xp_logs | Monet and Jay, Monday morning. (Reply)

Monet was pretty sure that her physio was a sadist. She had a small, but growing body of evidence proving this point. Most of it was in the form of exercises for her gait and balance (Stand on one foot. Concentrate on moving your knees like this while walking. Don't lead with your head. Close your eyes and don't fall over. The mechanics of walking, each part of every step broken down) but some of it, the parts that seemed most frustrating at times, involved her hands and powers control so as to not break everything she touched. (Sort all the blue beads out of the box. Do the jigsaw puzzle. Hold the pressure sensor but don't set it off by holding too tightly.) She'd discovered that a lot of things were... well, surprisingly fragile.

Some of her current assigned "homework" involved little, flat pieces of foam that, according to the instructions, slotted together to make a polygon. The problem was slotting the fifth side of the cube into place. "Fuck!" She hurled it out the suite's open door. At least she could still throw, for what it was worth.

Finding a job was looking pretty impossible. He knew his wings were a hindrance and they were the first thing that people looked at when he was handing his resume in. He was pretty sure it was the only thing they were thinking about when he left the stores. So he couldn't see himself selling shoes, or working at the burger shack, but he was trying. Half assed. Maybe it was his resumed, he mused to himself while he walked down the hallway. That was unlikely. As unlikely as...

"Ah fuck," Jay snapped as he got nailed by pieces of foam, scattering them on the floor. "Wha' tha," his wings half fanned out and he whirled around to see his attacker in the suite. "Wha' tha hell is wrong wit ya?" he barked.

"What's wrong with me? You're the one stamping around being cranky. Look, want a cup of coffee or tea or something, to calm you down and can you bring that puzzle in with you?" Monet beckoned imperiously.

"Ah was walkin' by thank ya very much," he scoffed. Reluctantly, he bent down and started picking up the random pieces that broke away. The puzzle itself was somewhat in one piece and he walked into her suite, dropping it on a nearby table. "Coffee please. An' Ah'm not cranky. Ah don't know how ya git tha' outta me just walking by, mindin' ma own business."

Monet grinned and reached over to flip the kettle on. "I figured it out through my women's intuition. It's a very complicated thing. Biscuit?" She handed him a packet of TimTams that had come in a care package her granddad had dropped off a couple of days ago. "So, gorgeous, how are we, when we're not being cranky?"

e took the packet from her and ripped it open, wondering why he was even sitting here in the first place. "Ya know, Ah like ya better when yer not talkin'. When was that last?" He paused, looking thoughtful. "Oh wait, Right. Never."

"You like me better when I'm not talking, huh?" Monet took a timtam and bit into it as suggestively as possible.

"Somethin' yer use ta?" he mocked, looking appalled. "No, scratch tha'. Ah reckon Ah like ya talkin' just fine. ramblin' even."

"You do, huh?" She smiled, satisfied. "Don't worry, though, Jay. You're not my type. I swore off musicians a long time ago. I've got some music you might like, but. 's a group called the Waifs. They might be a bit too bluesy but some of their stuff is right up your alley."

"Good. Ah can breath just a lil' easier knowin' ya ain't gonna pursue me, cause Ah don' think Ah could survive ya." He smirked, taking a bite of his bar and added as an after thought, "Yer a lil' bit scary an' dominatin'." He sat down and toyed with the wrapper, the shift in conversation peaking his interest. "Any good?"

"You say that like it's a bad thing. And yeah, they're pretty good. They're an Australian group."

"If yer partner likes ta take tha reins once in awhile, well ya. Ya frighten' tha hell outta me in tha case." He finished the bar and flattened the wrapper against his knee. "Got a cd of 'em or somethin' fer me taa listen ta in ma room?"

"I've got a couple, yeah." Monet got up and wandered over to her CDs, rifling through them to come up with a couple of CDs. "I've thrown in a John Butler Trio one, too. What that man does with his guitar sends me to my happy place."

"Is tha' so? If he can do tha', Ah wonder where ma guitar sends ya?" He teased with a smirk, sitting up and leaning over holding out his hand. "'ere, let's see these. Ya sure Ah'll like 'em? Ah hear yer taste in music is as bad as yer hair."

"Eclectic, baby. I know long words are hard for you, though." She handed the CDs over.

He took the cds and flipped through them, readjusting his seat and tucking a leg under him. Opening one, he pulled the lyrics out and sat there, reading them for a moment before folding it back up. "Mmhmm, Ah'll give 'em a shot. Maybe Ah'll get some inspiration from 'em." He opened another, and glanced briefly at the puzzle on the table. "Why'd ya throw tha at me? There's better ways ta get ma attention then throwin' shit at me."

Monet sighed. "I didn't throw it at you. I don't think my aim is up for that these days. I just ...threw it. It's one of my physio's stupider exercises and I hate it."

"Ah, so tha's tha big fuss." He set the cds aside and brought the puzzle closer to him on the table. "So wha'd'ya suppose ta do? Put it together with yer powers o' somethin'. C'mere." He patted the seat next to him, moving over a little so she could sit.

