xp_logs | Party Mutants 2

AMANDA/DOUG: Bollocks, We’re The X-Men

The night wore on. Doug was coming out of the bathroom, wondering if anyone was likely to be thinking of leaving soon, when movement in a certain darkened corner caught his eye. A familiar t-shirt, topped by a parti-coloured head.

Amanda wasn't alone - three guys, students from the local college, by the look of it, had surrounded her. And reading their body language, there was no mistaking their intentions weren't exactly chivalrous. The young witch, he knew, had been drinking pretty steadily all night, and he was pretty sure she'd be drunk by now. And something in her behaviour earlier led him to think she might have taken something else as well. Either way, he doubted she was in a fit state to even realise the danger she was in.

Doug rolled his eyes skyward and sighed. ~This 'knight in shining armor' complex is going to get me seriously hurt one of these days.~ Wandering over, he put on his best oblivious expression. Placing a hand on Amanda's shoulder, he grinned ingenuously at the frat boys.

"Heya, Mandy. Gonna introduce me to your friends?" Turning at the touch on her shoulder, Amanda gave him a bright, cheery smile.

"Hey, Dougie!" she said. 'Yep, definitely on something,' Doug thought, moving slightly closer to her. "This is..." Amanda's brow creased in thought. "Um, Adam, and Charlie, and... I've forgotten your name," she admitted to the third guy with peroxide-blonde hair. "Randy," he said, smiling charmingly.

Amanda giggled. "That's right!" she exclaimed, slapping Randy lightly on the arm. "You're Randy!" She smiled at him, winningly. "That's good, 'cause so'm I."

Doug coughed and tried to pull her away gently by the arm. "Um, Mandy, I think it's time we were going," he said, trying not to be too offensive. She jerked her arm away.

"No! It's still early yet! 'M not done dancing. You lads like t' dance, don't yer?" she said, looking up at her new-found friends. "I think she wants to stay, 'Dougie'," said one of the frat boys, Charlie, Doug thought it was. He sighed - this wasn't going to be easy. Okay, oblivious hadn't worked, let's try annoying.

"Chuck," he said expansively as he clapped a hand to the young man's shoulder. "Do you mind if I call you Chuck?" He grinned at the scowl on Charlie's face. "She may not seem like she wants to go, but there's a few things you fine gentlemen might like to know. First, while you're certainly imagining how the lovely young Amanda would look in each of your beds, you might like to know the lovely young Amanda is, indeed, young. Sixteen, to be exact. Ever heard the expression 'sixteen'll get you twenty'?" His grin grew wider. Baiting three frat boys wasn't probably the best idea, but he was beginning to understand why alcohol was sometimes called 'liquid courage'.

"And second, you might think you can get her out of here, and pass it off as consensual. Maybe you've got a rich daddy who can get you off scot-free if charges were ever brought. And yeah, I'm not that imposing. Maybe you figure you can take me. But see over there at the bar?" Doug pointed out s well-muscled form standing over at the bar joking with the bartender, a pair of shot glasses in front of them. "Pete's a little... protective... of his little sister."

Doug crossed a pair of mental fingers that the frat boys would take the bluff. Everything he'd said was actually true. He had just _implied_ that the guy was Amanda's sister. ~I really hope this works. I don't fancy getting beaten up again...~ Charlie hesitated, looking at the man's extremely well-muscled back and imposing height. He glanced back at Amanda, as if trying to weigh up whether the risk was worth it.

"Oi!" Amanda exclaimed, realising her new friends were wavering in their attentions. "He's just a mmph mmmph mmph."

"Just a very large man with a bad temper," Doug supplied over Amanda's muffled protests. He had his hand over her mouth. "English, you know. Very protective. We'll be seeing you." And with that he managed to half-lead, half-drag the struggling witch away. The three frat boys let them go, obviously deciding that Amanda's charms, however well-advertised (and she had done quite a lot of self-promoting somewhere between her ninth and tenth vodkas), weren't worth bringing the wrath of anyone on their heads, be it Amanda's "brother" or the bouncers.

