Many logses, yes, my precious...

[x-dazzler.livejournal.com]

Log now up! - Alison drops by Manuel's room for a friendly visit, bringing Miles along (because there was food bringing involved, and Miles just wasn't staying out of that).

A blonde, a Spaniard, and a Morlock walk into a bar...
Wednesday afternoon

Miles clung to her hand with a vengeance, his stuffed Tonberry left behind for once in exchange for carrying a glass of gatorade in one hand, to go along with the plate of sandwiches Alison was carrying in the other hand. A moment of hesitation happened at the door, Miles finally relinquishing his grasp on Alison's hand to knock twice, before taking the glass in a two handed grip while waiting.

Manuel, for his part, is slow in answering the door. When he does answer it, his hair is soaking wet, and his Xavier Institute grey sweatshirt is nearly soaked through. He looks at the two of you oddly, then gestures feebly at himself and shrugs. In Spanish, he says "You must be Alison ... and is this Miles?"

"Yes, that would be right," she answered with a smile, in a Spanish no where near as pure as his as Miles grins up at him, quite frankly glad to see the boy up and standing about as compared to the last time he saw him, having a seizure in the medlab. "We come bearing gifts." Miles nods solemnly, but doesn't hand the glass over, waiting instead for them to be settled in the room before relinquishing it. "Shall we sit down?"

Manuel nods, and wheels himself backwards (he's in a wheelchair). "I'm afraid I'm a little short on accommodations. All I have is the bed and this damned chair. Forgive my appearance, as I was just coming out of the shower when you rang."

Alison nods at this, not overly concerned while the Miles follows in, still bearing the glass of Gatorade solemnly and so very carefully so as to not spill any, drawing a faint smile from her as she follows, closing the door behind her. "It's all right. Floor's good, and I'll see about getting you a few chairs for visitors and the like," she eyes the room, considering, "and maybe we can get a," she pauses, searching for the right word for lazy boy, "another chair in here, for you."

Manuel smiles thinly. "Against doctor's orders, I'm afraid. I'm in the chair until Dr McCoy certifies that I can stand on my own two feet without doing permanent damage to my various internal bits." Pausing for a moment, he stares at both Miles and Alison. "Why can't I feel either of you? Are you robots or something?"

"Miles do that," the little boy said in Spanish, speaking for the first time while handing Manuel the glass of Gatorade solemnly. "Miles stops mutants powers, when close." He stepped back, until Manuel was out of his range, to demonstrate, keeping an intent look on him all the while, as though concerned he might go back into seizures as soon as he stopped dampening his power.

Manuel accepts the Gatorade, then _blinks_ as the boy moves in and out of range. "That has got to be one of the most disconcerting experiences I've ever had. Not your fault, I know, and more pleasant than the old way of suppressing my power."

Alison raises her eyebrow at this, but doesn't inquire - while she might have a few months ago, blithely so, she just knows better than to do so, by now. Especially with Miles' arrival. "I'd say it's probably like that for most telepaths and similar psionic talents. Probably has to do with the always 'on' aspect of you power... you're just so used to it."

"Me less so than others, considering that at the hospital I was "turned off" moreso than I was "on". But, if you don't mind, I don't want to discuss it in front of the boy." Manuel says, his accent shifting from the upper-class Spaniard to something a little more - guttural. "I smell food - dare I ask if it is for me?"

Well, Alison certainly won't quibble with that, and Miles reproachful look is more than enough to make her relinquish the plate to Manuel. "Indeed it is. Miles, honey..." she laughs quietly at the green face giving her an awfully stern look that only a seven year old could manage, for waiting before giving the Spaniard the sandwiches.

Manuel takes the food with about as much quickness as he can muster. "Forgive me, but I am starving. Literally, from what Dr McCoy tells me." And he takes a heroic-for-him bite of the sandwich, without checking to see what type it was first. He then washes it down with a large gulp of Gatorade.

A wave of the hand dismisses the matter, Alison walking over to unceremoniously sit down by Miles, smiling faintly at the very satisfied look on the little boy's face as he watches Manuel eat. Miles remains studiously silent as Manuel eats, not at all inclined to disrupt such an important thing, leaning against Alison's shoulder slightly.

