Day Zero - Holed Up
Oct. 27th, 2008 09:27 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsMark speaks with a recuperating Marie-Ange about the goings on.
"Hi, did you hit him in the nose yet?" Marie-Ange sat down next to Mark, almost giddily, and then leaned on him as though she needed the support to stay upright. Which she really did. "I slapped him, which is why he has a big red mark on his.. wait, no, it is gone. Had. Had a big red mark." She frowned and muttered a few swear words. "If the headache was not bad enough, I keep having tense problems with my English. Which I hope is from the headache. At risk of sounding like Jubilee, please tell me you have something I can drink to get rid of this headache?"
Mark wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. "Only if your general over-the-counter shit will work. When we had our shopping spree at Duane Reade, we only got that and disinfectants. No Vicodin, hon."
Marie-Ange prodded the side of her head with a finger, and made a face. "Probably not. I have a tolerance even for... I... am not sure what they were. The little yellow pills, Doug took them once and you ogled his ass." Why she remembered that -now- was beyond her ability to explain, but she'd given up on making sense hours before.
"He's such an attention whore. If he didn't go around wearing tight pants and getting high then I wouldn't perv. And then he pretends like he doesn't like it." His voice was lighter than it had been since this began, and he almost felt like his old self again. At least his smile now was genuine. "Do you remember anything that's happened?"
"Madison Square Garden blew up, my stupid cousin walked to my apartment, we tried to get here and the big crazy albino attacked us and tried to make me... I am not sure what, but it reminded me of Manuel's power and then Pete and Jean-Philippe came and rescued me, and I think that sometime during that, either I hit my head or ... " Marie-Ange actually looked sheepish - partially because getting captured had just been stupid, and partially because she was still reluctant to talk about it. "I think my precognition came back. I think I stored up six months of headaches and am getting them all at once now."
"It couldn't have come earlier so we could've been prepared for all this?" he teased, and his grip on her shoulder tightened. "At least you remember it all. That's good. No good getting amnesia now and thinking you're some fairyland princess."
"Like Amanda?" Marie-Ange said, and then doubled over, grabbing at her head. "Ow. I have most certainly gotten it back, every time I even worry about someone, I get more headaches and am seeing things out of the corners of my eyes." Some of which was mildly horrific, and she was trying not to focus on it. "Who... who else is here?"
"Just you, me, JP, Tom, Larry, Jen . . . no one from the school or SV." He fought to keep the anxiety out of his voice, and barely won. "Jubilee stopped by for a few minutes earlier yesterday on her way to Remy but I haven't seen her since. Got in touch with Emma for all of five seconds, too, and I think she found everyone we didn't. Radio's silent otherwise."
"Shit. At least Emma contacted you." It was hard not to worry, and impossible to not worry about those she was close to, and even thinking of Doug or Amanda brought a sharp pain to her head. Which didn't make it any easier to worry less, because any kind of precognitive activity was automatically a cause for concern. "Betsy con... wait, no, you know that, you were there, you had woken me up.."
Mark nodded. "Yeah, Pete. But that was also yesterday morning. With Pete gone, it's just us now. Did he say anything about where he was going?"
"I was... not very, ah, capable of understanding what was going on. I know he fought Caliban, and I know that he killed him, and then he spoke to someone..." Marie-Ange bit her lip, trying to remember what she could and closes her eyes to concentrate. "Mark, I think it may have been Apocalypse. He wanted to speak to Pete... I ran, I am not sure."
"That's either very good or very bad." Mark shuddered as the possibilities ran through his vivid imagination. Many of them were filled with blood. "If Apocalypse wanted to speak with Pete, then maybe he didn't kill Pete on the spot."
"I.. do not remember?" Marie-Ange shook her head slowly. "I ... I think if he was dead, I would know. It was how my power worked before, it is... " She looked off towards the ceiling, unable to actually look at Mark. "It is how I knew it was broken, because I could not tell if you were dead or alive, and I have always known before, if someone was going to die, even if they came back later."
"For now that's all the hope we got so we've gotta cling to it," Mark said softly and shivered. "What about your cousin? I don't know if he can stay."
At the mention of Jean-Phillipe, Marie-Ange frowned deeply, and let out a somewhat fitful sigh. "I am not sure we have a choice. Despite what I said, I am not sure I could... it is one thing to.. " She looked around the club, and then made a vague gesture with her hand.. "India. But it is another when it is a family member, yes? I am .. I am not sure he would betray us. I am sure that if we abandon him, it will essentially be to his death."