Half-way across the floor, Amanda got tired of fighting Doug and bit his hand instead. "Ow!" he exclaimed, letting her go.

"What did you do that for?"

"I was goin' t' ask yer the same thing," she retorted, accent impossibly thicker with the alcohol she had on board. "We was havin' a perfectly good chat when you came along and bolloxed the whole thing up!"

"I don't think 'a perfectly good chat' was all they were interested in, Amanda," rejoined Doug. "And while you may enjoy 'a good shag', I think...no, I _know_ that there's a world of difference between what they had planned and..." he blushed. "...whatever the hell it is you and Manuel have." He waved a hand. "I don't want to know. But I could read 'rape all over those three. So I stepped in, because I was worried about you and I didn't want to have everyone freak out when they dumped you by the side of the road somewhere after using and abusing you, and then have to tell everyone that I could have done something about it, but didn't, all because you didn't want me ruining your damn good time!" His voice rose a bit to a shout at the end, alcohol, adrenaline, and the arousal from all the teasing during dances combining to make Doug a little irritable.

"You done?" Amanda said, arms folded across her chest. Doug nodded stiffly, expecting an explosion of some sort. Instead, she burst out laughing. "I'd never have thought you'd have the balls t' give someone a right bollocking, but it looks like I was wrong. There's hope for you yet, even though you're a stick in the mud."

Doug sighed. "Yeah, well, if being a bit of a stick in the mud gets everyone home safe at the end of the night, then so be it." He shrugged. "So, if you'll excuse me, I guess I'll leave you to having your good time."

He turned to walk away. Amanda rolled her eyes and grabbed his arm. "You know what yer problem is?" she said, her tone exasperated. "Yer spend all yer time whining about yer life, an' don't do anything about changing it." Doug shrugged his arm out of Amanda's grip.

"And how do you suggest I change it? I am what I am, and others are what they are." He slouched his shoulders. "There's always ways t' change things. Yer don't like what yer are? Be somethin' else. Yer don't like what others are, change 'em." She gave him a sly look.

"I know a potion or two that could get yer unrequited t' change her mind." Doug looked hungrily at Amanda for a moment, before shaking his head.

"No. I mean, yeah, I want her to love me, sure, but I want it to be _real_, y'know? It just...it wouldn't be right." Amanda shrugged.

"Who cares? You'd get what you wanted, an' the rest of us wouldn't have to listen to yer moping." Doug turned to face her, face drawn.

"It still wouldn't be real. It's like...it's like Manuel's little trick that day I serenaded the entire hallway. Sure, it felt good at the time, but what happens when it wears off? I was curled in a little ball feeling like death warmed over." He sighed. "Besides, she's gone away. Who knows when she'll be back, or even _if_ she'll be back?"

"So yer gunna spend th' rest of yer life wishin' for somethin' yer can't have?" Amanda shook her head. "That ain't love, mate, that's just pathetic." Doug shook his head in response.

"I didn't say I was gonna spend the rest of my life pining after her. I'm working on just being friends with her. But I can't just snap my fingers and say 'poof, I'm over her'. It takes time. And the love is wanting her to be happy no matter what. If it's with Logan, then I wish them the best." It was kind of odd that he'd chosen to unburden himself to Amanda, probably one of the mansion's most cynical residents when it came to love. But between the alcohol and Marie leaving with Logan, he was tired of holding it in.

"Well, ain't you the noble hero." Amanda dug into her back pocket an pulled out a rather battered pack of cigarettes. "An' this is what yer reckon I'm missin' - all the pain an' the angst an' the makin' meself a pain in the arse an' a public embarrassment. I'll take the non-strings shag any day. Settles the itch without the crap." She lit up and blew smoke into the already-shazy air.