Manuel tears through the sandwiches without really stopping to taste them much. The Gatorade disappears just about as quickly. "Thank you for the gift of food. I am in your debt, it would seem."

Miles practically beams at him, clearly just satisfied to have seen him eat. "Miles can have as much food here as he wants. Manuel can too," he states, the longest sentence spoken so far, still feeling a bit shy.

"Yes, there is," Alison nods at Miles, before turning to smile at Manuel, a faint pang running through her, that Miles is still so amazed as the availability of something as simple as food. "Hank did say you were to have something easily at hand... I can talk to Cain about getting a small refrigerator here for you, so things are closer at hand until taking the stairs are allowed. Easier for you, overall."

Manuel waves off your generous offer. "It is good for me, or so I am told, to use the wheelchair ramps to build up some muscle in my arms. It wearies me terribly, I admit, but overall it is good for me. And while I am thinking of it, I also owe you many thanks for your services as a chauffeur and translator."

"All good then." She nods, then grins. "Truth is, I wanted to get out of the mansion anyway. And while I've never translated before, I did actually chauffeur for a while before I broke through and signed up with the label," Alison replies, leaning back on her hands and smiling at the memory. Miles sits down next to her on the floor, angled so that he can see both her and Manuel at the same time by habit more than anything else.

Manuel looks at Miles, then back at Alison. "Miles, there is something I'd like to do now, but your power is blocking me. Can you go stand outside for just a moment? We'll call you when it is time to come back in." And to Alison, he smiles gratefully. "I have a present for you - to show my appreciation."

"Ok, Miles go now," is the eager answer. Alison nods at Manuel agreeably while the boy scrambles to his feet with a eager look, being rather cheerful with the idea of Alison having a present all things told. He's also dying of curiosity of course, but knowing he can come back in and ask as much as he wants then makes it far easier for him to pry the door open and close it behind himself without a thought of protest.

Perhaps it is from the closeness of her friendship with Betsy, regardless of the Englishwoman's current reserve, or the fact that she's had the chance to get to know Charles better of late - but Alison merely waits patiently for what Manuel has in mind.

Once the boy is gone, Manuel smiles at Alison. "You might want to make sure you're seated for this. I've been told it is quite intense." And then, without further ado, his eyes glow a cherry red as he kicks his power into active use.
What he's projecting, of course, is pure pleasure. The pleasure of a job well done, the pleasure taken in a fantastic lover, the pleasure of being on-stage when everything's just gone perfectly and the fans are screaming for more, the pleasure of seeing a little boy smile - all of it, compressed into one screaming instant of pure incandescent joy. It only lasts for an objective second or two before he lets go.

"Thank you." is all that Manuel says.

Breath taken away Alison leans forward slightly, eyes glazing over at the crescendo of emotions sweeping through her and light flickering into being around her in an uncontrolled reaction, reflecting the feelings Manuel projects at her - the moment lasting both an eternity and ending far too quickly.

"Oh," is all she can manage, the exhalation nearly inaudible in the aftermath, eyes wide as she takes in what he's just done although any deeper implications escape her at the moment, her mind struggling to adjust going back to normal after such a moment.

Manuel just basks in the reflected pleasure as Alison struggles to come to grips with what just happened. "I believe you should let Miles back in. He's probably standing right outside the doorway waiting to hear what your present was." he suggests mildly, a big ol' grin on his face.

She nods faintly in assent, unable to repress a smile in return, shaking her head as she hauls herself up and walks to the door, taking a deep breath as she opens it. Wide blue eyes stare up at her as the door opens, peering curiously up at her as Miles takes the few steps needed to cross the threshold and fling his arms around her legs for a brief hug, peering at Manuel as he leans his cheek on her thigh. "Miles want to know!"

Manuel smiles back at Miles. "If you ask Alison nicely, she might tell you." To Alison, he merely shrugs and smiles again. "I trust that my gift was well-received?"

Alison nods at him, still quiet and still smiling faintly. It occurs to her that in a way, this isn't entirely dissimilar to how she can induce certain moods using her own power, but somehow... now isn't the time to wonder on that, however. And the memory will always be one to treasure. "Thank you," she finally says, before looking down at Miles. "I'll explain to you later today, sweetie," she promises, earning a bright smile for Miles, who knows this means he will get to know, not minding being patient about it.