"I'm sure you're right about that much. S'not like he has much opportunity, either. I haven't heard a peep out of Magneto, although granted we haven't heard a peep out of anything lately." Mark smacked his head against the wall behind him. "I'm unimpressed by this whole situation, frankly."
"Pehaps Apocalypse has eaten him." Marie-Ange suggested, somewhat wryly. "That would certainly solve many problems. Although, I suppose it would create many more." She made a somewhat uncharacteristically cross-eyed face and leaned her head back against the wall. "Do you want my headache? If you keep doing that, you will have it. And I am not sure we can protect Silver if both of us are out of sorts from migraines."
"Worse comes to worst, I'll just blow shit up. Scott hasn't tested my kaboomness yet, but I think I can do it." Mark rubbed his eyes sleepily and failed to stifle a yawn. "I think I'm gonna lie down for a little bit. Barely slept in days. You should relax, too, get your head back on straight."
~*~
Later, Mark confronts Jean-Phillipe. It's ultimately not the disastrous encounter one might expect.
When this was all over, Mark decided that he would start a new fashion trend of clothes and accessories bearing the slogan WWPWD, "What Would Pete Wisdom Do?" Ever since Marie-Ange and Jean-Phillipe had returned, he'd been asking himself the same question so he could figure out what to do with the traitor. He'd calmed down enough to conclude that killing him outright would cause more problems than it would solve. After his outburst, he was on thin ice with the rest of the refugees, and he couldn't afford to lose their trust any more. The telekinetic Roy, at least, looked like he'd flip at even the slightest provocation.
After some consideration, he decided that the direct method of confrontation would be best. Too bad he didn't have any lighter fluid and matches to assist him. "We need to talk," Mark said quietly to Jean-Phillipe, and the beckoned him to the other end of the dancefloor, away from everyone else.
"Very well," Jean-Phillipe acquiesced, following Mark across the dance floor. He dragged his feet slightly, and his eyes stayed downcast as he walked. Mark had already said plenty of hurtful (but true) things, he couldn't imagine what else his former lover had to say to him.
"And don't play the 'poor victim' card with me, JP. It won't work. First, and most pressing, what happened to Pete? Angie said Apocalypse himself was at Caliban's." Mark visibly shook while he spoke, and found himself reaching for his iPhone before he caught himself.
"I did not see this Apocalypse myself," Jean-Phillipe said with a shake of his head. "Only Pete killing Caliban. Caliban had grabbed him, and then Pete was using his power to incinerate him, the last I saw. By that time I was already out of the area chasing Marie-Ange. And I am not playing a card," Jean-Phillipe replied to the first comment. "Have I denied any of the things you have said? They are all true, and you may believe me or not, but that makes them hurt all the more." He shrugged in a defeated manner. "I am all the things you accuse me of being. But I am not a victim. I made my own decisions, much as I am coming to regret them."
"How can you possibly claim to be the one who's hurt?" Mark demanded. "How could you have willingly followed Magneto? You're so lucky that he never hurt or killed anyone because of you. That we know, at least. Those deaths would be on your head. At least Pete's okay, probably," he sighed. "I doubt he'd be taken down that easily."
"He saved me," Jean-Phillipe said simply. "When I manifested...you have seen the results," he said obliquely, one hand touching the long sleeved shirts that he habitually wore, even in summer, to cover scars. "He found me, and he taught me how to master a power that was turning me into a vegetable." It was something he had told no-one, partly because it did not mesh with his claim of lacking control while he had been at the mansion, but also because it was intensely private.
The admission hit home in a way that surprised even Mark. After all, how many mutants did he know or know of who weren't so "lucky" to be helped at all? At least Mark's powers had a simple off switch. "He turned you into a weapon," he said more calmly, "Something to be used to kill. Why didn't you fight that?"
"I did not want to." Jean-Phillipe shrugged again. "He is a radical, yes, but I believed that he had the best interests of mutants at heart." Jean-Phillipe had always been rather radical in his leanings, even before his manifestation. "But recently, I have learned of excesses, that even if he did not participate in, he turned a blind eye to. And the things that are happening here in Manhattan with Apocalypse have...made me reconsider my stance."
"Either you're thinking I'm dumber than you look, or you're pathetic." Mark's stomach was twisting itself in knots and he felt for the first time that he might lose it. What he wouldn't have done for a cigarette or a drink right then. "This is what makes you 'reconsider your stance'? Not the history of violence or his 'manifesto' of hatred? Do you know John? He spent a few months with Magneto and was almost killed for it. I . . . I'm really trying to understand you, JP, and I can't. It's mind-boggling."
