Log: Clarice & Cammie

[x-blink.livejournal.com]

Sunday afternoon, Cammie gets a drive-by Claricing! Her cuticles, hair and digestive system might not ever be the same.



Clarice should have been doing some reading for class. Instead however, she was sitting on the rec room floor with people magazine open on top of her textbook and a box of nail polish as she painted her toes and watch Legally Blonde: The Musical on MTV. Idly, she sang 'Gay or European' under her breath, though it wasn't yet time for that scene.

With not all that much to do when she was awake, Cammie had taken to wandering around the mansion. Since watching TV in the recroom was considerably less painful than putting up with Jane’s taste in TV, she wandered that way. When she saw what was on the TV she questioned her judgment as to what would be less painful.

“What the hell is this?” she asked, staring at whatever it was.

"Legally Blonde the musical," Clarice replied, putting a coat of clear polish on a toe. Looking up she smiled at Cammie, "It's pretty funny. And you know, blonde," not that Clarice had ever been blonde. Before she and her hair had turned purple, she'd been a normal pale skinned girl with brown hair.

“Legally Blonde… the musical,” Cammie repeated, sounding afraid. “Blonde’s scare me. Horrifically. So the next question is how can you watch this?” she asked, unable to turn away. It was like a trainwreck.

"Because..." Clarice waved the nail polish brush absently, "it's catchy and fun and funny. And it's a good show to watch when painting your nails. Wanna paint your nails?" she asked, indicating the box of polishes. "Or relieve me of some of the icky colours?" Like the baby pink. Ew.

“What’cha got?” she said, inching towards the box. She wasn’t so much for polishing her nails. Though when she did it was either black or dark green. Other than that, it tasted neat, especially if you let it sit on your tongue for a bit. The downside being if you wanted it off your teeth, you had to drink nail polish remover. Which wasn’t really a downside to her.

"You can have any of the pinks except this one," Clarice reached into her box and pulled a bright neon barbie pink out, "And you can have all the reds and brown/burgundy except this one," she took out a bright fire engine red. Typically, she didn't wear either colour, but sometimes she just needed to go a little wild and crazy. And it was nailpolish, it came off easily. "Do you eat makeup too?"

“Not normally,” Cammie said, reaching over and taking a really girly pink, “But when someone gets hungry enough they’ll eat about anything. Foundation has this weird texture. I don’t really like it,” she said simply. She shook the bottle, opened it, and stuck the brush between her teeth like a sucker stick.

Clarice didn't comment, but it was weird watching someone happily drink old nailpolish. Well, welcome to Mutant High. "I've got some old makeup if you want. I mean, you don't have to take it, I just feel better offering it to you to eat if you want instead of trashing it. I don't wear foundation though," she examined one purple hand bereft of polish, "They don't make purple."

“You think they would, all things considered,” Cammie said around the stick of pink nail polish in her mouth. “I mean, have you seen the crap that the Goth kids use? So white it’s blue. You can keep the old make up, I won’t eat it unless there’s nothing else around and I’ve been finding plenty of stuff for me to munch on. Which is kinda scary when you think about it.”

"Then I'll just trash it, I need to declutter my makeup," Clarice debated painting her fingers while her toes dried. Painting her toes was so much easier than fingers, "Can I paint your nails?" she asked suddenly, turning to Cammie with a glint in her eyes. The girl totally needed a makeover.

“Um… I guess? Just don’t do it some girly color. I tend towards black or green. I have a color scheme to keep up here,” she said, with a nod towards her bandaged arm. “Though… you might not want to touch my left hand. But sure, have a field day with the right hand. My left nails will never look anything other than green.” Which was only because of the skin tone.

"Okay," Clarice had a lot of 'nongirly' colors since she was purple herself. Blues and greens dominated her wardrobe for color, though she had black, white and some beige too. "Gimme," she said, pulling out a nail file, "One manicure coming up!"

“Okay, now I’m scared,” Cammie said, but offered her right hand up for the slaughter. She didn’t really care that it would look weird to only have one hand painted. “Can’t say I’ve ever been manicured in the last three years so have at it.” The last one she remembered getting had been right before the dance.