Manuel's smile dies as his power does, now that Miles is back within range. "So - I'm given to understand that you fancy yourself a musician. What sorts of music do you like?" he asks Alison.

Regardless of how much she enjoys being recognized, Alison still finds equal amusement in the contrary, usually followed by a stunned realization later on. And so her smile is genuine as she closes the door, Miles bouncing up and down as he starts singing out the alphabet under his breath. "Piano and guitar. I passed my Julliard examinations for guitar, but bowed out. Went for mainstream music instead." Pausing to detach Miles for her legs, she grins. "And you?"

"Private tutors in classical piano, plus vocal training. It was expected that a de la Rocha was well-rounded in all the courtly arts, and music is just one of those." he says with honest pleasure. "Also spent a few years on the dance club circuit, DJing and remixing, among other things. Do you follow the scene at all?"

"Clubbing? Course I do!" She plops down on the floor again, where she was before, Miles listening intently with a patience and calm uncharacteristic of a child his age. "Used to get a walk-in with most of the clubs in town, up until this summer," she chuckles, "and I still go down now and then, though less often so since I've been here." Once in fact, before the attack on the mansion. "Been a few months. I'm probably hopelessly out of date on who's in at the moment."

Manuel smiles. "I spent two years in an insane asylum. When I was on the scene as Empath, it was maybe two years before that.. 1999 or so. Perhaps you've heard of me? Well, no, probably not. I was young and foolish, but nobody could work a crowd like me. For obvious reasons, no?"

Well, she can't really be negative about that, considering she's been suspecting for a while her own lightshows might have influenced the crowds at her live shows some, for a while now. "I see what you mean, yeah." She wonders about feedback loops for a moment, singer or DJ feeding off the crowd, boosting them further in return. "Haven't though, sorry." A disarming smile, still amused and wondering when one of the students will tell him.

Manuel shrugs that off. "I honestly would have been surprised if you had. It is really of no matter, I was just curious. You didn't answer my question - what kinds of music do you like? Marie-Ange was nice enough to burn me some CDs here ..." he says, then laboriously rolls his wheelchair back to his desk, to paw through the shiny gold pile of burned CDs. "Maybe there's something here you'd like..."

Alison grins, and starts listing off a series of band names and singers, ranging from popular music to some rather obscure local New York club talents, throwing in some of the great classical composers as well. "Pretty much a whole lot?" she winds up the litany, grinning cheerfully. Music talk is always good as far as she's concerned. "Got a preferred rig? I've got some softwares here too, for recording and mixing."

Manuel smiles thinly. "I'm sure you do, but one of the purposes of the trip to the mall is so that I can acquire some of my own gear. I don't work well with other people's setups. I use a Mac for mixing, and an old Roland synth. Can't beat those old Roland synths."

There's an appreciative gleam in her eyes at this and she nods amiably, looking forward to Friday's shopping trip, already planning on dropping in at Sam's for him to look at the synth there, rather than at the mall music store. And maybe a new guitar for herself, just maybe. "Gotcha. I think I know where we can go to look. Samantha usually keeps a few things in the back too, for friends to look at. Might be something you like there."

Manuel grins. "I find that I have little problems persuading shopkeeps to bring out their best wares for me to examine. Maybe I'll find something appropriate."

"Samantha's a good friend," she says mildly, not taking offence, but filing the comment away nonetheless. "She has a few ardent fans among the local scene, who swear she finds stuff no one else can. I think I'm going to get a new guitar myself." She grins at Miles and taps his nose lightly, drawing a giggle from him. "And maybe we can get a small set of keyboards for you, mmm? Watcha think?"

As Miles smiles, so does Manuel. It's almost eerie how the two of them mirror one another. "Yes, I think the little one needs a keyboard of his very own. Perhaps, if it is permitted, he will learn how to, how do you say, tickle the ivories?"

"Oh, he's learning how to play the piano." A fervent nod from Miles follows this, and for a moment Manuel gets a sense of incredulousness from him, as though unable to believe that this is real, though the feeling soon subsides. "Starting him out on a keyboard is ideal. Earphones." She winks at Miles, then sobers up. "We've a piano in the music room by the way, if you ever feel like playing."