"I did not know these things until recently." It was a poor excuse, but Jean-Phillipe wasn't entirely trying to make excuses for himself. Mark seemed to have firmly cemented his opinion, there didn't seem like much to be done to change it.
Mark sighed and leaned against the wall, hitting his head once in frustration. "You are so retarded. So what are you going to do now? You can't go running back to him now since Angie or I will stop you."
"I was not planning on it." That was the truth, even. "I was planning on turning myself in."
"Of course you were. Ever the martyr." An insult about French people as on the tip of Mark's tongue, but he bit it back. Another question had been nagging at him since the previous day, one whose implications and answers may have been more responsible for Mark's reaction than the fact of the espionage itself. "What about us? How much of that was a lie?"
That stung, but it was expected. "Part of my reason for breaking things off was true. I am not particularly looking for anything serious and committed. But part of it was that I could not risk getting too close to anyone, as well. The rest...c'était vrai."
And that was more than what Mark expected. "What am I going to do with you?" he asked rhetorically.
"Je ne sais pas." Jean-Phillipe was doing a lot of shrugging, but the decision was Mark's to make, not his.
"I can't trust you, you know. Especially with everyone here." Mark gestured towards the refugees. Some, including Roy, were looking at him suspiciously, which he supposed was warranted after his earlier uncharacteristic outburst. Others were lying down and nursing injuries or trying to occupy themselves with stories and games like children. "And that sucks, because I really really cared for you. I thought you got it, how dangerous it can be and how we need to stand up for ourselves because we can only rely on each other. I've never met many mutants who are so passionate and assertive and you . . . you just went and became the biggest faggot I've ever seen." He spat that slur, like he was throwing up something nasty he'd eaten.
"So you have made clear. I have told you all I know about what happened to Pete. Was there something else, or did you simply want to go over how much I hurt you and you cannot trust me again?" The remark had a slight edge of snark in it along with the melancholy of feeling as though he had brought all of Mark's slurs and distrust on himself.
"Will you stand up for yourself and stop being so goddamn passive? It's very hard to stay mad at you when if you don't put up a fight."
"I am so very sorry that I am not obliging your desire to be angry with me." That was definitely a bit more sarcastic than previously.
"See, there's the bitchiness that I fell for," Mark chuckled, and realized that it was the first time he'd done anything remotely like a laugh in three days.
It was nice to hear Mark laughing and not snarling in anger at him. Jean-Phillipe even managed a hesitant smile in return. "You should have heard some of the things I said to Marie-Ange when I was trying to snap her out of Caliban's control, then," he murmured wryly.
"You should have told her about the time that we tried to bo . . ." Mark promptly shut his mouth and had the good grace to look mildly flustered. "I'm sure you could've scandalized her with any number of stories."
"I called her a frigid bitch and a fat cow at one point," Jean-Phillipe noted. "And yes, I certainly could have." He leaned toward Mark before he realized what he was doing, and then leaned back.
Mark almost found himself leaning forward, too, before he snapped out of it. He must have been going stir-crazy. "Cabin fever," he muttered to himself. "S'gonna suck when you're in federal prison for aiding a terrorist, you know. Better get used to being everyone's plaything."
"A shame I won't have any conjugal visits to look forward to," Jean-Phillipe joked dryly. He hadn't missed Mark's expression. "I imagine it will lose its appeal for them when they find that I -enjoy- it...what is that inane song from the ridiculous black singer? 'what what, in the butt'?"
"Don't sing that. It'll get stuck in my head." Which meant, of course, that it already was. "This is all assuming we don't all die first. Could be you've already conjugated for the last time."
"Well, if we are all going to die, perhaps we could conjugate one last time for old times' sake," Jean-Phillipe replied. It was all very cliche, really, but he would not complain if things went in the direction things seemed to be headed.
Mark stared flatly at Jean-Phillipe. "Really? You're actually aski . . ." He looked around the club and smirked. "Manager's office. He keeps it stocked for when he has 'company.'"
Jean-Phillipe gestured grandly. "After you, mon cher."
