of light from the teleportation disk the dark-haired woman seated at the kitchen table folded the newspaper shut and smiled. "Hey, Illyana. Thanks for coming. Thought we'd try something a little different the first time off."

"Uh," Illyana said, blinking a little harder than she meant to. Why was this woman talking to her like they knew each other? Had they met before? Most importantly, where was Mr. Haller, and why wasn't he here to sort this out? She started again. "Well, I. Um. What?"

The woman laced her fingers over the closed newspaper. "Well, I want to talk to you about how you're doing with the move, but I thought as long as you were here we might as well break the ice with something productive. In this case we're going to make lunch and then talk over it. Except I'm not allowed to impart any kind of life-skills without supervision, so we're getting some help." She gestured to the green-haired man standing by the stove. "It's okay. Probably what we end up with will be edible."

"Right," Illyana said, after a pause, clearly confused. Trying not to be too obvious, she looked around for Mr. Haller, but he was apparently late, which was - unfortunate. "Well, um. I can cook. Already, I mean. I know - soup, from those cans, and Kitty taught me grilled cheese, and vegetables, so maybe I'll just . . . " she trailed off, trying to find a polite way to ask whether they had been sent by Mr. Haller and, if so, to what purpose. Were they familiar? She just couldn't quite place it.

The woman's mismatched eyes crinkled in a wince. "Yeah, figured. We'll definitely chalk this one up to survival skills."

"I can't believe I let this slide for this long. Why did I assume that someone taught you to cook?" The man at the counter said as he chopped some celery. "Don't worry. You're not going to have to be a cordon bleu chef or anything. I just can't handle the thought of you living on take out and ramen noodles. He tries that all the time and I have to beat him with shoes."

The woman nodded. "It's true. The pointy ones." She rose from the chair and gestured Illyana towards the counter. "Okay, you know vegetables already so we can start there. They're pretty safe. I'll wash if you peel."

"Sure." They didn't seem malevolent. Illyana clung to that, trying to keep an eye on both of the strangers at once, taking up the peeler and peeling uncertainly. She tended not to do things that required - peeling. Defrosting, however . . . "So, uh, what exactly does this have to do with survival? I mean. In. General."

"Contrary to my poor example, you have to eat to live. If you know how to cook, you can eat healthily, cheaply and deliciously. And you can mock the people who don't know how to cook and torment them by withholding your yummy food. Don't peel toward you, you'll lose a finger." Since the man hadn't actually looked over at Yana's work, it was bit of a mystery just how he'd been able to comment on her technique. "Plus it's good for bribes."

The woman set another clean potato on the towel in front of Illyana with an apologetic smile. "You can tell the teacher-part never turns off. But I guess it doesn't hurt to consider 'basic feeding' an essential part of the curriculum. Not that it seems to keep with a lot of people, but we're holding out hope that someday someone'll buck the curve."

"I can feed myself just - " Illyana stopped. Cold. With the peeler hanging loosely from her hand. She tilted her head a little, then squinted; and then her jaw dropped. "You," she said, pointing at the strange woman with the peeler. Her voice dropped. "You're Mr. Haller. And - Miss Dane?" Something clicked - belatedly - and she stared at the two of them.

The brow over the woman's blue eye cocked. "Yeah. Something wrong?"

Was something wrong? Her face shifted from bewilderment to shock. Her guidance counselor was a woman, and the green-haired cook/geology lady was a man, and somehow in her life this counted as making sense? "Why didn't you tell me?" she asked plaintively, putting the peeler back down.

The woman gave her a very distinctively crooked smile. "Consider this an important lesson in communication. If you won't stop to ask you can't expect to be told. Also, the world doesn't stop for Weird." Jim calmly ran another potato under the tap and glanced at Lorna. "Okay. What next?"

Lorna flicked a towel out and thwapped Jim in the middle of the back. "Sorry, Yana. I thought Brainiac here had mentioned our special circumstances." She dumped the chopped up celery into a bowl and calmly used the towel to clean off her hands. "Next, we're going to actually look at the recipe and figure out how we construct a meal from it. Proper preparation is key for...well, everything really."

The blonde girl glared balefully at her previously-male guidance counselor before picking up the peeler again. "I thought the point was to get me out of therapy," she muttered under her breath.

Jim nodded. "Life is cruel. Where's the cookbook?"