xp_logs | Manuel & Jean-Paul (Reply)

Jean-Paul comes across a very hung over Empath in the kitchen. The two talk while Jean-Paul makes a drink for Manuel, but it is another type of drink he craves when talk turns over into kidnappings and being detained against one's own will.

Focus was not attainable today, by any means. He could barely sit at the table in the kitchen and read a line or two before his headache directed him towards the ache in his shoulders, his entire right side of his body shifting in discomfort. With his head propped up by his hand, he slouched in his seat, eyes closed, fingers lightly separated and shaded over his eyes. The sleeves of his white buttoned down shirt were rolled up and the top buttons from his neck were undone one extra, also uncomfortable with the temperature in the room. He'd considered moving to the recroom where it was cooler though the option of being abruptly woken to kids and a television did not sit well for him. He was clearly not one to be overly perky after a sleep.

"You hardly look worth shooting," Jean-Paul remarked as he strolled into the kitchen. As he'd suspected, some had been possessed of the forethought to keep the hanging fruit bowls stocked, and he snagged small bunch of ripening bananas from the pile. "Rough night?"

"Mmm," Manuel nodded, opening his eyes slightly and tilting his head to the side. His fingers slipped down a fraction of his face and for a moment, he looked every bit like the twenty five year old he was. "Hungry?" he asked.

"Falling behind on shopping," the speedster confessed. "I need to either stir myself or start trusting one of the local places to make deliveries without spitting in the food."

"Trust one of the local places, I would suggest, but then my culinary skills are under... uh... reconstruction," he mumbled, shifting his posture to sit up more and dropped his hand to the book. Sliding a paper in place to remember the page he was on and it was snapped shut. "I should stop attempting to read with a headache. Do you have anything for it?"

"Is it a headache or a hangover? They're two different beasts." Jean-Paul did have a touch of sympathy tinging his emotions, at least. "Here, let me see your arm."

"One of the same - both, " Manuel replied, shifting one more time to sit up and offered his arm. His mouth was dry and he raked his tongue inside, if only to wet whatever part he could. At some point, he had nodded off, at least up until Jean-Paul entered the room.

"Did you sprout a secondary mutation over night?" he asked drily, offering his arm, palm up, wrist out.

"When I get headaches, it's usually a sign that I'm dehydrated and pushing myself too hard." Jean-Paul turned Manuel's wrist back over and pinched the skin lightly. "But, as you and Lillian hit the bar the other night as you discussed and I have spent part of the morning nursing her ills, there's reason for me to think that you might be dehydrated and hung over as well. Good thing that they're stocked up on bananas." Jean-Paul returned possession of Manuel's arm to him and headed to the sink to snag a water glass. "In all likelihood, your blood sugar is probably low on top of the dehydration, but liquids first. You didn't get drunk enough to vomit, did you?"

"And here I was hopeful of a reprieve by means of healing." He waved his hand dismissively and yawned, flexing his hand. "No, I am not the vomiting type. However, I am not interested in eating bananas if that is the solution to this. I believe bed is my best bet. Drugs and bed." At least Valentia was being babysat. Thank god he had made other arrangements.

"I was going to suggest a milkshake with honey, actually. Potassium and magnesium to replenish your reserves, fructose for the blood sugar, and dairy to coat and quiet the stomach. But if you'd rather sleep, make sure to down a lot of water with your aspirin. You'll wake up feeling worse otherwise." Jean-Paul could have rolled his eyes at his own lecture. Apparently he was fully in care-taker mode.

"Yes Mother." He smiled, amused. "Though I will stay if you are offering to make it." He pushed his book some ways away from him and he shifted his posture again, slipping back into the slouch to rest the back of his head against the backing of the chair. It was not the most comfortable way to sit, but it was comfortable for the moment. "You are awfully cheery this morning."

"I am not cheery. You're receiving the benefits of momentum." Jean-Paul hunted briefly for a blender, gave up, and started seeking the rest of the ingredients needed for the shake. "The new boy has apparently imprinted on me." Damn Nathan for putting that term into his head. "Though why I am putting up with it is anyone's guess."