"Hi, did you hit him in the nose yet?" Marie-Ange sat down next to Mark, almost giddily, and then leaned on him as though she needed the support to stay upright. Which she really did. "I slapped him, which is why he has a big red mark on his.. wait, no, it is gone. Had. Had a big red mark." She frowned and muttered a few swear words. "If the headache was not bad enough, I keep having tense problems with my English. Which I hope is from the headache. At risk of sounding like Jubilee, please tell me you have something I can drink to get rid of this headache?"
Mark wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. "Only if your general over-the-counter shit will work. When we had our shopping spree at Duane Reade, we only got that and disinfectants. No Vicodin, hon."
Marie-Ange prodded the side of her head with a finger, and made a face. "Probably not. I have a tolerance even for... I... am not sure what they were. The little yellow pills, Doug took them once and you ogled his ass." Why she remembered that -now- was beyond her ability to explain, but she'd given up on making sense hours before.
"He's such an attention whore. If he didn't go around wearing tight pants and getting high then I wouldn't perv. And then he pretends like he doesn't like it." His voice was lighter than it had been since this began, and he almost felt like his old self again. At least his smile now was genuine. "Do you remember anything that's happened?"
"Madison Square Garden blew up, my stupid cousin walked to my apartment, we tried to get here and the big crazy albino attacked us and tried to make me... I am not sure what, but it reminded me of Manuel's power and then Pete and Jean-Philippe came and rescued me, and I think that sometime during that, either I hit my head or ... " Marie-Ange actually looked sheepish - partially because getting captured had just been stupid, and partially because she was still reluctant to talk about it. "I think my precognition came back. I think I stored up six months of headaches and am getting them all at once now."
"It couldn't have come earlier so we could've been prepared for all this?" he teased, and his grip on her shoulder tightened. "At least you remember it all. That's good. No good getting amnesia now and thinking you're some fairyland princess."
"Like Amanda?" Marie-Ange said, and then doubled over, grabbing at her head. "Ow. I have most certainly gotten it back, every time I even worry about someone, I get more headaches and am seeing things out of the corners of my eyes." Some of which was mildly horrific, and she was trying not to focus on it. "Who... who else is here?"
"Just you, me, JP, Tom, Larry, Jen . . . no one from the school or SV." He fought to keep the anxiety out of his voice, and barely won. "Jubilee stopped by for a few minutes earlier yesterday on her way to Remy but I haven't seen her since. Got in touch with Emma for all of five seconds, too, and I think she found everyone we didn't. Radio's silent otherwise."
"Shit. At least Emma contacted you." It was hard not to worry, and impossible to not worry about those she was close to, and even thinking of Doug or Amanda brought a sharp pain to her head. Which didn't make it any easier to worry less, because any kind of precognitive activity was automatically a cause for concern. "Betsy con... wait, no, you know that, you were there, you had woken me up.."
Mark nodded. "Yeah, Pete. But that was also yesterday morning. With Pete gone, it's just us now. Did he say anything about where he was going?"
"I was... not very, ah, capable of understanding what was going on. I know he fought Caliban, and I know that he killed him, and then he spoke to someone..." Marie-Ange bit her lip, trying to remember what she could and closes her eyes to concentrate. "Mark, I think it may have been Apocalypse. He wanted to speak to Pete... I ran, I am not sure."
"That's either very good or very bad." Mark shuddered as the possibilities ran through his vivid imagination. Many of them were filled with blood. "If Apocalypse wanted to speak with Pete, then maybe he didn't kill Pete on the spot."
"I.. do not remember?" Marie-Ange shook her head slowly. "I ... I think if he was dead, I would know. It was how my power worked before, it is... " She looked off towards the ceiling, unable to actually look at Mark. "It is how I knew it was broken, because I could not tell if you were dead or alive, and I have always known before, if someone was going to die, even if they came back later."
"For now that's all the hope we got so we've gotta cling to it," Mark said softly and shivered. "What about your cousin? I don't know if he can stay."
At the mention of Jean-Phillipe, Marie-Ange frowned deeply, and let out a somewhat fitful sigh. "I am not sure we have a choice. Despite what I said, I am not sure I could... it is one thing to.. " She looked around the club, and then made a vague gesture with her hand.. "India. But it is another when it is a family member, yes? I am .. I am not sure he would betray us. I am sure that if we abandon him, it will essentially be to his death."
"I'm sure you're right about that much. S'not like he has much opportunity, either. I haven't heard a peep out of Magneto, although granted we haven't heard a peep out of anything lately." Mark smacked his head against the wall behind him. "I'm unimpressed by this whole situation, frankly."