Monet scooted a couple of chairs around the table to sit next to him. "I wish. This would be so bloody easy if I were a telekinetic like Jean. No, I have to use my hands." It makes a ... shape, see? The pieces are numbered, so I just have to fit them together like in the picture, which should. Be. Easy." The frustration showed in her voice. The foam bent if held too tightly and slotting the pieces together required almost more co-ordination than she had right then.

"Al'ight. Ah ain't gonna preach 'bout how special ya are an' all that, 'cause tha's fer yer therapist." He sat up and picked up a number, flipping it over in his fingers and looking for the place to put it. "Well, wha's hard 'bout it? 'ere, " he put a piece in her hand. "Al'ight, try it. An' Ah'll help." He didn't know why it was so hard for her,but he was sure she would show him, along with a temperamental tantra tantrum.

"Jay, mate, no offence, but I don't need any help." Monet knew he was only trying to be friendly but, fuck! She was having to suppress this urge to punch people every time they offered to do something that should be so bloody simple for her. "I'm not completely fucked right now and I don't, I really don't, need help doing something that should be this easy." She gently slotted the piece into place, bringing the puzzle back to the point it had been at when she'd thrown it. The next piece was the tricky one. It had to be jiggled into place while she held it all together and her hands just... didn't do that. She gripped a little too hard again , even as she completely failed to get the next piece in and it all fell apart. Again. "Fuck."

"Oh yah. Ah see yer just fine by yerself." Jay sat back, recoiling his hands. He should have been offended by her asinine attitude, but instead, he resolved to watch her. Just as he predicted, it fell apart when she tried, though he didn't know why he thought that. She looked normal enough and thus, sat up, picking up the pieces. "Al'ight. Yer aim is pretty good cause ya hit me, so--" he went to put the pieces back to the way she had them before they fell apart. "--cripple, try 'gain. An' try breathin' while ya do it."

Monet took a deep breath, and another one, trying to remain calm. It was a lost battle. "I fucking can't! Don't you get that? I've been trying to do it and all those other stupid exercises and I just can't fucking do it." She blinked, hard. There was no way in hell she was going to cry over some stupid exercise, and especially not in
front of anyone else.

Jay was getting flustered and tried putting the pieces back together. "Godamnit, ya can fuckin' do it an' ya will. Stop bein' a stubborn git. Ya jus' gotta get yer head outta yer arse and have a little patience." Now wasn't he was the model of that patience. He could see she was on some emotional brink and reached for her hand to help her with the piece. Hopefully she didn't break his arm for doing so.

"It's not being stubborn. You think I want this for good? It's can't. I can't do the puzzle, I can't type without an extra strong keyboard, or use things that might break and I can't do this, either. My hands just won't. Do. That. Right now."

Ah can', Ah can', Ah can't. Yes, ya can," he barked irritably at back at her. "No Ah don' think ya want this an' Ah don' know wha' tha hell happened to ya, but Ah'm willin' ta sit 'ere, listen ta yer bitchin' an' help ya. Yer hands ar' gonna do it cause yer gonna make 'em. Why do ya think they gave ya this? For yer mental health? No, cause nuttin' gonna save that. They doing it cause they want ya ta push yer limits, an' yer doin' it. See?" he pushed the piece back into her hand, and anticipated it being thrown at him, if not the whole puzzle again.

Monet just stared at him. "Mate, you don't get to do that. You're not the physio or any of the nice raft of doctors I've got following me around now, so you don't get to try that tough love, encourage the sick girl crap on me. We clear? And so you understand, I can't try this right now, and I'm not going to fucking try it again, 'cause it's just going to fail. Again." She dropped the puzzle piece back onto the table. "And if you want to know what happened, well, the short version is that someone tried to steal my body and got it wrong. And no, I don't want to fucking talk about it.

"Ah ya know what? Ah'm jus' tryin' ta fuckin' help ya, an' yer bein' a jerk 'bout it. Ah ain't treatin' ya like a sick girl, but tha way a friend would, ya stubborn ol' mule. Oh ya, we're clear, al'ight. Crystal. Fine, we won' talk 'bout it. What'd'ya wanna talk 'bout then huh? Tha weather?" He put two fingers down on the puzzle piece and slid it back over to her.

Monet sighed. "Yeah, Jay, let's talk about the weather." She stopped and actually looked at him for a moment. "I'm sorry mate. It's just..." She found herself slightly lost for words. "Look, the problem is that you're my mate, and well. I'd rather you didn't try to help me with this stuff, because it's like I'm combining my friends and my physio into one and I fucking hate my physio. So can we keep things to well, everything but that?"

Jay crossed his arms over his chest and tucked his legs beneath him, sitting sideways on the couch. "Ah get it. An' if yer so hell bent on not havin' any help from me right now, then let's watch a movie. 'Sides, ya sure as hell copped out on tha' coffee ya promised me."

"I think a movie works. Go choose one, will you?" Monet smiled at him.