"Do we? Fascinating. I may give a public performance sometime - it really depends on my mood and the moods of everyone else. It really depends." he says.

Alison nods pensively at that, having a sense of what he's alluding at. "You can always just play for yourself, too. Or pick your audience."

Manuel nods. "I could do that, yes. It has been so long, and I'm so infirm now ... I'm not even sure if I can still play."

"Well, I know what my piano teacher would say to that," Alison's lips quirk and she raises an eyebrow wryly. "Practice 'till your fingers drop, and then keep practicing some more anyway!" she intones, voice shifting to a higher pitched tone, wavering slightly and sounding entirely like a cantankerous old woman.

Manuel smiles. "It's amazing how much that piano instructor gets around. I think she was in Spain when I was learning. Unfortunately, now, it's possible that my fingers might actually fall off. Not even Dr McCoy understands what all was done to me..." And with this, his mood visibly falls off.

"Manuel safe here," Miles interrupts, speaking softly. "Miles safe here too," he adds, odd undertones to his voice, before he looks at Alison who is staring at him. "Miles know now." He gives her a dazzling smile, before picking himself up and walking up to Manuel, reaching out to pat his hand.

Manuel touches the green-skinned boy gently, showing far more care than most others would. "Perhaps, Miles. Perhaps. I have a heavy burden to bear."

"Manuel not alone," is the reply after a moment's thought, Miles not realizing the irony of his statement, another glance snuck back at Alison - knowing she's there, still needing to check near compulsively now and then. "Not sweetie, he's not," she nods, figuring there's probably still so very much Manuel needs to sort out on his own, and will likely never want to share.

"Yes, Miles, I know." says Manuel sadly. The irony is sharp enough to cut. "I'm never alone. But there is comfort to be had in company, sometimes."

Alison can't help a faint smile at the gleam in Miles' eyes at the last statement, knowing what the next question is only too well, for having heard it more than a few times since he's arrived at the mansion. "So... Miles can come visit sometimes?"

"Absolutely." says Manuel, looking Miles straight in his rather odd eyes. "Any time you want, assuming Alison permits it. Some days, I am not the best company, especially for a child. Others, I think we could do just fine together."

"Miles ask when can," the boy says firmly, before flashing a quick smile and then scrambling back to Alison to lean on her shoulder, still standing up. Alison tilts her head to the side, noting the signs of fatigue creeping into visibility slowly, and shifts, reaching one arm around Miles for a brief hug.

"Yep, asking is good." She smiles crookedly at Manuel, and tilts her head towards the door. "You're starting to look a bit tired, and Hank'll hang me upside down from a window again if I tired you out any more..." She trails off, as Miles snickers, remembering that fairly recent episode only too well. "Hush you," she pouts at him, earning herself a giggle in answer.

Manuel quirks an eyebrow, very Spock-like. Then spoils it with a gigantic yawn. "If you would be so kind, I believe that my bladder is quite full, and while I think you could aid me, it would be presumptuous of me to do so. If I may retire ... ?" Not to mention that he looks like skeletal death warmed over, no sir.

"Of course." She picks up Miles as she gets up, hoisting him over her shoulder and poking him in the ribs, drawing a squeak of protest. "Rest well," she smiles at him, turning around to head for the door, Miles waving goodbye at him with a smile as she opens and then closes it gently behind her.

~*~

Shiro and Alison have a pleasant chat over tea. Well, Alison thought it was, anyway. She's rather mellow today.

Tea, Americans and Popularity Contests...
Wednesday - roughly sometime before supper

If at all possible, Shiro hates this place more than ever. Despite the temporary relief that witnessing the previous night's swordfight provided, he still feels ill at ease and anxious. So he's tried the two things that calm him the most: training with his sword, and flying. Around dinner time he is returning from said flight, his stomach rumbling. He's tempted to blast off a storm window and fly straight into his room, but wisely decides against it and walks through the main doors. He leaves his heavy sweatshirt on when he steps inside, since the long sleeves cover the discoloration that is still present on his skin.