"Pehaps Apocalypse has eaten him." Marie-Ange suggested, somewhat wryly. "That would certainly solve many problems. Although, I suppose it would create many more." She made a somewhat uncharacteristically cross-eyed face and leaned her head back against the wall. "Do you want my headache? If you keep doing that, you will have it. And I am not sure we can protect Silver if both of us are out of sorts from migraines."
"Worse comes to worst, I'll just blow shit up. Scott hasn't tested my kaboomness yet, but I think I can do it." Mark rubbed his eyes sleepily and failed to stifle a yawn. "I think I'm gonna lie down for a little bit. Barely slept in days. You should relax, too, get your head back on straight."
~*~
Later, Mark confronts Jean-Phillipe. It's ultimately not the disastrous encounter one might expect.
When this was all over, Mark decided that he would start a new fashion trend of clothes and accessories bearing the slogan WWPWD, "What Would Pete Wisdom Do?" Ever since Marie-Ange and Jean-Phillipe had returned, he'd been asking himself the same question so he could figure out what to do with the traitor. He'd calmed down enough to conclude that killing him outright would cause more problems than it would solve. After his outburst, he was on thin ice with the rest of the refugees, and he couldn't afford to lose their trust any more. The telekinetic Roy, at least, looked like he'd flip at even the slightest provocation.
After some consideration, he decided that the direct method of confrontation would be best. Too bad he didn't have any lighter fluid and matches to assist him. "We need to talk," Mark said quietly to Jean-Phillipe, and the beckoned him to the other end of the dancefloor, away from everyone else.
"Very well," Jean-Phillipe acquiesced, following Mark across the dance floor. He dragged his feet slightly, and his eyes stayed downcast as he walked. Mark had already said plenty of hurtful (but true) things, he couldn't imagine what else his former lover had to say to him.
"And don't play the 'poor victim' card with me, JP. It won't work. First, and most pressing, what happened to Pete? Angie said Apocalypse himself was at Caliban's." Mark visibly shook while he spoke, and found himself reaching for his iPhone before he caught himself.
"I did not see this Apocalypse myself," Jean-Phillipe said with a shake of his head. "Only Pete killing Caliban. Caliban had grabbed him, and then Pete was using his power to incinerate him, the last I saw. By that time I was already out of the area chasing Marie-Ange. And I am not playing a card," Jean-Phillipe replied to the first comment. "Have I denied any of the things you have said? They are all true, and you may believe me or not, but that makes them hurt all the more." He shrugged in a defeated manner. "I am all the things you accuse me of being. But I am not a victim. I made my own decisions, much as I am coming to regret them."
"How can you possibly claim to be the one who's hurt?" Mark demanded. "How could you have willingly followed Magneto? You're so lucky that he never hurt or killed anyone because of you. That we know, at least. Those deaths would be on your head. At least Pete's okay, probably," he sighed. "I doubt he'd be taken down that easily."
"He saved me," Jean-Phillipe said simply. "When I manifested...you have seen the results," he said obliquely, one hand touching the long sleeved shirts that he habitually wore, even in summer, to cover scars. "He found me, and he taught me how to master a power that was turning me into a vegetable." It was something he had told no-one, partly because it did not mesh with his claim of lacking control while he had been at the mansion, but also because it was intensely private.
The admission hit home in a way that surprised even Mark. After all, how many mutants did he know or know of who weren't so "lucky" to be helped at all? At least Mark's powers had a simple off switch. "He turned you into a weapon," he said more calmly, "Something to be used to kill. Why didn't you fight that?"
"I did not want to." Jean-Phillipe shrugged again. "He is a radical, yes, but I believed that he had the best interests of mutants at heart." Jean-Phillipe had always been rather radical in his leanings, even before his manifestation. "But recently, I have learned of excesses, that even if he did not participate in, he turned a blind eye to. And the things that are happening here in Manhattan with Apocalypse have...made me reconsider my stance."
"Either you're thinking I'm dumber than you look, or you're pathetic." Mark's stomach was twisting itself in knots and he felt for the first time that he might lose it. What he wouldn't have done for a cigarette or a drink right then. "This is what makes you 'reconsider your stance'? Not the history of violence or his 'manifesto' of hatred? Do you know John? He spent a few months with Magneto and was almost killed for it. I . . . I'm really trying to understand you, JP, and I can't. It's mind-boggling."
"I did not know these things until recently." It was a poor excuse, but Jean-Phillipe wasn't entirely trying to make excuses for himself. Mark seemed to have firmly cemented his opinion, there didn't seem like much to be done to change it.
