Marius and Monet, post Ahab.

[x-m.livejournal.com]

Backdated to Wednesday the 15/5 because we're slow.


Monet tapped on the to door to Marius' suite and nudged it open, box of chocolates in one hand, bottle of scotch tucked under her arm. "Hey..."

The boy on the couch twitched at the knock, but not because he'd been asleep. If his experience so far was an indication it was open to debate whether sleep would ever again be attainable. There was a chance the relative untensing at the newcomer was partially due to the fact his current exhaustion made a perpetual alert unsustainable.

"Ah. Monet. Good--" Marius blearily glanced to the window visible through the open bathroom door, and when the drawn blinds stymied any prompt he rounded to the nearest approximate, "--potentially afternoon."

He paused, then added, "This has been rather a week of shit."

Monet stared. Jesus. They hadn't really told her, not so she'd believe it. There were claws on his hands. She couldn't stop staring at them and it was with an effort that she dragged her gaze away, to focus on the wall above the couch. "Yeah... " She held out the gifts. "Don't tell anyone about the scotch, okay?"

Marius took the offerings. "Oh, no. I will be voicing no more discretions. At this very moment I believe heavy drinking presents my only bastion sanity." Noticing Monet's studious avoidance, he glanced down at his hands. His lips quirked, a shade self-consciously. "Ah. Apologies. Forgot you'd been spared exposure to my myriad variations. No worries. In the time before my opportune repair I sported this particular mutation every month or so regular. Mate bein' a bit of a regular donor." He halted again, awkwardly, as his well of conversation dried out. ". . . An' that."

"Right. Of course. Are you going to have them for good? Because they just don't suit you. You should give them a manicure or something. They need it." She unwrapped the chocolates and selected an orange creme. Monet was distantly aware she was babbling.

Marius watched his sister peel the wrapper from the chocolate in a simple act that struck him as almost unbearable in its sheer normalcy. "Dad's accountant would be required to calculate the personal expenses wasted upon futile attempts to control the side-effects of Kyle's mutation. No worries. From what I have beenassured, an' far too much previous experience, she'll be right in a few days."

Monet blinked slightly as she untangled the Marius-speak. "Well, least it's not permanent." She fiddled with the wrapper from the chocolate. "Have you got Kyle's food things as well at the moment? I could get you some raw eggs or something and keep these?" She pointed at the chocolates and shifted her weight from foot to foot.

"Not so much as you'd notice. An' even then, chocolate is only in small doses. Or when I must sacrifice on behalf of the world to keep them from Angel."

Marius settled on the bed, claws picking at the sheets. He sat there for a moment, feet hanging over the edge of the bed, then brought his face up to Monetdefiantly . "Look, no worries, eh? Don't know if dad supplied you the complete primer, but this is quite common. Spent the majority of 2006 alternately goin' mental and acquirin' foreign bits an' that. I've done the sums. The totals are quite impressive."

"Right." Monet smiled at him. "You realise we can't take you anywhere till you get a proper haircut, right? Everyone will either think you're some kind of surfie gone mad or that you just don't have the St. Croix fantabulousnous. 's a good thing we've still got a while to go before the holidays or you'd have to go home looking stupid."

Marius' eyebrows lifted incredulously. "You speak to me of haircare?" he said, tone low with grave disbelief. "I have spent my week in the clutches of a madman, been violated to the very core of my genetics, an' yet here I am: lectured on style by one who sports acoif that, at any given point, is likely deep in conspiracy to orchestrate the downfall of a small government." He found himself relaxing in fractions, one muscle unknotting at a time. He hadn't really wanted to explain. Not to anyone, but especially not to Monet. He didn't even really know why that should be. He just didn't want her to . . . what, he wondered? Be afraid of him? Or perhaps it was more the aspect where opening up would have required her to play bellhop to better than a year's worth of emotional baggage.