"An' now I'm off t' find Manny an' see what he's doin' t' Clarice. Should be good for a laugh." And with that she began pushing her way through the thinning crowd. Doug, for his part, pushed toward the bar. ~I'm not nearly drunk enough to be thinking about Marie right now.~

MARIE-ANGE/REMY: Edith Piaf Loves Your Hips, Boy

Marie-Ange ducked out of the women's bathroom, eyeing the crowd for any of the familiar faces she had arrived with. After her encounter with Monet, a friendly face would have been more than welcome. After a few moments, she managed to spot a familar pair of eyes among the dancers. "~Remy. Thank God.~"

Remy had moved into yet another knot of young women, to the scowls of the men with them. A few minutes before, a rather drunk frat boy had decided that the Cajun needed to be taught a lesson. No one was exactly sure what had happened, but the frat boy had left clutching his hand a few minutes later. No one saw LeBeau lock a powerful hold on the pressure points of the man's hand and during the excruiting moments of pain, whisper that leaving was the smart idea. An inate sense of self-preservation in the men had keep them from trying a second time.

Fearing she would lose her view of Remy, and her nerve, Marie-Ange had moved herself halfway onto the club floor before she was aware of it. She hovered for half a second outside the group of Remy's admirers, then deciding that the direct approach was best, nudged her way in, and tapped him gently on the elbow.

Remy gyrated past, and for a brief second she thought he'd just ignored her when his hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist. She yelped as he pulled her into the crowd dancing around him, "Evening chere." He grinned as she found herself in the midst of the crush, very close to the Cajun. He had obviously had a few drinks, but they hadn't had an obvious effect on his coordination or rythym.

The crowd of dancers left little room for Marie-Ange to edge away from Remy, and so she decided that, since it was pointless anyway, she might as well enjoy it. She returned Remy's grin with a only slightly nervous smile. "Bonjour."

"Salut, chere. Tween friends, we should be casual, non?" Remy grinned, slipping an arm around her waist as they danced. Marie-Ange was a good dancer normally, but she was momentarily flustered by the sudden closeness of the clinch.

"Oui, yes. My apoligies." She glanced down at Remy's arm, more to make sure it was there than in any shock. "I think you were right. We all needed a night out. Merci."

"Bein. Remy always needs a night out." He grinned, the light reflecting odd off of his eyes. She started to loosen up a bit, and his smile increased as he discovered that she could dance after all. "Not your first time out, chere?"

"Non, not at all. I went to a few clubs at home, though they were.. more casual with the ages" She laughed, much more relax than she'd beeen only a few minutes before. "Did the names on the ID's really need to be that bad?"

"Course not. It just funnier dat way, Miss Wannago." Remy laughed, pivoted deftly to avoid a sudden lurch by another crowd and pulled her right up against him in the tiny space. "'side, Remy didn't even charge his normal fee for dem."

Marie-Ange felt a flush of heat on her chest and legs as the crowd pressed her and Remy closer together. "I still do not understand that one, or Doug's. Wannago? What does.. "

"Right here? Chere, you more adventurous den Remy thought." He smirked, hand sliding down her back. She blushed crimson, strangled between an indignant denial and an embarassed stutter.

Once the heat in her face had passed, Marie-Ange could look Remy in the eye without wanting to run, or hide, or go die of embarassment somewhere in a dark corner. "You are a terrible person, tricking me into that." She tried to ignore the hand resting low on her back, and tried to forget just how low-cut her pants were. Neither worked. "Do you always use such bad puns on girls you dance with?"

"Course not. Only de pretty ones." Remy said with a wink. "Sides, watching dat Doug homme in de mustache was worth de price of making dem." The beat deepened; pulsed, and Marie found the tempo and bass start to throb as the floor went wild. Remy grinned, right in the centre of the madness and obviously loving it.

Marie-Ange giggled, and leaned her head into Remy's chest. "I just wish someone had taken a picture of that." She could feel the bass in the crowd's movement, and echoing through her own chest and throat.