Mark sighed and leaned against the wall, hitting his head once in frustration. "You are so retarded. So what are you going to do now? You can't go running back to him now since Angie or I will stop you."
"I was not planning on it." That was the truth, even. "I was planning on turning myself in."
"Of course you were. Ever the martyr." An insult about French people as on the tip of Mark's tongue, but he bit it back. Another question had been nagging at him since the previous day, one whose implications and answers may have been more responsible for Mark's reaction than the fact of the espionage itself. "What about us? How much of that was a lie?"
That stung, but it was expected. "Part of my reason for breaking things off was true. I am not particularly looking for anything serious and committed. But part of it was that I could not risk getting too close to anyone, as well. The rest...c'était vrai."
And that was more than what Mark expected. "What am I going to do with you?" he asked rhetorically.
"Je ne sais pas." Jean-Phillipe was doing a lot of shrugging, but the decision was Mark's to make, not his.
"I can't trust you, you know. Especially with everyone here." Mark gestured towards the refugees. Some, including Roy, were looking at him suspiciously, which he supposed was warranted after his earlier uncharacteristic outburst. Others were lying down and nursing injuries or trying to occupy themselves with stories and games like children. "And that sucks, because I really really cared for you. I thought you got it, how dangerous it can be and how we need to stand up for ourselves because we can only rely on each other. I've never met many mutants who are so passionate and assertive and you . . . you just went and became the biggest faggot I've ever seen." He spat that slur, like he was throwing up something nasty he'd eaten.
"So you have made clear. I have told you all I know about what happened to Pete. Was there something else, or did you simply want to go over how much I hurt you and you cannot trust me again?" The remark had a slight edge of snark in it along with the melancholy of feeling as though he had brought all of Mark's slurs and distrust on himself.
"Will you stand up for yourself and stop being so goddamn passive? It's very hard to stay mad at you when if you don't put up a fight."
"I am so very sorry that I am not obliging your desire to be angry with me." That was definitely a bit more sarcastic than previously.
"See, there's the bitchiness that I fell for," Mark chuckled, and realized that it was the first time he'd done anything remotely like a laugh in three days.
It was nice to hear Mark laughing and not snarling in anger at him. Jean-Phillipe even managed a hesitant smile in return. "You should have heard some of the things I said to Marie-Ange when I was trying to snap her out of Caliban's control, then," he murmured wryly.
"You should have told her about the time that we tried to bo . . ." Mark promptly shut his mouth and had the good grace to look mildly flustered. "I'm sure you could've scandalized her with any number of stories."
"I called her a frigid bitch and a fat cow at one point," Jean-Phillipe noted. "And yes, I certainly could have." He leaned toward Mark before he realized what he was doing, and then leaned back.
Mark almost found himself leaning forward, too, before he snapped out of it. He must have been going stir-crazy. "Cabin fever," he muttered to himself. "S'gonna suck when you're in federal prison for aiding a terrorist, you know. Better get used to being everyone's plaything."
"A shame I won't have any conjugal visits to look forward to," Jean-Phillipe joked dryly. He hadn't missed Mark's expression. "I imagine it will lose its appeal for them when they find that I -enjoy- it...what is that inane song from the ridiculous black singer? 'what what, in the butt'?"
"Don't sing that. It'll get stuck in my head." Which meant, of course, that it already was. "This is all assuming we don't all die first. Could be you've already conjugated for the last time."
"Well, if we are all going to die, perhaps we could conjugate one last time for old times' sake," Jean-Phillipe replied. It was all very cliche, really, but he would not complain if things went in the direction things seemed to be headed.
Mark stared flatly at Jean-Phillipe. "Really? You're actually aski . . ." He looked around the club and smirked. "Manager's office. He keeps it stocked for when he has 'company.'"
Jean-Phillipe gestured grandly. "After you, mon cher."
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no subject
Date: 2008-10-28 02:40 pm (UTC)Make use of him for now, then wait until no-one was looking, torture him for any useful intel about Lensher, than slot him.
Shagging him would not feature on the agenda, but if you can get anything useful during the pillow talk, then more power to you.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-28 02:51 pm (UTC)(She has no desire to sit through the 2-3 hours of a Catholic funeral AND have her mother and aunt and uncle whining about how she was supposed to keep him 'safe' in America or something, and also, he's family and she's got issues there. And I think he owes her money.)