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Clarice takes Monet home with her for Thanksgiving. Special thanks to Azzy for socking Clarice's mom whos

"I am so sorry about this, but we gotta visit my mom first, it is going to suck. She's all like me, but fights for lobster rights or some shit. And her husband, David, hates mutant," Clarice spoke quickly barely pausing for a breath, as she finished getting dressed for Thanksgiving. She'd brought Shiro with her before in the hopes that her parents wouldn't suck quite as much, but had never gone well, so why should she think it would with Monet in tow? "My dad's clueless, but he tries. And the stepmonsters aren't so bad, they're just sorority sluts who haven't yet turned into volvo driving soccer moms."

Monet laughed. "It'll be fine. They're hardly going to be rude to a St. Croix. And if they are, well, I can deal with stupid. You've never met my dad's cousin Phillipe. I think he needs an award for stupid." She eyed her clothes. Semi-formal but leaning toward the casual side of the line, with dressed down, slightly offbeat but still conservative accents, mimimal cleavage and flats. It was what you wore when you were being Respectable. "You told them that I'll be bringing my own mugs and things, right, so I didn't damage theirs? Let's go."

"Yeah, I told them you're all OCD about your own stuff," Clarice was joking. She stood in the living room wearing a skirt, knitted thigh high socks that covered her cast and a sweater, her parents knew what to expect from Clarice's fashion sense, "I just don't want them to see the seven dwarves. Sneezy might offend them."

"Is that the one with the strap-on? I have no idea why they'd think that about it." Handbag and back of utensils on one hand, Monet gave Clarice a small bow and took her arm. "Ooh! Wait. I need to get those bottles of wine. I got one for both sets of your parents," Monet explained as she reached over and picked them up, juggling the packages.

"Please tell me you got the really, really cheap wine for my mom. The kind in a box," Clarice did not think highly of her mother most of the time. When she was little Clarice and her mom had been best friends, but they'd been fighting off and on - mostly on - for years now.

"Are you kidding me? Bogans and alchos drink that crap. I have standards. I got a couple of decent bottles. Cheapish, but decent. They were like, $40, each."

Clarice boggled, certainly they were from different stratosphere's where money was concerned, but still! "Um. Monet? Seriously, she's like, horrid. Box o'wine. That's too good for her," not that she would stop her. Maybe her mom would be nice for the good wine. At least they were missing the tofurkey.

"Clarice, I don't care how awful she is. I'm not drinking cask wine. My father is French and even when I was 13, I still knew better than that. It's a crime.That's all I have to say on the matter. Come on, you've got me all excited and I can't wait to meet her."

Sighing, Clarice hooked her arm through Monet's, "Fine then. Make her like you. How many puppies did you skin for your shoes?" she had on leather shoes too, but that wasn't the point. Before Monet could consider changing, Clarice teleported them both to her mom's living room.

"MOM! We're here!" she yelled, heading for the kitchen. "I smell tofurkey!"

"Puppies? Oh, please. They're so last season. I went for kittens. They give a much better leather and they're tastier."

"Come here, I want you to taste this," came the reply from the kitchen. The voice belonged to a plump older woman with graying, frizzy hair. She wore a long batiked skirt and a matching purple sweater, and had a pair of gold-rimmed glasses she on a chain around her neck. She stood over the stove stirring a pot with a wooden spoon, and then lifted the contents for a sample. She turned when the girls entered the kitchen.

"Goodness Clarice," she said, putting a hand to her chest and squinting, before lifting her glasses to peer at the girls. "Is that a cast? When did you do that?"

"I'm fine mom, I just fell and broke my ankle," she said with a sigh, omitting the part where she fell from outer space. They weren't lies per se, they were just a gross understatement, "A couple weeks ago. And I got a doctors note about the missed class work and I've already made it up. This is my suitemate Monet. Monet, my Mom. Mom, Monet."

"Hi. I'm pleased to meet you." Monet deceided not to shake hands and handed over the bag with one of the bottles of wine in it. "Clarice said it was tofuturkey, so I went with a good, strong red. It should balance out the flavours and hide the tofu part of things."

The woman raised her eyebrows, with where still dark and decidedly ungroomed. "Thank you, it's a pleasure to meet you too," she said graciously, accepting the bags from Monet and setting them on the table. She didn't seem to hear the comment about tofu, or if she did she didn't indicate she was offended by it. "Anyway, Clarice, please tell me what you think of this. I made some calabacitas, except I used goat cheese instead of cheddar, and I added some basil leaves. Tell me if you think it works? You too, Manet?" she held up the spoon.

Clarice made a face, that did not sound good at all, "Ew. I am not eating that. I told you we're only going to be here a minute before the fucktard gets back," that would be her so-called step-father, David, "Because I am not staying if he's here." Monet may have been a guest, but she was also Clarice's suitemate and she had no problems airing the dirty laundry where she could see it. At this point Clarice may as well have been a guest too, she hadn't lived there since she'd been dropped at Xavier's.

"It's Monet, not Manet. I'm sorry, but Clarice didn't tell me your name?" Monet picked up one of the calabacitas and cautiously nibbled it. "They're ...lovely."

"Clarice, honey, you made it all the way out here, at least stay and eat." Again with the not touching the 'fucktard comment'. Either Clarice's Mom had selective hearing or she was just used to Clarice. She beamed at Monet, "I thought so. I figured some things needed changing. Needed a littlesomething more."

Monet nodded. So they were supposed to taste like that? "You know, this is my first Thanksgiving outside the school." Despite living in America for years, she'd never been to one. "Do you like, pray or have to wear pilgrim hats?" She'd totally seen that on TV this one time.

Clarice laughed, "No M, no funny hats or prayers or anything. This is a holiday mostly because we want a big meal and to watch football. The football is optional of course." aaah, silly non-Americans.

"Ah. That's a good thing, really. I'm more an NRL girl, myself although I'm willing to abandon my cultural identity to watch your football for a day."

"Dave's the one that watches it anyway," Mary waved a hand dismissively. "Can I get you girls something to drink?"

"No. Mom, we're leaving," they didn't have to be at her dad'd for another 30 minutes, but why ruin what was turning into one of their most civil conversations in recent months? "Have a happy thanksgiving and I'll see you at Christmas," maybe. If she wasn't off being an X-Man. Or if it was snowing. Or windy. Or if she didn't go visit Kyle's parents instead just to be different. They were always interesting.

Monet blinked. "Okay... Clarice, can't we stay for a quick drink, first? I don't know what your schedule is, but."

Sighing, Clarice knew she wouldn't win this one, "Fine. A drink," she really just didn't want a fight to start. Or David to come in. Or both. "Where is dear David anyways?" she asked, looking around.

"He's off," Mary waved a hand airly. "You know,off..." she bustled around in the cabinets for wineglasses and a wine key. "Sit, sit, for heaven's sake Clarice get off your foot."

Groaning theatrically, Clarice hopped onto a stool in the kitchen, "Off. yeah, I know off. Off somewhere until you call and say I'm gone." She had attempted to be civil to him. It hadn't worked and really, she didn't feel like fighting it. This was why Kyle's parents were kinda cool, they obviously didn't Get It, but they tried in their own way. They probably would never Get It, but that was okay too. They tried. Clarice's mom just never tried.

"I'm glad you came anyway," Mary said, handing Clarice a glass of the wine, and then one to Monet. She then returned to bustling about the kitchen. "If you are dead set on leaving, at least let me make you a plate..."


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