Alison blinks as he enters, in the process of taking of eyeing her shoes and considering a walk outside, sans Miles who has taken to playing with some of the other kids moreso of late, to her relief, as the boy needs playmates near his own age, after all. She tilts her head to the side, waiting for him to close the door and notice her presence, noting the fairly obvious signs of tension hovering about him.

He cracks just about every joint in his body after he closes the door, his neck giving a particularly loud pop. When he turns around and sees Alison, he just nods at her. "Good evening, Ms. Blaire." Face still flushed due to the cold outside, he starts walking to the kitchen. Anyone particularly attuned to the electromagnetic spectrum could notice the waves of heat radiating from his body due to his power and tension.

"Hey," she answers, far less formally, considering her shoes and shrugging the walk off without much regret. It's not that hard to guess what might be on Shiro's mind, after the latest blow-up. She simply follows, inviting herself along on what turns out to be a trip for the kitchen. Although coffee would be her favourite, she does know where all the best tea stashes are kept, and opens a cupboard idly, pointing towards a nondescript box with an innocent look.

"What's in there?" he asks as he forages through another cupboard looking for something to snack on. Shiro's not much of a meal person really. A few binges throughout the course of the day works for him.

"Something leafy and green, I'm told is good tea." She nods solemnly, leaning on the side of the cupboard and not commenting on the foraging, otherwise, which is perfectly acceptable anyway. "I'm a coffee addicted heathen, so I wouldn't know whether it really is good or not." A wise nod punctuates that statement.

He gets the hint. "Tea sounds good. I hope that at least there is some green tea, and not the brown scum that Westerners drink." He takes the kettle to the faucet and fills it up with enough water for two cups. "No offense," he belatedly adds.

Well, that's progress she can't help thinking, lips quirking at the belated apology. "I'm a brown scum addict, I admit it," she replies, hand over heart with a penitent expression. "But if you make the tea, I'll certainly have some."

"I thought you were one of those coffee addicts. That's even worse." His lips quirk, but he manages to not smile. Much.

"Set me up with an IV and I'd be a happy little coffee addict, oh yes," she nods wisely, tapping the inside of her arm. "But I'll just have to make do with this for now, yes," adding a melodramatic sigh, giving the coffee pot out on the counter a yearning look, adding a few bats of her eyes just for dramatic effect.

After he sets the kettle on the stovetop, he takes a couple of teacups, fills a pair of teaballs with the loose tea, and sets them aside. "You appear a bit preoccupied today," he mentions as he starts looking around for a snack.

She nods, because she is, after all. And then chuckles, easily. "Yeah, I've been thinking about a lot. And that was going to be my line to you, too."

"Why should you care? I'm a rude, uncaring, sadistic hypocrite, afterall." To say the sarcasm is thick is an understatement.

Alison shrugs, leaning on the counter as he prepares the tea, finding the decision to her dilemma just as she answers him. "Naw. Still dealing with a fair bit of culture shock I'd say, needing to loosen up on some stuff and maybe not be as judgemental about things not Japanese." Defense mechanism that, likely hard to overcome, she figures, but still. "But the hot temper's a part of you, and that's that. Not bad - just not something everyone is comfortable with, s'all. May mellow as you grow up, may not. Still you, over all." She smiles at him disarmingly. "What do you want to be?"

"I'll have you know that I have a damn good reason to despise your country and everything it stands for," he growls. He's not angry with Alison necessarily, but it's about time people saw things from his point of view for a change.

"Fire away," she says simply, still leaning on the counter. Because making that decision feels so very right, and right now, she can listen and then offer her own opinion without anything interfering in said opinion. And damn, that feels good.

"The murder of my grandparents, my mother, and my people for one. The infringement of your culture on mine, changing us into something different. And of course all the boors, idiots, and yamazaru that your country produces and sets loose upon the world. It's sickening."

Alison nods, tilting her head to the side, not taking offence in the least. Black and whites, so very extreme - and yet, it doesn't surprise her from Shiro, not in the least. "I could do a list from another point of view as well, really. S'not the point though." She gives him a grave look, considering. "There's truth to every point of view - we each have our own, and that's the one we live after all. Sins of the few, applied to the masses doesn't really give you an objective view." She shrugs, still leaning, thinking over what he's said. "Generalizations are a touchy thing, hon. Tell me. Do you dislike me?"