Which put it in the category of Things Carmilla Didn’t Think About.

Happily as a snug in a bug, Clarice went to work on her cuticles and fingers, "Rounded or square?" she asked. "And what do you think of Xavier's so far? Pretty awesome, huh?" well, that hadn't been Clarice's initial opinion, but it was what she thought now. Attacks and invasions and the chaos aside.

“Pointed and capable of clawing out eyes?” Cammie suggested, “Barring that rounded, I guess. I mean I don’t really spend time thinking about my nails and their shape,” she pointed out. It was a weird feeling, the kind that sent a tickle down your spine if only because she was normally so adamant about not being touched. But nothing on her right hand was bleeding and her right hand didn’t shoot concentrated death out of it so it should be okay.

“It’s the longest I’ve ever been in one place,” she mused to the latter question, “Seems nice. People here could smother you to death with pillows stuffed with kindness and kittens though. Not that that’s an overly bad thing.”

"Eh," she shrugged, "Most of us have seen some rough shit and this is our home, you know? We want people to feel welcome. So yeah, we get a little nutty trying, but we mean well. Beats the alternative right?" Clarice didn't mention what the alternative was as she filed Cammie's nails into a more rounded look. "Anyways, just because most people here are nice doesn't mean we're pushovers. Or that we sit around singing kumbaya."

“Yeah. Beats the other option,” Cammie muttered. “And I noticed that. I mean, most Peace Loving Hippie Communes don’t have kick ass self-defense and fighting classes. I’m actually enjoying that. Nothing like a good ass kicking.”

"Tell me about it!" Clarice agreed with a smile. She didn't take part in the high school kids training, she trained with the X-Men, but she'd had basic self defense when she'd been a student here, "Peace and love are all good...and it'd be great if mutants weren't hated and stuff, but realistically? We are. So we gotta learn to deal with it," she looked Cammie up and down, "You ever consider a haircut?"

“Yep. The world just loves us,” Cammie said with a twist of the lips. She had plenty of first hand experience with that, “And uh… maybe? I mean, I can’t walk into most barber shops and be like, ‘CUT MY HAIR BITCHES!’ what they say next tends to be along the lines of ‘OMIGOD GET OUT!’ That could just be the reaction I get from people though,” she mused tilting her head to one side. “I think my hair is okay though.”

Laughing, Clarice fluffled Cammie's hair lightly, "The split ends have totes got to go! And sure you can, you just gotta know where," she had cut her hair before, but mostly she had a little salon she frequented. That was where she'd gotten her weave, "I mean, this is a weave," obviously.

“Totes?” Cammie asked, looking back. There was slang she didn’t know. “And yeah, I know you said you have a weave. I suppose there’s a place around here where they won’t kick us out on site. And you’ll forgive me if hair wasn’t really my biggest concern the last few months,” she said, though the last was said lightly, with a touch of sarcasm.

"Totes. You know? Totally? Totes," silly girl needed to keep up with her slang. Selecting a blue polish to go with the natural green Cammie had going already, Clarice shook it to mix the chemicals in the bottle, "Well yeah. Duh. But that was then. This is now. Land of daily showers and all the rat poison you can munch on!"

“I am enjoying the rat poison,” Cammie said with a nod of her head, “And you know, the food you people leave out and then try to get rid of just because it’s finally got some flavor. I am the mutant garbage disposal,” she said cheerfully. She had told Callie the same thing. It was her title and she was going to stick to it. “And yeah, I guess I can think about getting it trimmed or something. And I still haven’t heard anyone use Totes. But I hung out with bikers and thugs.”

"Well, they have their slang, I have mine. You can teach them something new the next time you see them," if she ever saw them again, those things were sort of fluid, "And see? Purpose. Everyone should have one. Do you know the limits of what you can eat? Like, I mean, anything you can't? Kyle can't have chocolate."

“Near as I can figure as long as it’s not sharp and pointy I can eat it,” Cammie said. Though the last more had to do with comfort issues since if you couldn’t digest something it had to come out somehow. “So, I don’t munch on barbed wire and the like. I’m also not fond of the taste of my own blood,” she mused. “Acid doesn’t burn my mouth; bases don’t do whatever it is a base would do and I can eat pretty much anything. I draw the line though when something starts to acquire fridge slime or you’re not quite sure what it used to be. But I could still eat it,” she mused.

