xp_logs | Manuel and Marie-Ange, Saturday late morning.

It's the late morning. Manuel is lounging in the kitchen, a full goblet of some deep red liquid before him. He's got his feet kicked up on a chair opposite of him, and his oaken walking stick is resting against the table next to where he's perched. Before him is a demolished plate of the remnants of his lunch - there's nothing on it that could possibly contain a scrap of food.
Marie-Ange, in comparison to Manuel's relaxed lounging, is positively ruinous looking. She wanders, almost in a daze, into the kitchen, blinking in the bright light, and heads immediately for the teakettle.
Manuel takes a deep drink of his beverage and casually scans the French girl, curious as to what's got her looking so terrible. "Bonjour." he calls to her jauntily. "You look terrible." he continues in English.
“I feel worse." Marie-Ange scowled, and rubbed the bridge of her nose, still fiddling with the teapot. "You are.. certainly cheerful this morning."
Manuel waves the goblet at Marie-Ange jauntily, then puts it down with too much force and then _stares_ at her. "Are you high?" he asks with some curiosity.
"High? No. I have a headache, and I feel terrible though." She peered at Manuel with noticeable irritation. "What makes you think I am high?"
Manuel shrugs at that, and returns to playing with his goblet. "You're an emotional mess. It's like you were high."
"I do not _get_ high, Manuel." Marie-Ange put her mug down with a heavy clink. "I do not get high, I do not have a hangover, and I am not drunk. Would you like to be any more rude this morning?"
Manuel just smirks. "Don't tempt me. It would be far too easy. Seriously - you are not yourself this morning."
Marie-Ange snorted. "As Jubilee would say, 'A-duh.'"
Manuel shrugs, and reaches across the table for the folded Wall Street Journal. "Just thought you should know. You could have an aneurysm or something."
"I do not think I'll have my brain explode, thank you. A headache like my brain is inside a bell tower, yes." She poured hot water from the steaming kettle into her mug. "I do not suppose empathy includes headache curing, does it?"
Manuel stops to think about it for a second. "No, but I could make you not mind it so much..."
"No, I think I am safer hating the headache. I should like to remember why I shouldn't try to use my powers like that again."
"Out of curiosity, what _did_ you do? Animate the Maginot Line?" he says with a snicker.
Marie-Ange dropped heavily into a chair. "The other power. I tried to see Doug's future." She put her face over the still-steaming mug, and closed her eyes. "It was somewhat of a mistake."
Manuel's eyes go wide at this. Apparently, someone forgot to tell him about the precognition. "I ... see." he says, recovering his facial impassivity quickly. "It did not go well?"
Eyes still closed, Marie-Ange tapped the back of her head. "No. He is confused, and I have had a headache since last night. I should have stuck to insomnia and bad dreams."
Manuel tucks that piece of information away for another day. "Doug's natural state is confused. He's a migraine with legs."
Marie-Ange chuckled coldly. "Doug is obsessed. Half his cards came up about love."
Manuel gasps. "No! It cannot be! Surely you must be mistaken!" The sarcasm drips from his voice and forms a puddle on the floor.
"I would try it again, with someone far less prone to wanting answers about love, except..." Marie-Ange pointed to her head. "Church bells."
Manuel nodded with some sympathy, and takes another deep drink of his beverage. While he's drinking, he checks out Marie-Ange's curves without being too blatant about it.
Marie-Ange finished her tea, and got up to rummage in the breadbox, finally retrieving two slices of bread, which she shoved into the toaster.
Manuel watched her cook, speculating about dimensions and flexibility concealed by the baggy clothes. Every once in a while, he'd take another drink from his goblet.
After a few minutes, the toast popped out of the toaster, thankfully unaccompanied by any fanfare, bellowing or other loud noises, courtesy of one Jamie Madrox. Marie-Ange's silent gratitude was overwhelming. She again sat, nibbling silently on her breakfast with one hand, and covering her eyes with the other.
Manuel blinked at the gratitude, but filed _it_ away for further consideration. He then took a pair of sunglasses out of his shirt pocket and slid them across the table towards Marie-Ange. "They should help." he says kindly.
Marie-Ange eyed the glasses for a moment suspiciously, and then slid them on. "Merci. I do not know who turned the sun on so bright this morning, but when I find out..."
Manuel smiles thinly. "Shiro's the solar one. Blame him."
Marie-Ange scowled, and through the jumble of emotions already coming off her, a single tone of disgust broke through at Shiro's name. "Feh."
Manuel can't help but echo that one, even if he does happen to agree with it. "Feh, indeed." is all he says. "What a waste."
"Shiro is a plague, and I will be more than happy when he goes home and stops insulting everything that is not Japanese." She stopped, eyeing her toast carefully, still faintly disgusted. "Just talking about him turns my stomach."
"Try being me sometime." he mutters under his breath in Castilian. Loudly, he makes an affirmative noise and takes another drink of his beverage.
Marie-Ange continued to stare at her toast. "Pardon me, I .. think I am going to go be rather sick." She stood, and all in a great hurry, opened the waste bin, and noisily vomited.
Manuel, for his part, watched Marie-Ange's shapely posterior wiggle in the air as she vomited noisily. "Might want to tie your hair back." he offered helpfully.
Once finished, Marie-Ange stood. "Oh, yes. Thank you ever so much." She said, with great sarcasm. "I think I am going back to bed, and stay there until someone turns the sun off, or my head stops playing Tchaikovsky."
Manuel grinned. "Want some company?" he leered. "Take your mind off your aching brain..."
Marie-Ange once again snorted, loudly. "No. Definitely not. I am not _that_ miserable." She turned, and headed out of the kitchen rapidly."
Manuel shrugged. "You'll pay for that one." he commented once she was out of earshot.