"I never claimed to have an objective view when I got here." He spots a box of Triscuits in the cupboard and takes it out to start munching on. "I know that what I think about your people is biased, and mostly due to what my uncle taught me when I was a child. However, with very few exceptions, I have not yet been proven wrong. And you are one of those exceptions."

Self awareness is a lovely thing. Helps too. Alison nods, smiling and accepting the implied compliment easily enough. "Thank you. Keep in mind something? Prejudices, or biases," she inclines her head, conceding to the less harsh word, "even when we're aware of them, still tend to colour our perception of things. And people tend to react when they feel attacked or judged, moreso 'round here lately," she finishes, a rather heavy dose of wryness in the last words. "It's not an easy combination."

"If I was here to make friends, I'd tone down," he admits as the kettle starts whistling. "But seeing as how that's not why, I see no reason to hide myself behind pleasantries and become a different person for these ahondara."

"Fair enough," she shrugs. "But, you can't be surprised if they lash right back at you, either. Fair's fair, you know. Action and consequence, and all that jazz." She hums a few bars of the tune he was listening to, when she saw him in his room. "Course... you could just take the chance and expose the rest of us peons to proper culture. Mind sending me the name of that CD you were listening too? I'd like to have my own."

He shrugs as he pours the tea. "I was not complaining. I just figured that since that busu insulted me over your journal and you said nothing about it, that maybe it was a mutual sentiment. I'm relieved that it's not."

"No, I didn't say anything about it," she answers simply, having come into that discussion later on, with other aspects to take her attention - and knowing the Professor was already aware of the situation, which was enough for her, even if not for others. "It's never safe to assume everyone thinks the same way. Better to find out." She smiles in thanks as he pours the tea, inhaling the smell with a calm look in her eyes.

"I don't like it here," he says simply and bluntly, sitting down. "I don't like most of the people. No one has any manners. Everyone is out of control. Everyone is 'in one another's faces,' if that is the correct expression, all of the time. And whenever I attempt to express my own opinion, I am attacked because it is an unpopular one. Granted, certain people deserve to be alienated and derided because of their words, but I don't believe that my sentiments are so extreme that I should be one of them."

"It's not Japan," she states bluntly. The heart of the 'problem' in many ways. "Not home. Not what you know. You've been transplanted into something entirely new, and having to adapt to it is annoying. To say the least. How it goes will be up to you. That it's not a popularity contest for you helps. Just... figure out who you do like and want to hang out with. Don't worry about the rest. S'all. There'll be more personality clashes, but people will learn to deal." She chuckles. "Heck, Manuel didn't bother me one bit." A wink. "I can stand you too. You make good tea." An innocent smile. "Even if coffee is better."

"An institution like this in Japan would be superior, I assure you. Students there would at least know how to properly treat one another." He takes a sip of his tea, and inwardly sighs as the warmth slowly spreads through his body. However, he's still careful to keep his sleeves over his hands. "Coffee is the most vile beverage man ever discovered. It's even worse than alcohol."

"Mmm. Home is where the heart is." She sips her tea, bending her attention to the taste as she should be doing, and the smiles. "Coffee is the nectar of the gods, and one day I'll find a blend you like. You can smell them first, and decline tasting though, until one attracts your attention. Sound good?"

"You will sooner find me dancing to Britney Spears than drinking coffee. In fact, you'll sooner find me dancing at all than drinking coffee."

Alison grins slowly, a not entirely reassuring gleam in her eyes. "Guess I have me a CD to buy when I go into town, mmm?"

"I won't tell you the name of my CD if you do, Ms. Blaire."

Alison laughed. "And miss the chance of educating me as to proper Japanese music?"

"A deal, then." Shiro finishes his tea and looks at Alison in the eye. "If you do not expose me to America's poor excuse for musical talent, I will contact my cousin and see if he can send you a copy of Hitomi's CD signed by her. He has friends in high places."

"Heh! I'd like that. Ok." Unfazed by much of anything tonight, she drinks more tea, humming the tune further to herself. "Let me know if anyone back home ever wants a signed Blaire CD. Or even better, unreleased tracks. They're my best work, really." A touch wistful, but there you go. "And thanks for the tea."

