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xp_logs((Back dated to early Saturday afternoon)) Scott catches Cammie drooling over his bike and some anti-freeze in the garage. But mostly his bike.
He needed a little quality time with the bike this weekend, Scott thought; he was still feeling restless, out of sorts, and the Blackbird really didn't need any more maintenance right now. A couple of hours where he could zone out and forget about the whole body-snatching thing sounded like a wonderful idea. It was certainly much better for him than spending the evening at Harry's.
He had not expected to walk into the garage and see a green-haired girl all but drooling over said bike. "Can I help you, Carmilla?" Scott asked, not quite wryly.
She stiffened at the sound of her full name, again. She turned around and was all sweetness and light. Or as close to it as she could be. "Just Cammie," she said. If she hadn't been living here, she so would've hotwired this bike and taken it for a joyride. She was still kind of thinking about it. "Nice bike."
"I like to think so. It's taken a lot of work to get it that way," Scott said as he went over to the bench with his tools. "You like bikes?"
"Yeah, I bet. Most of this thing is custom, isn't it?" Cammie asked, taking a glance back at the bike. It was a thing of beauty, "I do like bikes." That one could be sold for a LOT of money. But she wasn't going to bring that up.
"I bought it..." Scott paused, considering. "Damn. Ten years ago, almost. I think at one point or another," he said, coming back over to the bike, "I've actually customized everything on it."
"Yeah, I can tell it's a custom job," you could get a lot more money at chop shops for those. Sometimes though, they were harder to jack, so it wasn't always worth it. "I bet it runs good."
Abruptly, Scott remembered his manners. "We haven't met, I don't think," he said. "I'm Scott." One of the strange parts of no longer being the headmaster was not being one of the first faces the new residents saw.
"Nice to meet you," she said, not offering a hand or anything. It was part of her not liking to touch people for any reason really. "Well, I actually should say nice to meet your bike. If I wasn't living here, I'd totally steal it."
"Well, I appreciate that. It hasn't stopped the occasional person who does live here," Scott said with a crooked smile, crouching down beside the bike and getting to work. "So, healing up okay?"
"Oh, so it's totally okay to take it for a joy ride?" No, that wasn't a hopeful smile there. Okay, yes it was. The fact that she had never officially gotten a license didn't stop her from enjoying a joy ride. Or ten. "And yeah, pretty soon no one will know I had a hole in my side unless I feel like showing off the scar."
"Glad to hear it," Scott said, the smile lingering as he quite deliberately ignored her first question. "We do have A+ medical care around here. I may be saying that because I'm married to one of our doctors."
"Well, it can't be the bitchy one, because if she was actually getting laid she wouldn't be so much of a cunt bag," Cammie said simply with a shrug, "So I'll venture that you're married to Dr. Grey. And dude, is it okay to joyride the bike?"
"Yes, I'm married to Jean. And no, you don't get to joyride on the bike. I'm the only one allowed to use it to accumulate speeding tickets," Scott said good-humoredly.
"Hey, they only ticket you if they catch you," Cammie pointed out. Oh god, that bike was calling to her. Maybe at a later point. Or if by some miracle she ever came across enough money, she'd get one of her own.
"The cops around here can be quite persistent." Scott eyed the bike. He'd check the brakes today, he decided, and set about doing that. "So," he went on, "what are you up to, now that you're out of the infirmary?"
"Oh, your breaks are totally fine," Cammie offered. She knew basic mechanics and had been looking over that thing of beauty for a bit before getting caught. "And I figured I'd just be a drain on your guys' budget. Don't have anywhere else to be."
"Well, I know you have some powers concerns," Scott said. "This is a good place to address them. Did you finish high school?" He shrugged, offering a slight smile. "We can help you get your GED, if you want. I'm sure you've heard this speech already, though..."
"Yeah, I've heard that speech," Cammie said, in her best 'bored' stance, "And yeah, I heard 'bout the GED thing too. And no, I haven't finished high school. I don't really care either. I mean, it's not like there's anything you can really do with a piece of paper anyway."
"I felt the same way, once upon a time. When I first came here, I'd been... well, basically institutionalized. I wasn't in control of my powers, and the only way to keep me from demolishing the building around me was to cover my eyes 24/7."
Cammie snorted quietly at that. She wished her problem was as simple as building demolishing. Which in her own mind, was actually kind of cool. She did like random destruction though. Random homicide (accidental or not) she could do without. "Sounds gnarly," yes, she said gnarly. "'Least you're not blowing shit up now."
"It took wearing special glasses or goggles every moment of the day and night. Until I lost my eye," Scott said, tapping the scarred side of his face. "Kind of a high price to pay for control of my powers."
