Morgan & Monet | Saturday evening

[x-copycat.livejournal.com]

Monet wants help with a haircut decision and then decides a date with herself is where it's at.

Monet was all but staggering with exhaustion as she opened the door to her suite - she'd been running endurance precision flight drills in the danger room all afternoon and time had gotten away from her. Still wearing the bottom half of her trainee leathers, she dumped jacket and boots in a pile on the floor and dragged on a windcheater and tugged her hair out of its bun. She'd hoped to be a little more presentable before meeting Morgan but, well, that couldn't be helped at this point. A pair of jeans slung over one arm, she rummaged in the suite fridge for a bottle of Gatorade, gulping it down.

Morgan was in typical fare, cargo pants and a rather fitted tank top with her favorite pair of mid-calf high Doc Martens. She wasn't exactly dressed to impress, but then she rarely was unless she for some reason had a date or was trying to manipulate something out of someone. Since she was up to neither at the moment she wasn't worried about it. White hair fell over her shoulders as she walked, the movement graceful but precise. She sat on one of the last steps of the main staircase, elbows propped up on the stair behind her as she lounged in wait for Monet. While she waited she considered whether or not she should maybe use those silly journal things to make a general announcement about how she had no intention of going through the effort of taking a copy of anyone's powers. More people had spoken up about it than she would have thought would. Or she could just let them live with their worry. The latter sounded more interesting.

Leathers finally exchanged for jeans, Monet stuck her head out the door and saw Morgan. "Hey! Dude, come on up." She waved toward the door and flopped back into her chair.

An eyebrow arched upward at the voice and she repeated to herself, "Dude?" Shaking her head, she got up and went to the door the head had disappeared from. Morgan had skipped the years when she might have picked up the word "dude" for her vocabulary. The guys hadn't ever used it so it rolled around her mouth in a strange, unfamiliar way. Erasing the expression on her face which largely amounted to something along the lines of what the fuck? she walked through the door and by time it was closed behind her she had a faint smile on her face. "Hey," she greeted.

"So," Monet said, "you still up for helping me figure out my new haircut?" She leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees. "'cos, seriously, it'd be awesome if you are." The fact that she'd get to see exactly what she looked like from behind, as well, was just too good to pass up.

"Sure, like I said, not really a problem. Now, if you asked me to go on blind dates for you I might have to reconsider." As she spoke she was eying Monet's frame, comparing it to her own in her head. The problem with taking on a mimic was always the clothing factor. Monet's build wasn't too different from Morgan's though, but she was shorter which meant Morgan's pants were not only going to get too long for her but likely too big for her as well. "Pretty much just have to ditch the shoes before I take on a copy of you because never is it worth suffering through wearing your own shoes and ending up with someone else's feet in them which are either wider, larger, or smaller than your own." She'd clearly learnt the hard way.

"What, and miss out on all the fun parts? I can go on my own blind dates, thank you very much." Monet grinned and levered herself out of the chair with a groan. "I reckon the shoes thing must have gotten old quick, eh?"

A mischievous glint appeared instantly in Morgan's eyes. "Really? Most people wouldn't think 'fun' when they think 'blind date.'" She looked like she was plotting already. As a smirk slipped onto her lips she inquired, "Got plans for the weekend?" Surely she could find someone suitably irritating on short notice. Morgan really was kidding, but if Monet was unlucky Morgan would really do it. "The shoes thing got old after I'd had to copy this guy in passing on no notice. Bastard must've worn a size fourteen. The pain actually numbed after the first block of running. I spent the next three weeks as a thirteen year old kid just to make up for it." She shuddered, oh the blisters.

Monet shrugged. "If it's not fun, I can always ditch them, can't I?" She frowned, picking up on the thought. "Don't even think about setting me up with anyone, mate." That was interesting. "You can't pick and choose body parts then? I've heard that some shapeshifters can manage that." Like Mystique and hadn't that been alarming file to read?

Morgan pouted at her. "Aw, love, but I saw this guy down in Salem center who really looks like he could use a...friend." She had a wicked little smile on her face by the time she finished, but it quickly faded in light of more serious topics. "I'm not exactly a shapeshifter. Well, I mean technically I am but I can't just shift to whoever or whatever I want whenever I want. I copy people, literally. I need contact to do it and it's an all or nothing thing so far as I've ever been able to tell. Besides, can you imagine how strange I'd look with, say, your head and skin tone but my body? Or your arms on my body? And it's not like I could play mix and match either so it'd be kind of useless to do it."

So... not like Mystique, then. That was both a relief and somewhat scary, since it meant that Morgan was probably able to do it better than she did. As long as she could find her target. "Well then. Go on. Prove how good you are at it." Monet pushed her sleeve up and held her hand out to Morgan.