"Maybe de police after he get drunk and start a fight, non?" Remy joked, the music blasting holes in his words. They danced tightly together, like the rest of the floor. It was a beat disguised as music, and really owned it's origins from lustier places. His fingers spread to hold her lower back, hot spots were each of the tips met skin.

The music, and heat, and alcohol were defninitly taking their effect on Marie-Ange, and every third or fourth time Remy moved, she could swear she could feel bare skin under her hands. ~More to drink than I thought~ "Doug? A fight? I don't think so." She slid her hand down Remy's shoulderblade, feeling tight muscle under the fabric.

"Dat would do de homme a world of good. Getting into a fight lets you loosen up. Mind you, also gets you hurt to." Remy grinned. "Don worry. Remy keep an eye on him." He said. His other hand ran up the curve of her upper thigh and along the edge of her rear before resting on her side.

Marie-Ange grinned back. "I think Amanda's keeping an eye on him. I saw them dancing earlier." She blinked as Remy's hand moved up her side. "Kind.. of.. like this." She said, cautiously.

"Dat somet'ing dat 'manda is good at. Maybe it therapy for de boy." He grinned, as the floor keep them close, crushing between dense groups of gyrating bodies. It was hot under the lights, and the skin under his fingers was slick with sweat.

Marie-Ange let Remy's hand creep up her side just a bit more before gently putting her hand on his arm. "We are .. in public... I do not think"

"Not t' worry, chere." Remy said, bending down to whisper in her ear. "Dey won't notice here even if we both got naked. But you right. Dis is just dancing." She flushed again, and Remy's laugh caught her off guard. "Let go find a drink and see what trouble de others have got into, oui?"

Marie-Ange breathed a small sigh of relief. Remy made her nervous in ways she thought she enjoyed a little too much for her own sake. "Oui, yes." She followed Remy's lead off the floor, trusting in his ability to move through the crowd.

MANUEL/M: I’ve Got The Brains, You’ve Got The Looks

M leaned against the bar, holding a pink cocktail in one hand and her eyes on the dancefloor, a slight smirk on her face. She was ignoring most of her school mates easily, and her attention was now on two girls dancing on the floor, happily unself-conscious and laughing.

Manuel's back at their table, leaning back in his corner seat with a blissful smile upon his face. It might be hard to tell, but his eyes just might be glowing red. He's got a glass of wine in front of him, barely touched. If one looks closely, one _just might_ be able to see a pair of high-heeled shoes under the table, attached to the girl currently ministering to Manuel.

Crowded away from the bar by a group of extremely tipsy football types, Monet sighs and saunters over to the nearly empty table. As she approaches she bends just far enough to peer under, before sliding into a seat and sipping her drink. She lifts one eyesbrow in query.

"Is that the sort of person you're into?" she asks, doubtfully. "Seems a waste."

Manuel shrugs. "She came onto me. Far be it from me to deny her lusts an appropriate outlet..." He then rolls his eyes for just a second, then reaches down to readjust and refasten. His eyes are definitely glowing red, and the girl crawls out from under the table, empties her wallet onto the table, then rejoins the masses on the dance floor.

M lifts her shoulders once in resignation. "Classy." She's mildly disgusted for a second, but then her eyes go back to the dancefloor and the two girls, obviously twins, and smiles thoughtfully, forgetting his presence.

Manuel picks up on her interest easily, and turns his head to look at what she is looking at. "Very nice." he comments. "Quite athletic."

Humming under her breath, M nods. "Pretty. And that one with the shoes? I want to know where she got them." She sips at her drink, quickly. "I think I need to go and introduce myself to those two."

"Want some backup?" Manuel asks laughingly, his eyes still glued to the twins and their movements.

"I wouldn't think I'd need it," she shot him a narrow glance. "Why, are you interested?"

Manuel shrugs and grins. "They seem like worthy conquests." he says as he's scooping the cash on the table into his pocket. "Quite exquisite, for Americans."