"Yeah. But hey, at least you're alive," she pointed out. And he hadn't killed anyone. At least that he said, anyway. But he was just talking about property damage. "'Could be worse. You could be totally blind or any other thing."
"Believe me," Scott said with a crooked grin, "fully aware of that. I'm not complaining, just appreciating the irony. Sometimes we get what we want in very unusual ways."
"Whatever. People generally don't get what they want. People generally get screwed sooner or later," Cammie said.
"I would make some comment about how that's a pretty cynical attitude, but I recently came to the realization that I have no personal optimism whatsoever." The grin only grew, although Scott was looking at his bike, not at her.
She took the hint and took a few steps away from the bike. Oh, the damage she could do if she simply didn't care about stealing form people who had effectively saved her life. "Good, because I don't think I've ever met an intelligent optimist."
"Go knock on the door of the elderly bald man in the wheelchair one of these days," Scott said, then looked up at her, a hint of mischief in his real eye. "You should probably do that anyway. He may be an
optimist, but the Professor is also very good at the whole perspective thing."
Cammie didn't trust optimism. After all, it was the idea that things would either work out in the end or be all right. Both of which she knew for a fact weren't true. Things hardly ever worked out in the end or were all right unless you managed to get lucky. And luck wasn't the same thing. She shrugged, "If you say so. But I reserve the right to be a total and complete pessimist. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad I have a place to stay now that isn't an abandoned building and everything, but yeah." Life sucked. That was the way things went.
"It's the funny thing about having a safe place to stay," Scott said, checking the brakes over; it wasn't that he distrusted the girl, but, well, it was his bike. "Eventually it starts to sink in that you are safe, and then you start asking yourself 'What now?'"
"Well, as for me I know what's right now," she was here to get some anti-freeze. The bike had just been shiny distraction. "Something to drink."
Scott paused, then smiled and shook his head. "Going to take some getting used to," he said, and inclined his head in the direction of the cupboards beside the tool bench. "You know, given your special dietary requirements, you should talk to Jean about arranging some sort of... more practical way to get what you need."
"Hey, the stuff is here, that's practical enough. If the drain on the stuff bothers you I have sixty bucks and can pay for it at least," Cammie offered. "I mean, I could drink anything else, but it all tastes like water. So why bother?" Oh, there it was. She hadn't brought a cup with her so she had intended to take it back with her, she picked up the container and held it with her left hand, "You didn't need it did you?"
"Knock yourself out," Scott said. "Figuratively."
He needed a little quality time with the bike this weekend, Scott thought; he was still feeling restless, out of sorts, and the Blackbird really didn't need any more maintenance right now. A couple of hours where he could zone out and forget about the whole body-snatching thing sounded like a wonderful idea. It was certainly much better for him than spending the evening at Harry's.
He had not expected to walk into the garage and see a green-haired girl all but drooling over said bike. "Can I help you, Carmilla?" Scott asked, not quite wryly.
She stiffened at the sound of her full name, again. She turned around and was all sweetness and light. Or as close to it as she could be. "Just Cammie," she said. If she hadn't been living here, she so would've hotwired this bike and taken it for a joyride. She was still kind of thinking about it. "Nice bike."
"I like to think so. It's taken a lot of work to get it that way," Scott said as he went over to the bench with his tools. "You like bikes?"
"Yeah, I bet. Most of this thing is custom, isn't it?" Cammie asked, taking a glance back at the bike. It was a thing of beauty, "I do like bikes." That one could be sold for a LOT of money. But she wasn't going to bring that up.
"I bought it..." Scott paused, considering. "Damn. Ten years ago, almost. I think at one point or another," he said, coming back over to the bike, "I've actually customized everything on it."
"Yeah, I can tell it's a custom job," you could get a lot more money at chop shops for those. Sometimes though, they were harder to jack, so it wasn't always worth it. "I bet it runs good."
Abruptly, Scott remembered his manners. "We haven't met, I don't think," he said. "I'm Scott." One of the strange parts of no longer being the headmaster was not being one of the first faces the new residents saw.
"Nice to meet you," she said, not offering a hand or anything. It was part of her not liking to touch people for any reason really. "Well, I actually should say nice to meet your bike. If I wasn't living here, I'd totally steal it."
"Well, I appreciate that. It hasn't stopped the occasional person who does live here," Scott said with a crooked smile, crouching down beside the bike and getting to work. "So, healing up okay?"
"Oh, so it's totally okay to take it for a joy ride?" No, that wasn't a hopeful smile there. Okay, yes it was. The fact that she had never officially gotten a license didn't stop her from enjoying a joy ride. Or ten. "And yeah, pretty soon no one will know I had a hole in my side unless I feel like showing off the scar."