Well, frankly his brain was stalling at the tender compassion of Monet St. Croix, but the sentiment stood.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. That's not an excuse to go around looking silly or everyone would be doing it. Besides, my hair is a work of art, baby. I'm sorry you're too young to understand it. I really am." Monet looked tragic and then spoiled it by reaching over and hunting out the mint cream and popping it in her mouth. "I'll call dad back, I guess, and tell him you're all good-ish, more or less?"

"Ah, it is already done. Suffice it to say had I neglected to inform my parents of a return to consciousness this go around not all the medical miracles in even Xavier's would have seen my vitals back to level. But here, there is somethin' you can do . . ."

Marius lifted the contraband bottle she had brought. "I fancy seein' the bottom of this, but should one finish a bottle of scotch alone one has a Problem. Should one finish it amongst company, however, one is merely Social." He covered the slight tremble in his hands with a crack of the seal, further steadying them by presenting the bottle to Monet with the practiced flourish of a showman putting far too much effort into trying to sell his product. "I should imagine that is the position of an elder sibling, particularly when she was the one to supply it."

"Dude. I'm not drinking straight scotch at this time of the morning. I don't want to turn into Aunty Gladys, who I don't think you'd have met, because she's on Mum's side. She's one scary aunty. I'll make us a cup of tea or something instead, okay?" There was, thankfully, a kettle and selection of teabags, instant coffee in the room. Monet flicked the kettle on and picked up a couple of mugs.

"You can have the scotch if you want, but I'm so disowning you if you put it in your tea. Do you have milk?" Monet tipped a little milk into her cup and placed the other one next to Marius before settling back into the visitor's chair.

Marius scratched his head. "Ta, no. Is it mornin'? True, then. Alcohol should not be consumed with brekkie. Unless it is brekkie only on a technicality of time, as you're seein' it only from the other side of a sleepless night, preferably spent for the purposes of consuming -- strangely enough -- alcohol." He surrendered the scotch to the coffee table. It was a reluctant parting. Picking up the mug instead, Marius busied himself by performing a thoughtful inspection. "Here, there is an odd surplus of tea in this place. Does the school benefactor run a course in trauma treatment? I assume it is a graduate course. I've not had it, and yet I see evidence of its existence at every turn."

"It's almost eleven. I've got ... no idea if they do that sort of thing. You'd think so, though, just because otherwise half the staff would be completely gaga, wearing their undies on their heads. You're not going to, are you?" Monet asked,suspiciously. "Maybe you have to be a staff member, though, before you get those perks."

"I have only once worn underwear on my head, an' they weren't mine. Although come to think of it, I'm not sure how much that recommends me. Be assured, though, it was for the best of causes." Leaning back on the couch, the boy brought his legs up onto thecoffee table and sipped at his tea. "I imagine the perks are a trade off . Guaranteed: a spectacular medical plan. Also guaranteed: care of students who will require its constant exercise." He gestured carelessly with the mug. "Clearly adulthood is fraught with peril. I should be happy if I could forever continue as callow youth." The thought brought a pause, and he added, "Though minus the wacky kidnappings an' genetic wankery. I fervently hope that is a quality I'll soon be grown out of."

"Yeah, well, I'm just not going to join or do the staff thing here till they get better uniforms, even if they do have good perks. The one they've got now is just so ugly." Monet settled back in her chair and stretched her legs out, starting to relax, despite the fact that Marius just wasn't quite ... right, right now.

"Perhaps you should offer your services. With you, Clarice an' Shiro all at work on the problem one should hope it would not long stand." Marius pressed the mug between his hands, looking into the little specks of debris gathering at the bottom. "An', ah, here, Monet . . . ta for this. You know. In general terms." He looked up and grinned. "Although should the question arise, you are being used to further my illicit drinking."

"Nah. It sounds too much like actual work." Monet smiled and actually looked straight at Marius, making the eye contact she'd been avoiding so far. God, this was weird. "It's nothing, mate. Seriously. Besides, if you get done with booze, I had nothing to do with it. I'll claim it was that little tiny girl, Jan, who gave it to you." She settled back and flicked the tv. "You up for Days of Our Lives?"