"No no, it was my pleasure." He gives her a small sile before quickly cleaning his cup in the sink and putting it back. "My sister might like that, actually. I'll ask her." He grabs the box of Triscuits, and just before he's about to leave the kitchen and go back to his room, turns around. "Thank you, by the way." Without waiting for a response, he's gone.

~*~

And that's what you get for sneaking off to get cookies at 2am in the morning. At least this time Alison didn't throw foodstuff at anyone. ;)

Of Kitchens, Chocolate Chip Cookies & Cajuns...
Early Thursday morning, around 2am

It was long after midnight, and Remy enjoyed the silence. Something in him felt safer in the darkness around him. Darkness was his friend, and he wasn't quite sure why yet. He walked along the wide halls, tempted to light a cigarette and wishing for a drink.

There was a faint sound as a door opened, and then light sparkled into view from around the corner, followed by a glowing shape a few moments later, Alison not quite trudging down the from the other end of the hallway, one hand running through blonde hair. She sighed, although there was a calm look about her, the result of just having come to a decision which frankly made her feel a lot better, about many a thing.

Remy quirked a eyebrow, and fell quietly into step behind Alison. He was sure she must be one of the teachers, and mentally promised himself to see what she looked like in her leather outfit. Prompted by curiosity, he silently shadowed her down the darkened hallway and towards the kitchen.

The light dimmed slightly as Alison entered the kitchen, practically knowing the layout by heart now with the rather voracious appetite Miles had shown since his arrival, not even coming close to showing any sighs of fading.

"Addicted to damn chocolate chip cookies. Unbelievable," she muttered, opening the cupboard and drawing out a bag from the back, lips quirking slightly as her name on it, which Miles had scrawled out awkwardly earlier during his first lesson. "Looks like an A." Milk was next on the agenda, and she headed towards the fridge, stretching one arm out idly, the bag of cookies still held in her hand.

Remy waited until she had the milk jug in her hand before leaning against the counter. "Late night snack, chere?"

There was a strangled sound as her hand tightened on the jug, the milk sloshing inside a bit - but thankfully, she didn't just drop it to the floor in startlement. "Gaah. I swear, me and this kitchen..." she grumbled to herself, remembering the last time she'd been startled here only too well. She turned around, setting the jug on the counter firmly, taking a deep breath and pulling out a smile for the newcomer. "Yep." A pause. "Want a cookie?"

"Non, merci." Remy smiled, his red on black eyes adding a sinister element to it. "Remy guessing you one of de teachers here."

The gleam of his eyes drew Alison's attention all right, tilting her head slightly to consider the look it gave him - not rudely staring, but not trying to be overly casual about it either. "Yep." She set the cookies down on the counter and turned around to get a glass and plate, placing both down on the counter lightly as well, before pouring herself a glass of milk. "Alison," she nodded solemnly, and then chuckled. "I'll be. You talk like Miles," she remarked, smiling slowly.

"Miles? He from Naw'Lens?" Remy said, sizing her up. Something in the back of his head noted how she moved, and he made a mental note of caution. 'Blonde with a nice body' got a sidenote that she knew how to fight.

"No, he was born here, actually. Got... taken when he was still a baby we're thinking, because he only remembers the freak show in Mexico, though." Her expression shuttered at this, hand closing down on the glass a bit too firmly before she let it go, uncurling each finger deliberately. "He tends to substitute his name for 'I' too. Not sure if it's habit or something else, but Hank's doing a full workup on him, so we'll know sooner or later."

"Being on your own makes you do dat, chere. You keep reminding yourself dat at least one person knows dat you exist." Remy said with uncharacteristic seriousness. "Who's dis Hank?"

She blinked at that, gazing at him for a moment with a trouble look in her eyes before staring down at her glass. "Hadn't thought of that," the words spoken nearly too low to hear, followed by a sigh. "Mmm." Paper crinkled as she pried open the bag slowly, tugging out the plastic tray with slow motions. "Hank is..." she smiled faintly, Hank being so much more than what she was about to say. "Doctor. Scientist. Big, blue and furry. Likes long words for the sake of long words. Lovely sense of humour too."