Those lines were important in these things. Replacing the little paint brush back in the nail polish, Clarice tightened the cap and went digging for her clear top coat polish, "You are going to look beautiful when I'm done with you," she informed Cammie, not at all aware she had just implied that she didn't look beautiful already.

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m a regular sasquatch right now,” Cammie returned. She hardly thought that maybe a trim of her hair and some nail polish on her right had was going to turn her into some pretty little Cinderella. “It’s just my right hand. There’s a bit more to me than that.” Though she was putting way more effort into it than Cammie ever did whenever she decided her nails should be black. When she just used one coat and didn’t mind when it started to chip. It was all part of the look.

"Well, duh, you have a right arm too. Mutations are like this, you gotta work with them. Not against them. Because if you try to go against your own body, you lose every time. Doesn't mean nature isn't beautiful though," that was almost profound, Clarice thought. Watching Legally Blonde would that though. "Oooh! You gotta watch this scene! It's my fave song!" Sure enough, 'Gay or European' began on the TV.

“I don’t think you’re going to manicure my right arm too,” Cammie returned. “And you’re not touching the left on. That’s a safety rule. Like no running with scissors,” she paused, looked at the TV and raised an eyebrow, “If you say so. I’m going to close my eyes and imagine The Five Deadly Venoms. I’ll be happier that way,” she returned.

Legally Blonde was not her thing. Too much girl out of her element/in the city stuff and not enough ass kicking or action scenes.

"I could exfoliate it. Who knows? Exfoliation could help your left one too," so long as Cammie didn't eat the stuff anyways. And it wouldn't hurt to try. "But yeah, I dig the no touchy. Nuked was enough for me. Don't need acid crap too. Oh come on though! Do you know JP? Either JP?"

"There's more than one?" Cammie asked, "And if exfoliating means you have to touch the left one, no you're not. I know a Jean-Paul. The French-Canadian guy," it was hard to mistake that accent and Cammie had spent time north of the border. "He conned me into dinner with a bunch of kids and then offered to cook for me."

Clarice wasn't going to exfoliate Cammie's left arm, but she'd give her stuff so she could do it herself. Yeah. That was a better idea, "No, but you can do it. I'll give you some stuff, clean out the pores and get rid of dead skin. Will be good," Clarice nodded, "There's two. Jean-Paul is from Quebec," and she had to stifle some jealousy when Cammie mentioned that he took her out, "and Jean-Philllipe is from France. He's Marie-Ange's cousin. Anyways. One is gay and European, the other's gay and Canadian. Like this song, 'Gay or European'!”

“He’s who’s cousin?” Cammie didn’t know and didn’t care, “And who cares that they’re gay. But one’s French and one’s French-Canadian, so I won’t get that mixed up. They tend to not like it when you get that shit mixed up,” Cammie noted.

"Marie-Ange. She works in the brownstone in the city. We used to be roommates," that had been a disaster, but now things were a lot better. Clarice matures, MA had matured, all was good. "And no one cares that they're gay. It's just fun because of the song."

“Ah, okay,” Cammie said to the first. It still didn’t mean anything to her, but it wasn’t totally cold. “And I’ll take your word for it. I did that thing I said I was going to and pictured martial arts movies instead.”

"You're weird," Clarice replied, but it was said fondly and without malice. And it had nothing to do with her taste in food either. "Let me get my scissors, I'll do your hair now and clean it up. Just get rid of your split ends. Because I'm sure if I left it to you I'll die of old age first."

“I try,” Cammie said to the weird statement with a large degree of truth. People were less likely to bother the crazy person. “And sure, knock yourself off, but if you take off more than you have to we’re going to have words like ‘why’ and ‘stop’ and punching, maybe. Except maybe not the punching.” Hair seemed a bit petty a reason to be punching people.

It was okay, weird was normal around there, Cammie fit right in. "Okay! Be right back! And don't smudge your nails!" Clarice jumped up to go run and retrieve the scissors, dashing down the hall in a blur of black and purple.