Jean-Phillipe and Clarice

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Backdated to two weeks ago. Jean-Phillipe happens upon Clarice going through her closet, and they discuss fashion sense and why Jean-Phillipe has no worry about a pair of pants turning him gay.


Cleaning out her room was not something Clarice was overly fond of. She was a clothes horse and hated to part with anything unless she was giving it to a friend or something. Her guy clothing from that gender bender week though needed to go. She wasn't going to be a guy again in the future so far as she knew and she didn't think anyone at the school would like what she had bought. As usual, she had bought too much too. A lot of the clothes still had price tags attached. Therefore, she had her suite door open and was throwing unwanted clothing into piled in the living room - boy clothes, donate & give away. The piles were all fairly large.

As a pair of pants sailed through Clarice's door and onto the pile, a scandalized gasp came from the hallway outside the suite. Jean-Phillipe came in and snatched the pants up, draping them over his legs and making a thoughtful noise.

"You can have them if you want," Clarice called over the music, tossing a shirt towards him as well and wandering out to see who was there. She as clad in ripped jeans, an oversized Xavier's sweatshirt and her head was covered by a bandana. She was not the height of fashion at all, despite the clothing being removed from her closet. She almost had room for everything though, "Oh, those pants. I liked those. Never had a chance to wear them though."

"Why in the world did you buy them?" Jean-Phillipe asked. "They are not nearly your size." Though he had to admit the purple girl had fairly good taste in clothing.

"I was a guy for a week," wait. That didn't quite sound right. "Most of the people here were genderswapped for a week," that didn't quite sound right either, third try for sanity and clarity, "Go ask Marie-Ange. I think there are pictures," there weren't too many French guys walking around, so he had to be Marie-Ange's cousin that she had heard about. Clarice really wish she'd had a chance to wear more of the clothes she'd bought. "Anyways, I bought all these clothes and never got a chance to wear them. And then I was busy and didn't return them."

Jean-Phillipe made a face. "You presume that I would actually want to speak with my cousin," he said slightly distastefully. The idea of people being the other gender confused him, but he shrugged and attempted to take it in stride. "Your loss is my gain then," he continued. "I think that I shall take these."

"Have fun with them," Clarice said, glad the pants have found a new home. Someone had commented that her taste in fashion was gay, she couldn't remember if they had said it while she was a guy or not, or even who had, but it had made her laugh regardless. She'd make a good gay man if she was well, a man. "I've been told that I'd make a great gay man, so be careful. The pants could be a carrier."

Jean-Phillipe barked a short laugh. "There is no worry there. I doubt that these pants could make me any more gay than I already am."

That made Clarice laugh, "Then you'll be fine. They don't make you anti-gay or ungay or whatever. There's a bunch of other stuff there if you want to look through it," she diappeared into her closet and came out with a couple sweaters. "Keep or throw?" she asked. One was a dark green with odd buttons on the shoulders and the other was an argyle in blue and gold.

Jean-Phillipe pursed his lips and made a thoughtful noise. "Keep," he said, pointing at the green sweater, "throw," he pointed at the blue and gold. "I have never liked argyle."

"Argyle rocks," she informed him, but threw the sweater into the throw pile. "Not as much as plaid or even polka dots or stripes, but it does rock," Clarice liked prints.

"I prefer solid colors," Jean-Phillipe told her. "Polka dots? Stripes?" He shuddered overdramatically. Though he supposed the garish loud patterns did fit with Clarice's exuberant personality.

She was purple, after having purple skin, who cared about stripes or polkadots? It wasn't like she matched her clothes usually and had stopped trying. If she did all she'd be able to wear would be black and maybe green or yellow. "I make it look good, not everyone can," she patted him lightly on the shoulder, "It's okay if you can't. I'll still love you."

"Merci, but you are not my type."