M laughs suddenly. "How about this, then. You get the one who doesn't have the shoes, without using your power, and I see if I can persuade the other into some alone time. There are limos available, if you would like more," she glances down at the tabletop, "space. I think it would work better if they were both approached, frankly."

Manuel frowns at this. "Sounds delicious, but I cannot not use my power. I will not actively manipulate, is that sporting enough for you?"

"Do you mean you can't be passive? Receive and not send?" M's brow furrows a little at that thought. "I guess." She swirls the last of the vibrantly pink drink, then laughs. "Y'know? We've been 'pathing most of this?" She mouths that last word more clearly, waving one violently and inappropriately red fingernail at the club in general, taking in the booming music, too loud to easily talk over.

Manuel stops to think about it, and then nods in amazement. "So we have. And I can receive but not send, but I can't not receive and not send. That's what I meant."

"That's cool." M suddenly looks her 16 years as she scowls. "I don't understand guys who need to drug girls to get sex, so. It's just weird and kind of desperate. Still." She finishes her drink, stands and smooths her skirt over her legs. "Let's dance, huh?" She yells, entirely vocally, over the music.

Manuel scowls at that not-quite-offhand comment from Monet. "You've been talking to Remy again." he 'paths, then vocally. "Let's!" And using his newfound mobility and his old dance-school lessons, he joins Monet out on the floor, not coincidentally by where the twins are attracting an audience.

"Remy?" M sent quickly, mind to mind, smiling at her target brightly, laughing as she gets a return smile. "He's a freak."

Manuel's mind shies away from the mention of the Cajun - some words are still too raw, too insistent to be ignored. So the best way to ignore your own feelings is to get invested in someone else's. So he turns up the charm at the other twin, and 'paths over to M a single sentence - "More than you know."

REMY/AMANDA: Only Thing About Me Is The Way I Walk

After leaving Doug dumbfounded on the dance floor, Amanda made her way slowly through the crowd, occasionally distracted by this or that attractive person who wanted to dance with her. Then she noticed a knot of town girls, clumped together in a stillness that confounded the surrounding dancers, and wandered over to see what they were watching.

Remy was in the centre of a mass, working the crowd with a knowing intensity. The fact was that mama Le Beau’s favourite son could dance, and he was enjoying the attention being lavished on him by the townies of Westchester. The accent, body and moves identified him as exotic and intriguing; the keys to unlocking the hearts and knees of the locals. He smiled winningly as each new girl joined the crush, trying to keep up
and attract his attention.

Standing on the outskirts, Amanda couldn't help the grin that appeared as she watched Remy effectively mowing his way through the local girls. 'Ducks in a bloody barrel,' she thought, observing the besotted expressions on the faces of the girls closest to her. She also noted the Cajun's unnatural grace extended to dancing, and decided to enjoy the view a bit longer.

The DJ wasn't bad, Remy finally decided, even as they moved into a harder driving beat. The hands had started early, and each of the girls around him were looking for a sign that they would be the choice for tonight. If he had his way, they all would be, but Remy expected the teachers might have an issue. He kissed a pretty brunette on the ear as she moved into the circle with him, and switched to a close grind with the blonde beside her.

Remy felt another body press against his back, and then grinned as a voice with an English accent murmured in his ear. "Yer goin' t' pick one, or would yer like the six-pack t' go?"

"Remy like t' keep his options open, chere." He said, swinging around to face her. "'sides, thought you had t'ings all set up with dat Ramsey homme?" He teased, dancing close to her even as the circle of girls closed in further.

"Thought the prat could do with some shakin' up - it's painful, the way he's been mopin'. Figured he should learn t' relax some." Amanda snaked her arms around his neck, aware of the venomous looks she was getting from some of the girls around them. "'Sides, tonight, it's all about the dancin'. You got some moves on you, Cajun."

"You didn't know dat before?" Remy joked, leaning down to nip the side of her neck. "Figured you might have picked dat up." Despite her appearance, the collective was sticking close to LeBeau, caught in the dance crush of the club.

