Cammie and Jean-Paul - Backdated to Saturday Night

[x-cynosure.livejournal.com]

Cammie catches JP during a swim. They chat about field trips and scars.



Jean-Paul flew in a tight circle high over the star-strewn surface of the lake, gave himself over to gravity, and knifed cleanly into the frigid water. Not a perfect dive, but it had been a while. One more thing to work on.

Traditionally, he preferred an early-morning swim, but his schedule hadn't allowed for it lately. So late night it was. If nothing else, he was insured of privacy.

The air outside was still cold as far as she was concerned, but it was warming up enough. She wandered down to the lake and saw Jean-Paul hit the water. What was it with people landing in the lake here. She trotted up to the edge, “If you’re drowning, I’m not going to save you.”

So much for privacy.

Jean-Paul stood chest-deep in water that should have easily been over his head. "If I were drowning, I'd ask that you let me go under and spare me the embarrassment of a rescue. What are you doing out here?"

“Walking. Maybe breathing. Just hanging around. Loitering is the in term,” Cammie said with a shrug. Sometimes, she just didn’t know how to deal with having a roof over her head.

"I'd ask you to join me, but I doubt hypothermia is on your list of preferred pastimes." He considered a moment, then started swimming toward the dock. "I am mostly trying to stave off boredom. Under most circumstances, I would go and pester Nathan, but he has the unmitigated gall to be preparing to leave the country and trying to make the world a better place."

“Yeah. I have a thing against the cold. It’s out to get me,” she said simply. Swimming was okay, in warm water. She doubted the water was warm. “Hey, at least he actually does stuff instead of sitting in his office swearing on the phone.”

"Saving the world is probably better for his blood-pressure anyway," Jean-Paul muttered, climbing onto the dock. So long as no one was shooting at him this time.

“Well, a field trip would help out. Unless things get interesting. You never know,” people around here did tell quite a few stories, that was for sure.

"For God's sake, don't say that out loud!" But his grin was visible, even by moonlight. "Field trips around here are cursed by old man Murphy himself, I swear to you. The last one involved the student body being taken hostage and forced through reality-TV deathtraps."

“Well, hopefully no one had to dance with the stars,” Cammie returned. “If something’s going to happen, it’s going to happen,” she said, grinning. “My saying anything won’t change that. Unless I have some special power no one told me about. Wouldn’t that one be fun. Changing things by saying it out loud.”

"'Go fuck yourself' would certainly get much more amusing." Jean-Paul crossed the deck to Cammie and collected the towel he'd left draped over a piling. It wasn't that he was cold, but water droplets slithering down his back was not a favorite sensation. Up close, he wasn't quite as sleek as he seemed -- along with the scar at his throat, there was a kanji tattoo on his left bicep and a short, jagged scar over his heart that looked as if someone had quite literally tried to carve a piece out of him.

“I’d pay a dollar to watch that,” she said with a half grin. “So, how’d you get those,” she asked in reference to the scars. She knew how he would’ve gotten the tattoo, and felt a twinge of jealousy. Those things required you bleed a bit. Which was a risk she wasn’t willing to take to get herself some body art.

"A dispute with my sister. I seem to have bad luck when it comes to not pushing the limits with volatile women." The tone suggested that he'd tried to make a joke of the matter, but mostly, it came out as regret. "Some of us are slow learners."

“That’s because you’re a guy. You likely got older brother syndrome or something,” Cammie pointed out.

He laughed softly. "Probably the least distressing of whatever mental problems I have. But at least I fit in here -- I don't think they let you though the door without some type of trauma."

“Yeah, this seems to be the House where Everything happens,” she said with a shrug. It didn’t mean she wanted her story open to the public at large or anything. “Or where everyone tries to pry it from you dramatically,” she said, her tone joking. There wasn’t anything she took seriously. Herself included. As long as you weren’t really trying to drag her skeletons out of the closet.