Whistler: Yvette, Minister MacDonald - Thursday evening

[x-penance.livejournal.com]

At the end of the Sun Peaks effort, Yvette has a rather interesting encounter with a very... odd man.

OOC: Thanks to Dex for the amazing socking job.



Pausing to shake snow - as well as wood slivers, metal shavings, chunks of plaster and various other things - from her clothes and hair, Yvette trooped wearily into the hotel. She was tired, but as her mutation wasn't energy-based, she was probably in a far better position than some of her fellows. She was chilled, however, hours of prolonged exposure to the snow and winds penetrating even her tough skin. It was a strangely comforting sensation, and seeing the fire burning in the main lounge area, she headed that way, for a short time to regroup before going upstairs to change out of her wet clothes and get some food and rest before they had to head back to the mansion.

There were two Mounties standing out front of the entrance to the lounge, wearing the traditional red serge outfits, but they only spared her a brief glance, and made no attempts to block her way. The government had taken over the lounge as part of the command centre, much to the chagrin of the hotel management, and she'd been in there several times over the last day, usually to gather and wait to be sent out again, nursing some sort of hot drink or food from the kitchens.

Much of the communications gear was in the process of being disassembled, and a steady flow of personnel came to and fro past her, moving with purpose. The only part of the lounge not a buzz of activity was near the fire, where an older looking man sat, drinking from a large balloon glass and smoking a pleasant smelling cigar.

Normally Yvette would have hesitated, perhaps even have turned away to go up to her room instead of facing a stranger. But over the past two days, she hadn't had time to be shy, and now she was too tired and cold. Besides, the man had a grandfatherly look to him, a certain twinkle in his eyes. Taking a step towards him, she cleared her throat politely, and spoke:

"To be excusing me, but may I share the fire, sir?" She indicated the chair on the other side of the fireplace. "I would be very quiet, and not disturb you."

"Disturb me? This is my third of the drain cleaner they call their best brandy. At this point, a Guess Who concert wouldn't disturb me." He dipped the end of the cigar in his brandy and put it back in his mouth, apparently enjoying it despite his comment. "People still listen to the Guess Who, right? I haven't just dated myself, have I?"

Yvette blinked. Canadians, it seemed, were all as odd as Mr. Kane. "I am sorry," she said, settling into the chair in her customary perch. "I am, how you say? Not from these parts. So I do not who this Guess Who might be, or if you are doing the dating of yourself or not." Although, given her knowledge of the word 'dating' was when two people went to dinner or the movies together, she wasn't entirely sure what this gentleman's intention was. "My name is Yvette. I am from the American school, Xavier's?" She held out a long-taloned hand, after checking her glove was secure. "I am pleased to be meeting you."

Laurie, she was sure, would be goggle-eyed at such confident behaviour from her retiring roommate.

"Oui, yes, of course. Yvette Petrovic, from Kosvovo. You have a nearly impenetrable exoskeleton and the ability to cut through virtually any substance." He didn't seem even the slightest bit fazed as he took her hand; not in the handclasp that was common in the US, but a lightly, more Gallic manner, as if about to bend over it. "I've been monitoring your progress over the last day or so. You've all done excellent work."

Another blink, this time with an accompanying flare of glowing blue eyes. "Oh, you are, how you say... official person? From the Beta Flight?" She ducked her head a little. "I am sorry, there have been so many people, I do not remember your name."

"My wife calls me Rob. It's better than Bobby. When I was a young man, there was a brilliant hockey player named Bobby Orr, and they'd always ask me, 'Rob, you're a popular, good-looking guy, just like him. Why not tell everyone to call you Bobby like Orr'. But when I was about seven, a family moved in next door, from the Gaspe, and their eldest son was a mean little half-Acadian named Bobby, and do you know what?" He took a puff of the cigar. "He used to beat me up every day coming home from school. Popular hockey players aside, why would I want to remind myself every day of a nine year old boy that I had to pay two grade eights to beat savagely behind the school equipment shed. That wouldn't make any sense, would it?"

"Um, no?" Yvette was a bit lost in the sea of words. And she still didn't know the man's name, although apparently he was possibly inviting her to call him Rob. Maybe. "Thank you, Mr... Rob? To say that the work has been excellent. I am grateful, to be able to help, for the chance. It is very..." She searched for the word. "Reward-making?"

"They offered you a paycheck?" He seemed suddenly very puzzled.

