xp_logs | Forge & Marius: Tuesday afternoon

Forge comes to Marius asking a favor, and a rather unexpected one.

The door to his former suite was open, as it tended to be during the afternoons, and Forge stuck his head in briefly before knocking on the doorframe. "Hey, Marius?" he called as he glanced inside. "You around? And decent? I speak, of course, in a sartorial sense and not one implying moral character."

"Around, yes. Decent an' moral, conditionally affirmative upon exceptin' those terms which do not include light thievery from the main kitchen. I had little choice. Regardless of convenience, I refuse to utilize soy sauce squeezed from a packet for legitimate cooking." Marius didn't look up from adding a bowl of neatly sliced but rather random vegetables to the skillet, which spat oil. Combing a stray strand of onion from the side of the bowl, the younger boy finally turned to look over his shoulder. "Unless the theft of condiments has become a matter of school security, that is, in which case the bottle was already here."

"Your petty larcenous habits are of no concern to me," Forge said with a smile as he surreptitiously checked to make sure Kyle and Julio were still in class and not loitering about the suite. "But yeah, I had a favor to ask of you."

"You've come beggin' favours? Now this is intriguing." One thick eyebrow arched like a defensive caterpillar as Marius shuffled the sizzling vegetables with a spatula. Had Forge ever asked for a favour before? He couldn't recall anything off-hand beyond the usual "pass me that" and "touch nothing". Pulling the spatula clear, Marius gripped the handle of the skillet and gave the contents an experimental flip. "Continue, then."

"Remember that social networking site I was looking at the other day?" Forge asked as he craned his neck to look at Marius' culinary efforts. "They're hosting a meetup next week, sort of a low-key affair in a mutant-friendly environment. And so I was pondering options and then it came to me. I need a wingman."

Marius turned to his friend with something akin to surprise. He remembered the website, but this was really the first time Forge had demonstrated any overt desire for anything even resembling romance -- well, at least since the rather abortive relationship with Jennie, but Marius had been rather too preoccupied by an unraveling mutation to catalogue the exact details. And as for asking for help . . .

"As I haven't the greatest grasp of nuance, I feel compelled to check," Marius said, ignoring the wet pop of oil in the skillet. "This is you askin' for my assistance in locating a, ah, like-minded young professional, right?"

"That much I think I can handle on my own," Forge said with a smile. "You, however... have you ever read anything by John Nash? The mathematician, 'A Beautiful Mind', that guy? He had a theory that if you see a group of women, you are best served by approaching the second-prettiest one, as you stand a higher percentage of success than you would approaching the prettiest, with whom you are more likely to compete with your fellows." Gesturing at Marius, he continued. "In practical terms, it's no secret that you tend to have girls flocking to you like it's plague season and you've got the antibodies. However, even with all your facility with these situations, you can't possibly handle every woman in the place. Thus, they will find themselves approaching yours truly, as per the Nash postulate."

He smiled widely, tapping his fingers together. "And they say higher math has no practical applications. So, you feel up for it?"

"First of all, I'm sharin' that antibody remark with Jen to counter her insistence that by now the law of averages dictates it is more likely to be vice-versa. Second of all, I am vastly reassured that even those occupying the upper echelons of the intellectual elite have at least a passin' familiarity with the priorities of the everyman. Thirdly, I see your reasoning. I am indeed the prettiest." Marius grinned into the skillet as the vegetables tossed again in a jumble of browning red, green, white and orange. Minus the mathematical comparisons, the request was far from unfamiliar. Not a game he'd played in a while, not the least of which because his pool of male peers was rather slender, but for a good cause. Getting Forge out of the mansion surely qualified as that, as did the equally important necessity of keeping Marius Laverne entertained.

With a final whisk of the vegetables, Marius poured the contents of the skillet onto the waiting plate of chicken. "Ah, why not? Yes, John Henry Forge, I shall consent to bein' the decoy. When were you thinkin' to apply this everyday application of mathematical theorum?"

"Friday," Forge said, reaching out to clap Marius on the shoulder. "I'll get the details and let you know what to expect. Once I find out what to expect."

Leftover reflexes made Marius twitch at the contact, but it was just the barest jerk of muscle. He wondered briefly if Forge suspected his predilictions against the dating of fellow mutants, then waved it off as inconsequential. After all, it paled beside his predilictions against dating at all. The boy popped his fingers into his mouth to lick off the cooking grease. "No worries, mate. Just name the time an' place. Ah, an' for the sake of coverin' our bases . . . talk to me about wardrobe beforehand."

"Sounds like a plan. And hey, thanks. I do appreciate it." Forge nodded and turned to leave Marius to his lunch. As much as the favor seemed to be solely for his benefit, he figured it was also an easy way to get Marius exposed to part of a mutant social group outside the school. Positively Machiavellian, he thought silently. Sometimes I amaze even myself.