Cammie and Jean-Paul

[x-cynosure.livejournal.com]

Cammie and Jean-Paul attempt to get things back to normal (more or less).



The storm that had kicked up earlier in the evening had made Jean-Paul restless enough to open all the windows and try another Cammie-dish. The heavy scents of rain and damp earth had put a damper on the stench of rotten eggs cooking (though those, at least, had been offensive enough that the other components of a rotten-egg omelet had seemed very tame by comparison). Task seen to, he'd fired off an email, wondering if the girl would show up. Apologies or none, he wouldn't blame her for staying away.

She had considered not showing up. But she had said she was sorry. And she hoped that cleared the air his side. Cammie still felt guilty. She would always feel bad about it. Just like she always felt bad for what had happen to her boyfriend.

She knocked on the door. She could smell the food from here, and to her it smelled good.

The door opened.

"Summoned, she appears. We are off to a good start." He offered her a smile and lead the way back into his suite. "I tried eggs today. I'm not sure how well the flavors that register for you linger after cooking, so it seemed worth experimenting with. Just your basic rotten eggs and rancid goat's cheese as the base, and I am pretty sure that the mushrooms are poisonous. I couldn't think of any chemicals that would enhance the dish, so I settled for using habernaro peppers as the garnish."

“You know what they say, you feed ‘em and they’re yours forever,” Cammie said, coming in, smiling weekly in return. She’d be nursing the stronger pangs of guilt for awhile. “Well, it smells good to me. It might be scaring off anyone else in the area though.”

"There's a reason certain saying stick around, I think -- truth and stupidity. That one falls into the category of the former." Jean-Paul parked himself in the seat nearest the window. "And I think Kyle will survive my occasional foray into exotic cooking, so long as I keep the door closed and the windows open. How is the job going?"

“Filing and stuff is…filing and stuff. I’m waiting a bit before I start job number two and we’ll see if that’s a trip down stupidity lane,” Cammie said, going over and looking at the food. It looked as good as rotted food ever did. “I think I may have to eat it all.”

Jean-Paul laughed. "Please do! I know I do not want to keep the left-overs. I did not know you were working anywhere but the boathouse. Did Lil help you find something too?"

“I got myself a job at a clothing store that the Evil T-shirt fairy runs. It’s not like I’m going to school or anything,” she said as she sat down and put a spoonful in her mouth. “I’m not the school type,” she said around food. “’Course, I don’t think I’m the job type either.”

"It is amazing how quickly vast amounts of free time can drive a person insane. And getting paid for giving up that free time is even better." Jean-Paul paused as she swallowed. "How did it turn out?"

“Good,” she said with a full mouth. “Seriously, you cook better than I’ll ever be able to. And yeah. I was going nuts. So I was watching this show on the history channel about aliens visiting people in past and one of the guys was trying to say that explained mutants. Weirdest argument I’ve ever heard. We’re part ALIEN.”

"I will add that one to the list. So far, I've heard that was are, as a race, part demon, spawn of the devil, and mind-controlled by sentient viruses. I had some crystal-gazing loony declare that I was half elf and her soulmate, but she was sixteen and living in bad fantasy novels."

“It’s the pointy ears,” Cammie said simply. “I can see them thinking that. Never had that problem,” she said. But she did get ‘freak’ and ‘monster’ a lot. “I like the idea of being part alien, I’ll start a cult. Only with less cyanide than other cults.”

"Of course. The cyanide would have to be for personal use only?" Jean-Paul shrugged. "I always preferred people having to accept me on my own terms. Giving them a reason to excuse who or what I am never sat very well, I suppose."

“Totally. I don’t think I’ve had cyanide before. I could be wrong. I’ll never know until I try it,” Cammie said. She shrugged to the last, “I know what I am. Who gives a rat’s ass what everyone else thinks.” Of course, her opinion of herself wasn’t much better than she supposed the general public’s must be.

Jean-Paul nodded. "I know who and what I am. That does not mean that other people superimposing their interpretations does not get annoying."

“Yeah but they’re going to do it anyway, might as well laugh at it,” Cammie returned, around another forkful. This was better than her special sandwiches, that was for sure.

"I would have taken you as the sort to indulge in more aggressive mockery," Jean-Paul remarked. "Ironic messages keyed into the paintjobs of cars and such."

“Hey, the people calling me things are generally two seconds away from regretting it anyway,” Cammie said. People got really verbal when they thought you were fighting dirty when they were doing the same thing.

"I always thought that the best revenge was enjoying myself as publicly as possible. I can see where that wouldn't work for quite everyone. Easier to get out of a potentially ugly situation when you can fly."

“I’ve always wanted to fly,” Cammie admitted. “I mean, that has to be cool.”

Jean-Paul cast a glance toward the open window. "Give your meal long enough to settle that I won't wind up wearing it and we can give it a shot. Assuming you don't mind getting a little wet."

“Given some of the situations I’ve been in, getting wet is pretty mundane,” Cammie returned. “Also, I don’t vomit. So I don’t really have to give it long to settle, good thing too, as I’m almost done,” she said with a smirk. She didn’t vomit. She hadn’t in years, no matter what type of reason she might have had.

Jean-Paul watched as she swallowed the last bites, then rose to his feet and indicated the window with a slight bow. "Shall we?"

“Totally,” Cammie said, standing up. She was totally ready to fly. Even if only by proxy.