"Well, there's dancin' and there's dancin'. An' just because you got one don't always mean you got the other." Amanda smiled mischievously. "Think I've teased yer little girlfriends here enough?"

"Depends if you teasing or not, chere." Remy said, slipping a hand down to squeeze her ass through her jeans. "De backdoor leads to some very dark corners."

"An' deprive the townies of yer presence?" By now the two of them were so close together they seemed joined at the hip, moving in time with that low thudding beat. Amanda pulled Remy's head down to give him a long, thorough kiss, and then released him with a laugh. "I'll catch you later, when yer done breakin' hearts, Cajun," she said, before wriggling out of his grip and back into the crowd.

Remy grinned, and turned back to the girls around him. He shrugged and smiled winningly. "Remy's stepsister. She just wan t' say hi." He lied and moved back into the crowd of them. "So, who want's t' buy Remy a drink?"

M/MANUEL: Was It Good For You?

Manuel lit his cigarette with a practiced flick of his new lighter, and inhaled the fragrant smoke with relish. "Gods, what a day." he commented to no one in particular.

M pulled a tiny comb out of a tiny handbag. "If you say so," she said, cheerfully. She bent over to inspect her reflection in the rear view mirror.

"I needed this." he says, clearly still in good spirits. "It's like coming out to soceity - a really sad and limited soceity, but still." Only another scion of wealth and power would know what he's talking about.

M makes agreeing noises, reapplying her lipstick. She gently rubs her lips together and adds "It's not like I expected a social life, but it's so boring and dull here."

Manuel nods. "And there's only so many times you can play with the others before they grow painfully dull. The twins were an inspired choice, Monet. I am impressed. Did she ever give you that information about her shoes?"

Monet blinks and straightens. "Fuck. She didn't. That bitch!" She loops her handbag over her shoulder with the air of one going to war. "I'm going to go and find her and wring that from her. After that! She couldn't tell me her designer, oh no. Bitch." She turns to return to the club.

Manuel holds out a hand to stop her from doing something truly rash. "Let it go, Monet. They were cheap designer knock-offs. I got a good look at them while you were ... distracted." Exactly how she was distracted, and what she was doing to be so distracted, still brings a grin to the Spaniard's face. "Even you will have to admit that you had your hands full at the time."

Monet laughs a little, remembering. "Oh, she was very interesting, wasn't she? Fine. I'm going back in, though, I haven't finished dancing yet," she says more cheerfully.

"Now _that_ I can definitely get into." he says with a smile. Pulling his jacket around his shoulders, he follows M back into the club, humming the current song being pumped through the club's speakers as he walks right past the doorman and the people still waiting to get in.

REMY/DOUG: The Cajun Eye For The Nerdy Guy

Doug sat on a bar stool, watching the dance floor. He was still a
little worked up and upset about the way Amanda had teased him mercilessly and then left him in the lurch. He watched other couples dance, slightly wistful. He thought briefly about ordering another drink, but feeling the effects of the two shots of vodka, he decided maintaining some level of control was probably a better idea.

Remy slowly emerged from a group of admiring young ladies. He was
finally starting to lose the malnourished look, and his natural agility made him extremely popular on the dance floor. He eased off and waved to the bartender for a drink. As she passed over the drink, he caught sight of Doug on his stool. Sipping, he walked up behind the young man before lighting the match for his cigarette on the post right next to Doug's head. "Evening, homme."

Doug craned his head over a shoulder to see the mysterious Cajun.
Leaning back, both elbows against the bar, he tried to make nice. "Bon soir, Remy. Comment ca va?"

"Tres bein, Doug." Remy's eyes went from the young man to the dance floor. "Why you hiding in de corner here? Dat no way t' pick up de femmes you know." He grinned, seeing the discomfort in the blond teen.

Doug shrugged. "I don't seem to have much in the way of luck with the 'femmes', Remy. Either I'm just a good friend, or convenient for a bit of teasing, and then left high and dry." He was still a little bitter about the way Amanda had riled him up, then melted away into the crowd with a laugh. "So I'm just sitting here watching everyone else have a good time."

