xp_logs | Mark and Jean-Phillipe (backdated)

x-bevatron.livejournal.com posting in

Backdated to November 20th, just after this voicemail. Jean-Phillipe goes over to where Mark is staying in the mansion, and they have a very uncomfortable talk.

Jean-Phillipe looked a trifle more rattled and unsettled than the usual cold and callous exterior that he cultivated as he stood outside the room that Mark Sheppard was currently staying in while they waited for Manhattan to be reconstructed to the point that people could be allowed back to their homes and apartments. He glanced nervously up and down the halls, and finally worked up the courage to knock on the door.

"Just a sec!" came the reply from the other side of the door. It opened few seconds later, revealing bleary-eyed and disheveled Mark, but he snapped into focus when he saw his visitor. "Hi. What?"

"Hi." Well, this was awkward. Not that he had anyone but himself to blame for it. "I need..." He had no idea how to bring this up. "Marie-Ange telephoned me and left a voicemail and...I had nothing to do with what happened." There was a pleading quality to his voice, a desperate need for Mark to believe him.

"So why didn't you call her?" Mark stayed put at the door, not willing to step aside and let Jean-Phillipe in. He wasn't sure if that wing of the mansion would remain standing if they go too close. "And you should tell Professor Xavier. I'm sure it'll be such a relief to him to know that his students aren't catching killing each other."

Jean-Phillipe held up a melted bit of plastic, and sparks were visible around the ends of his fingers. "I...may have reacted badly," he said, the understatement of the century. "I am not sure using my computer would be wise, either," he said, the lessening control of his powers clearly related to his ragged emotional state. "I am going to tell le Profeseur," he promised. "But you and Marie-Ange..." They had threatened to kill him, and he had believed them.

Mark considered for a moment and then took out Esther from his pocket so he could send a quick text to Marie-Ange. He didn't put it back when he was finished, though, but rather pulled up the music player. His thumb hovered over the play button.

Given that Mark and Marie-Ange had both been in deadly earnest about the threats they'd made, and given the other people that worked in their office, he shuddered to think about what some of them (like Remy LeBeau) might take it into their head to do. His hands twitched nervously, and he struggled with the urge to run in every direction at once.

"Oh, fucking stop it!" Mark snapped, surprising even himself. "Quivering like I'm going to fucking beat you or something. You put yourself in this situation, so fucking man up to it. Two of my very good friends are potentially dead because of your buddies. Even if you didn't know what was happening, I'd bet that some information you provided helped them organize this somehow."

Jean-Phillipe winced at the explosion from Mark, but stood his ground. "I am sorry for that, if something I had provided contributed in any way. But I had no idea that anything like this would happen." The words came difficultly, as Mark's remark about putting himself in this situation hit home. There weren't any words that could make things right, when you came down to it.

"Of course you didn't. Providing a psychopathic mutant terrorist supervillain with information about the only people who can stand in his way couldn't possibly be used to kill those people. What was I thinking? Are you done here now? I'm not going to pity fuck you again just because you're standing there looking all distressed."

"That wasn't what I wanted," Jean-Phillipe snapped, a hint of anger in his voice. It hurt because he wanted Mark's good opinion back, and he wasn't sure if he would ever have it again.

"Yeah, me neither." The sudden rush of anger was unfamiliar to Mark and he visibly struggled to keep his temper under control. "You better hope that this wasn't the Brotherhood."

"I do." But it looked highly unlikely, from all the rumors that were flying around. "I...should go," he said after a pregnant and awkward pause in which Mark did nothing but scowl at him. "I am sorry." For many things he found impossible to articulate. He turned and walked away, feeling achingly alone.