"Glad to hear it," Scott said, the smile lingering as he quite deliberately ignored her first question. "We do have A+ medical care around here. I may be saying that because I'm married to one of our doctors."
"Well, it can't be the bitchy one, because if she was actually getting laid she wouldn't be so much of a cunt bag," Cammie said simply with a shrug, "So I'll venture that you're married to Dr. Grey. And dude, is it okay to joyride the bike?"
"Yes, I'm married to Jean. And no, you don't get to joyride on the bike. I'm the only one allowed to use it to accumulate speeding tickets," Scott said good-humoredly.
"Hey, they only ticket you if they catch you," Cammie pointed out. Oh god, that bike was calling to her. Maybe at a later point. Or if by some miracle she ever came across enough money, she'd get one of her own.
"The cops around here can be quite persistent." Scott eyed the bike. He'd check the brakes today, he decided, and set about doing that. "So," he went on, "what are you up to, now that you're out of the infirmary?"
"Oh, your breaks are totally fine," Cammie offered. She knew basic mechanics and had been looking over that thing of beauty for a bit before getting caught. "And I figured I'd just be a drain on your guys' budget. Don't have anywhere else to be."
"Well, I know you have some powers concerns," Scott said. "This is a good place to address them. Did you finish high school?" He shrugged, offering a slight smile. "We can help you get your GED, if you want. I'm sure you've heard this speech already, though..."
"Yeah, I've heard that speech," Cammie said, in her best 'bored' stance, "And yeah, I heard 'bout the GED thing too. And no, I haven't finished high school. I don't really care either. I mean, it's not like there's anything you can really do with a piece of paper anyway."
"I felt the same way, once upon a time. When I first came here, I'd been... well, basically institutionalized. I wasn't in control of my powers, and the only way to keep me from demolishing the building around me was to cover my eyes 24/7."
Cammie snorted quietly at that. She wished her problem was as simple as building demolishing. Which in her own mind, was actually kind of cool. She did like random destruction though. Random homicide (accidental or not) she could do without. "Sounds gnarly," yes, she said gnarly. "'Least you're not blowing shit up now."
"It took wearing special glasses or goggles every moment of the day and night. Until I lost my eye," Scott said, tapping the scarred side of his face. "Kind of a high price to pay for control of my powers."
"Yeah. But hey, at least you're alive," she pointed out. And he hadn't killed anyone. At least that he said, anyway. But he was just talking about property damage. "'Could be worse. You could be totally blind or any other thing."
"Believe me," Scott said with a crooked grin, "fully aware of that. I'm not complaining, just appreciating the irony. Sometimes we get what we want in very unusual ways."
"Whatever. People generally don't get what they want. People generally get screwed sooner or later," Cammie said.
"I would make some comment about how that's a pretty cynical attitude, but I recently came to the realization that I have no personal optimism whatsoever." The grin only grew, although Scott was looking at his bike, not at her.
She took the hint and took a few steps away from the bike. Oh, the damage she could do if she simply didn't care about stealing form people who had effectively saved her life. "Good, because I don't think I've ever met an intelligent optimist."
"Go knock on the door of the elderly bald man in the wheelchair one of these days," Scott said, then looked up at her, a hint of mischief in his real eye. "You should probably do that anyway. He may be an
optimist, but the Professor is also very good at the whole perspective thing."
Cammie didn't trust optimism. After all, it was the idea that things would either work out in the end or be all right. Both of which she knew for a fact weren't true. Things hardly ever worked out in the end or were all right unless you managed to get lucky. And luck wasn't the same thing. She shrugged, "If you say so. But I reserve the right to be a total and complete pessimist. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad I have a place to stay now that isn't an abandoned building and everything, but yeah." Life sucked. That was the way things went.
"It's the funny thing about having a safe place to stay," Scott said, checking the brakes over; it wasn't that he distrusted the girl, but, well, it was his bike. "Eventually it starts to sink in that you are safe, and then you start asking yourself 'What now?'"
"Well, as for me I know what's right now," she was here to get some anti-freeze. The bike had just been shiny distraction. "Something to drink."
Scott paused, then smiled and shook his head. "Going to take some getting used to," he said, and inclined his head in the direction of the cupboards beside the tool bench. "You know, given your special dietary requirements, you should talk to Jean about arranging some sort of... more practical way to get what you need."
"Hey, the stuff is here, that's practical enough. If the drain on the stuff bothers you I have sixty bucks and can pay for it at least," Cammie offered. "I mean, I could drink anything else, but it all tastes like water. So why bother?" Oh, there it was. She hadn't brought a cup with her so she had intended to take it back with her, she picked up the container and held it with her left hand, "You didn't need it did you?"
"Knock yourself out," Scott said. "Figuratively."
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