"More of de monsters in de basement?" Remy said, rubbing his upperlip slightly. "Seems dis mansion have all de luxuries."

"Aaah. Spoken to Sarah, have you?" She set the cookies down in her plate, closing the back and taking the step necessary to open the cupboard and put it away. "Hank isn't a monster." Calm and to the point. "Not everyone goes for that line of thought." And Hank had issues enough with dealing with the recent changes without having anyone calling him that, really, she thought.

"Remy t'inks people make dere own labels for demselves. Dat pretty femme wit' de bones, she's write dat on her insides." Remy shrugged. "As for de rest, got to be what dey got to be. So, de doctor is big furry and blue den? Dat sanitary?"

Alison grinned, regardless of the bad hair jokes, which she'd heard before. "Heh. I was wondering how long it'd be until someone else pointed that out to Sarah. Miles thinks she's pretty too." She nibbled on a cookie pensively. "I think she has killer cheekbones, myself. Pun not quite intended." She leaned back, resisting the urge to dip her cookie in the glass of milk, another habit picked up from Miles. "Hank is a fine surgeon. No worries."

"Remy prefers not t' require de doctors. Unless dey come wit' pretty nurses, dat is." Remy smiled. "Got dose in dis place too? Wit' less hair?"

A low chuckle. "Naw, we only do Santa's elves, and you're a few weeks too late for that, sorry." She wrinkled her nose in amusement, remembering that evening and the costumes rather fondly. "Stick around 'till next Christmas, and we'll probably have more than this year."

"Sound like dis place isn't known for it's stability, chere. Remy hearing dat commandos come through de windows each weekend and giant robots every other Wednesday." Remy grinned. "T'ink de streets might have been safer."

Outright laughter greeted that response. A sudden lack of stress truly did one wonders for one's disposition, Alison thought, shaking her head. "Naw, we're good. We had the blow up on Monday. Mansion didn't quite go boom this week. Maybe the next, though. Should probably start a betting pool on what it'll be," she deadpanned.

"Remy keep dat in mind. So, besides teaching de young mutants wit de powers, what else does Alison do?" Remy smiled, leaning his chin on his hand. "In de school, of course."

"Alison is..." she considered, most of the information hardly anything hard to find out anyway, and shrugged. "Hiding out from a sniper who tried to take her out in the streets when she came out as a mutant last summer. Teaching a few classes, which you know. Was the student counsellor, but quit that today. Adopted a little boy not long ago." She blinked, a bit bemused at the label this gave her still, but her face softened into a smile nonetheless. "I still have to stop from looking over my shoulder when people tell me I'm a mom."

"Mom? Well, looks like you got your figure back, femme." Remy said with great amusement, his red on black eyes gleaming.

"Perks of adoption, that," she chuckles, radiating amusement right back at him, having recognized a habitual flirt early on and not in the least bothered by it. "I'm not complaining myself, on that one." She took a sip of milk, letting him ask as many questions as he wanted and letting him offer as little as he wished in return, not really minding all that much. Talking about herself wasn't exactly a bother to Alison, after all.

Remy caught the amusement in her eyes, and smiled. "Remy t'ink you likely aren't, chere. So den, what is dere to do for me in dis mansion?"

"Training," was the solemn answer, half-serious half-teasing, before giving him a once over, taking in some of the still visible look of his previous lifestyle. "Get some food in you, put on a bit of bulk. Miles is working on that one too, probably give you competition there if he can." She smiled faintly. "Relax, find your own place. What would you like to do?"

"Really want de answer t' dat, chere?" Remy said wickedly and got up. "T'ink maybe Remy should get some sleep. If I'm going t' start de 'training', dat is."

Laughter bubbled up once more, and Alison waved a cookie at him with a mock stern look. "You do that. Hank may want to see you before the training, mind. Just to give you an all clear," she pointed out, a bit absently, taking a bite of the cookie she had been waving seconds earlier.

"Only if he has de nurses. A bientôt." Remy waved his hand slightly and nodded before turning back to the shadowy halls and his place there.

"Sleep well," the words followed him as he headed out of the kitchen. Alison leaned on the counter, staring out the kitchen windows as she finished off the last cookie, a contemplative expression on her face.