That would explain the signature he'd been getting but assumed it to be someone outside of the mansion. Clearly he was not doing well for practice lately. "Because you secretly like children and get defensive when you pretend you do not?" Manuel offered and pinched the bridge of his nose, running his fingers under his eyes.

Jean-Paul glanced over at the weary empath. "Something of a masochist, aren't you?" He considered the food in front of him, then went looking for the blender again. He'd have to wash it out, but it was generally less messy than using speed for something like this.

"I should ask you the same since you are taking care of me." Though given, ninety percent of his relationships were banter about hurting him. Manuel glanced up, resting his hand against his temple, watching Jean-Paul work.

"What is his name?" he asked after a prolonged period.

The pause gave Jean-Paul enough time to blend the concoction and put it down in front of Manuel with a spoon; he somehow didn't see the Spaniard taking at all well to slurping from the glass.

"Johnny. He's one of the lot we brought back from the kidnapping fiasco."

He sat up again and picked up the spoon. "Thank you." A mess of fruit mashed up into a drink was something he could handle and he waved around his spoon, gesturing as he spoke. "Another one? And you're babysitting, you say? This must be a form of punishment by some greater god or what have you. Whatever you believe."

"He is a bit old to need babysitting." Jean-Paul shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I'll sort it out once he's enrolled as a student."

"It seems as though kidnapping is becoming more and more frequent," he said, scooping out some of the concoction and tried it. "There should be a division of some sort. If you've been through hell, please see yourself through door A. For kidnappings, door B and for all other inquiries, door C. If you are new to the system, press pound or hold the line, your insanity will be with you shortly."

"Whether we like it or not, mutants are a resource. Everyone wants a stockpile, for one reason or another." Jean-Paul frowned and shook the thought from his head. Brooding around the headachy empath wasn't the best of plans.

He nodded, turning the spoon over and studying it. His gaze flickered to Jean-Paul's and held it. "Have you ever been held against your will?"

There were many ways to answer that, but Jean-Paul opted to go with the most obvious interpretation. "Yes, a few times when I was younger. Never long enough to matter after my powers manifested." He considered. "I was once trapped in a chunk of amber with a teammate for several days, but that was relative time and an accident, so I don't know that it counts. And you?"

"Many times," he finally said. "The next person who tries to put a collar on me will not live past the day it comes off." He spoke with conviction. "If you think living through this mess of emotions is bad," he gestured, referring to the mansion. "You have no idea what it is like in an asylum."

"No," Jean-Paul said quietly. "I suppose I wouldn't." He wished his sister could say the same.

"Do you always blame yourself?" Manuel asked, his eyes watching the emotions around Jean-Paul shift. He might have not been able to pinpoint the speedster's emotions exactly but he knew the colours before his eyes well.

"There's little place else for it to go when I fail in my responsibilities. Aren't we talking about you, anyway?"

"We all fail at some point. Some of us more than others and the rest at the hands of those we hate. You must have quite the mental endurance to withstand several days without food or water, therefore you are not at a complete loss. " He took another bit of the drink, turning the spoon over in his mouth. He ignored the attempt to turn the conversation over to him, but fully expected, at this point, that Jean-Paul would leave the room.

"As I said, relative time. I was more in danger from boredom than starvation." He carried the blender to the sink. "So who did you hate so much? Or should I use the present tense?"

"You ask as though there is one person to hate. Past, present, does it matter? There are too many to list. My father is dead now, however he was the start, the first one to commit me. Months roll into years and you eventually lose track my dear Quebecois. Be thankful you have your freedom and that you don't occasionally lose track of your age because of your past."

Somehow, those words provoked a thin overlay of dark amusement from the speedster, but he didn't press the topic.

"As you say." He put the blender's measure on the rack to dry and headed toward the mansion's main entrance. "Don't forget to actually drink some water before that nap of yours."

"MMmm," he waved the man away and once he was out of sight, the drink was pushed away, lest he vomit. Rehashing old memories did nothing for him, but invoke a weight and he knew he would not shake it, even with the sleep. No, this will not do, he thought to himself, standing. Collecting his book, he dumped the drink down the drain. He would need another sort of drink now.