Morgan grinned at the challenge inherent in Monet's words. How good she was at it? Morgan unlaced her shoes and got them safely off her feet then reached out and simply took Monet's hand as if she were going to shake it. It only took moments for blue skin to fade into the bronzed tone of Monet's. Visual effects artists wished they could achieve the seamless transition from one body to another. In less than a minute Monet was holding her own hand, though she didn't look as tired as the real Monet. Morgan was well rested and her hair had been smooth before so the copy of Monet was just as rested and her hair was less frazzled, as if she hadn't been spending all afternoon training. "Is that good enough for you?" Morgan's voice was still her own, but she didn't let go yet. "I could get better if you like." She didn't explain and she didn't move. Morgan seemed to be concentrating on something and she let several minutes pass before she let go of Monet's hand. Nothing changed on the outside during that time, but when she spoke again it was with Monet's voice, complete with accent. The accent was, of course, courtesy of Morgan and not her mutation. "Aye, love, how's that for good?"


"Holy fuck..." Monet reached out and touched Morgan's cheek and gently tugged on a lock of hair. It went sproing, just the way it was supposed to. Circling her, she stared at her legs. "That's pretty good. I have really awesome legs, don't I? How long will you stay like this for? Because I'm not sure I want to go to work tomorrow."

Morgan laughed at the response. It was one thing to tell people you could copy them exactly, it was another for them to realize you weren't actually exaggerating. "Technically I can keep it up as long as I like," she continued to speak in Monet's accent and likely would until she dropped the mimic. It was just habit. "I kept one up for about a year or so at one point. Reckon that's the longest I've done. But once I drop it that's it, it's gone. I need contact again to pick it up again."

The accent was the weirdest thing about it. "A year, huh? Didn't it get distracting?" It was almost like looking into a magic mirror. Tilting her head slightly to one side, Monet said, "how do you think I would look with hair that's oh, an inch shorter?

She shrugged. "You can't exactly walk around some parts of the world when you're blue with glowing red eyes. Besides, I got used to it. It became my face, really. I used to swap bodies and names all the time. It's actually a little weird keeping up my own face for such a period of time now." Morgan squinted at Monet and walked around her. "What about the shape? If you just hack an inch off it'll look, well, it might look like shit and that's not what you're going for generally, right? Aye, if you have someone who really knows what they're doing and added a load of layers in it then the inch shorter would work really well. Otherwise you might do this sort of helmet affect and that's a lovely image, innit?"

"Hah, no. Most of the world is pretty crap about the idea of people being blue. And, god, no, I'm not going for the helmet look. I'd end up being like Cain. Only not. The only problem is that most hairdressers who know what they're doing can't handle my hair. It's as invulnerable as the rest of me." She eyed Morgan's hair. Layers would work, and some feathering -there-, to thin it all out. "But I reckon it would work." This was so awesome. Morgan was even better than a couple of mirrors.

"Aye, they are. Though I think the eyes go over worst than the skin color does, actually. Try walking through a throng of deeply religious sorts while your eyes glow red. The word 'demon' isn't any stranger to me. Not in a whole host of languages anyway." She shrugged, seeming to take it all in stride. Morgan figured after her own mother proclaimed her a demon other people's assumptions she was the same weren't going to affect her much at all. "So, if the hair's invulnerable how do you manage to cut it? What cuts invulnerable?"

"Ouch." Monet shrugged. "Tinsnips, Yvette, real heavy duty shears... Nothing that really gives a fantastic haircut." She looked Morgan up and down. The idea of inviting her out to New York was soo tempting. Oh, fuck it. "Hey, you want go clubbing? We can fuck with people's minds?"

"You want to go out clubbing...with yourself?" Everyone else either hadn't commented or had been in the camp of golly-gee-don't-copy-me. Here was someone inviting Morgan to borrow her body not just with their permission, but with the intent of confusing the living hell out of people. Once the minor surprise passed from her borrowed features a wicked smile unfolded onto her lips. "I'm in."

"Fuck yeah. I don't have to be functional for work with Nate until... uh, morning Kyrgyzstan-time. And hey, I look awesome, you'll look awesome in proper clothes and it's not like we're going someplace I'll be recognised - this isn't Australia." This was going to end badly but oh, it was going to be fun until it did.

Monet was officially on Morgan's list of people she liked around this place. Of course, Monet was so far the only person on that list with Nate straddling the line of appearing on it himself. "Well, then, seems like we've got a date." Jesus, the mischief they could get into in the city together. Morgan's eyes lit up at the very thought of it. "Isn't morning Whateveristan going to come before morning our time?" That possibly just meant they needed to cram more mischief into a smaller space of time.

"No... Monday morning kicks in at 23:00 Sunday night. I'm not exactly on office hours right now and I've got the day to recover."

"Oh, well, if we're talking Monday morning then," her voice trailed off and Morgan gave Monet a half-smirk. There was trouble to be had and Morgan wasn't the kind of girl to say no to that.