Remy leaned up against the pillar, smiling to a girl who waved back as she passed. "Dat might be de reason, homme." He said, not unkindly. "Saw you dancing wit' 'manda earlier. Dat femme got plenty t' share around and don' mind doing dat. Less you looking t' put a ring on her finger, you should be able to make it happen."

Doug shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders. "Well, call me idealistic, or an idiot, or whatever you like, Remy, but I'm not really looking for just a casual roll in the hay. I guess I still believe in true love, even though I haven't exactly had any luck with it. That's not to say I'm looking for forever, because I know I'm a little young for that. Just...something more than simply sex."

"Homme, dat your first mistake. It never just sex, and it never
simple." Remy laughed and took a long swallow of his drink. "So what wrong wit de femmes you like? Why dey not interested. You..." Remy paused. "Well, you not scarred or gross. Dat's a start."

Doug's voice took on a slightly mocking tone. "'You're a great guy, Doug. I'm just not interested.' 'You'll make some girl very happy someday, Doug.'" He sighed. "I'm that guy who is the good friend and nothing more. They're completely uninterested in me in any sort of romantic sense."

"So, you got de friend vibe, and not de other vibe. Makes sense." Remy blew out a plume of smoke at the ceiling. "You ever t'ink maybe you to nice all de time, homme? Dey talk about finding de nice guys all de time, but most femmes want a bit of danger; of excitement in dere hommes."

Doug snorted. "Sure, Remy. Doug Ramsey, man of danger and mystery. It's not me. I mean, look at you. You've got the accent, the mysterious nature, the dark eyes, and all that. You have no problems, judging from the way the girls on the dance floor have been all over you. But that's not me. I'm not that guy."

"True, but dat don' mean you can't be." Remy's eyes glittered. "It's all attitude, homme. Heard you speak all de languages on de planet, but you can't speak body language yet, homme. Look, you dress like you off to de chess club, you act like you scared of your shadow, and look like you going t' burst into tears if a femme turn you down." Remy gestured with his hands. "You've got t' have attitude."

"Oh, I speak body language, Remy. At least enough to read it in others. And yeah, I understand the need to have attitude. But then I'm not being honest about who I am. And what's the point in that?"

"Homme, it not about being someone else. You got t’ learn t’ be confident, or no femme going t’ care how you are. Look, you
ever had to be assertive t' get somet'ing, maybe from you parents or a friend? You been honest 'bout what you want? De fact is dat a femme you like is a femme dat you find attractive. You got t' show her dat without mooning about hoping she notice you." Remy slapped him on the shoulder. "Having guts is different den trying t' be someone different. 'sides, who you are right now is de little brother and best friend, and dat is your problem." Remy pointed out.

Doug shrugged. "So how do I fix it?"

"You got t' grow some stones, homme. Look, let's take dat femme in de tight blue shirt dere. Let's say she was de one you decide you like. What would you do?"

Doug looked at the girl assessingly for a moment, then slumped his
shoulders and sighed. "I have absolutely no idea."

"You a bright homme, Doug. How do you t'ink you might get her attention."

"Talk to her?"

"Good. So, Remy is de blue shirted femme. What you going t' say to me?"

Doug shook his head in frustration. "About all I can come up with is 'Hi, I'm Doug.'"

"See, dat you problem right dere. What dat tell her about you? Says dat you can remember you name. Look, you need t' make de femme interested in knowing you." Remy took another sip. "Like you dance by her, give her a little look. Make sure she see you move. Dey looking for sex much as you, homme. And want dey want is someone dat is confident."

Doug chuckled wryly and waved a hand. "Once again. Things that I am not."

"Nonsense. Look, confidence is all in de mind. Remy look nervous out dere? Non, and why? Cause Remy know in his head dat he can have any femme in de place. Don matter what I look like, Doug. It's all in de mind."