"Oh, no!" Yvette shook her head. "My English, it is not always so good. I mean, inside, here." She lay one long-fingered hand over her heart, against the Red X jacket. "It is making me to feel good, to be useful. To not be only the danger."

"Oh, that makes more sense. One of the advantages of you being here was that it doesn't cost us anything. I'll tell you a secret. The only things that make Steve Harper smile are Toronto Maple Leafs losses and not having to pay for services on behalf of the government. Odd man. I never trust someone with overly large hair. Look at John Kerry, for example." Rob waved over a waitstaff. "You, a brandy for the girl."

"Uh, sir, I think she's underaged."

"Nonsense. In Mexico, she'd already be married and having children. Do you have children? Believe, anyone who is of the age to have children deserves a drink to help them handle that fact." He left and Rob winked at Yvette. "That's the advantage of being old, you know. You can make completely irrational demands and people will do what you've asked, because they think you're senile or dotty, and either way, it's too much trouble to argue."

The girl's jaw dropped a little, and then she gave him a small smile. "You are like the friend of mine, I think. He is seeming the clown, so that people are not taking him so seriously." Her eyes glowed brighter. "I think I am liking you, Mr. Rob."

"In my job, it helps not to be taken seriously. And to be old." He leaned back and blew out a plume of smoke. "I will have to decline to offer you a cigar though. They are very fine Cubans, but I'm sure they are an acquired taste. There's another man from Xavier's, Logan. He understands a fine cigar. Swills the most awful muck he can find, and has deplorable table manners, but otherwise, knows a good Cuban."

"You know Mr. Logan?" Yvette leaned forward eagerly. "He is my friend, to be teaching me the wood carving. He is staying in Canada now, to be getting better." A thought occurred to her. "Do you know how he is doing, please?"

"He's... well, you know that he suffers from self control issues. Mostly in his choice of liquor, I feel." He smiled as the waiter stiffly set a balloon glass of brandy down in front of the girl. "But he is starting to try and come to grips with things. It is a very slow process, Yvette, but he's done it before. I believe he will do so again. Although, you're right, I should send him some cigars."

"Yes, I think he would like that. And thank you. I do worry, but I know Mr. Logan, he is the stubborn man. He does not give up so easy." The trick, Yvette was discovering, was to focus on the parts of the conversation you could understand, and never mind the bits that he was apparently having with himself. Then she registered the brandy glass on the low table between them. "Mr. Rob, I do not..." she began, and then paused. Mr. Rob was old, older than anyone at the school except for the Professor, and he thought it was all right for her to have the brandy. And she wasn't at the school, nor was there anyone around to see her. Where was the harm?

Besides, she wasn't a child. She was fifteen, sixteen in August. Not some baby who couldn't make her own decisions.

Deliberately, Yvette reached forward and picked up the glass, and took a small sip. The liquor burned her mouth as she swallowed, and she coughed a little, but once she had swallowed, she was aware of a long, slow glow trickling down to her stomach, offsetting the residual chill from outside.

"Non, he doesn't. Wretched, isn't it... next time a disaster happens in Montreal, there is a tiny little jazz bar down by the old cathedral, which the owner happened to have been in the French Resistance during the war, and somehow managed to liberate nothing but bottles and casks of the best in French brandy of the last hundred years on to a boat and made for Canada." He gave another puff and smiled. "Much like you; someone immensely useful who has come over the border."

She giggled a little and gave him a short bob of her head. "Thank you, Mr. Rob. I have liked very much my visit to your country." She paused, and then added. "Apart from the avalanche, of course."

"You know, it's just what the residents of Sun Peaks said." He gave her a quirky half smile. Before she could respond, a man in a suit came up to him with both of the Mounties from the door.

"Uh, Minister? We need to go, sir. There's another press conference in ten minutes, and the PMO is screaming for an update."

"They are always screaming for an update. And the press can--" He stopped and stood up. "Miss Petrovic, on behalf of the Canadian government, I'd like to thank you for all of your assistance and that of your friends during this event. A lot of people owe their lives to the efforts of your Red-X and friends. If you ever need anything, you tell them to let you talk to Minister Robert MacDonald. Apparently some people think I'm important or something."

He gave her that same, old fashioned clasp, and just before leaving, turned to point at the waiter. "If you take that brandy before she's done, I'll have you arrested for treason. Believe it, eh."