Doug nodded. "I suppose you're right, Remy. I just have absolutely no idea how to get that sort of confidence for myself."

"Tell you what. Remy going t' help you wit you image, you confidence." Remy spread his arms wide. "Remy not have problems wit' de femmes, and no reason you should either." He clapped Doug on the shoulder. "You just trust in Remy, homme, and de women will be lined up outside you door."

Doug chuckled to himself. "Well, what have I got to lose, right? Deal." He stuck out his hand to Remy.

"You just wait, homme. Going make you a whole new Doug." Remy grinned, and Doug got the slightest ominous rumble that this might be harder then it sounds.

MANUEL/CLARICE: Step Into My Parlor

The DJ had put a slower song on the turntable and Clarice weaved her way out of the throngs of people and towards the bar. She ordered a bottle of water and looked around to see if any of the Xavier people were also taking a break.

At a table a little ways from the floor she saw Manuel. She sighed, not wanting to sit with him, but not seeing anyone else she could join. She sat down in the empty chair next to him, trying to hide her annoyance. First she had seen Remy and Amanda making out in a corner, which had pissed her off and now she had to sit with Mannie.

Manuel, for his part, was massaging his aching thighs and trying to drown the pain of his over exertions with alcohol. He's got a snifter of something _very_ potent in front of him, and he's looking at the dancers and the DJs with a somewhat glassy stare. ~You're upset.~ he says to Clarice in Castilian, forgetting to use English.

She just looked at him and rolled her eyes. "English, genius," she replied. "Us poor American plebes only know how to butcher one language."

Manuel sees the spike of hot angry reds coming off of Clarice along with her words, and obediently switches languages. "You. Are. Upset." he says, slowly, in English, for her benefit. Looking around the dance floor, he follows the color of her upset back towards where Remy had Amanda up against the wall. "I see." he adds, smirking. "Do you want me to do something about it?"

Clarice sighed and looked at him amazed, she never thought he would help her. "No, but thanks. Reality and fantasy don't meet once more."

Manuel smirks. His stock-in-trade was making the fantasy come true. "Not necessarily. You want him again, don't you? I can feel it. I could make it happen for you - for a little while."

She shook her head, braids bouncing, "It wouldn't be real. As much as reality can bite, it's what we live in. Or at least, try to. But why do anything nice for me? I thought you hated me."

Manuel manages to look wounded at that allegation. "I? No, surely not! How could you _think_ such a thing? I may grow a little bit irritated with you at times, even become cross, but hate? No, it is not my way to hate anyone! Now that I've had this chance to talk with you, I find myself being drawn to you."

"Don't even try it," she orders, "I don't want you fucking with my head. I can fuck it up just fine without psychic powers."

Manuel looks insulted. "If I was going to 'fuck with your head', as you put it, I would just _do it_ and be done with it. And you'd never know until I chose to let you. So don't threaten me. I do not like threats."

"I'm not threatening you. That would've involved some sort of 'or else' at the end. I'm just telling you, I don't like that sort of thing," Clarice begins to shred the label on the water bottle into little strips.

Manuel just nods to this. "Seriously, though. Why Remy?"

She shrugs, refusing to look at him. “He was there. He…made me think I was pretty,” she laughed dryly, “I don’t know. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Amazing how hindsight can be 20/20.”

Manuel nods in sympathy. "Felt like a good idea at the time. Story of my life. I understand completely. But I must warn you about him - he threatened to kill me the other day. He's dangerous, although he hides it well."

“He did what?” Clarice shrieks in surprise, “Why would he do that?!”

"I don't know why he did it - I'm an empath, not a telepath. All I know is that he meant it, and he wouldn't feel a scrap of remorse or pity or fear about it." Manuel covers his distaste by taking a sip of his beverage. "You would do well to stay away from him."

“I’ll think about it,” Clarice replies, not entirely sure what to think. She had never heard of anyone doing anything like this at the school and didn’t know whom to believe. “Well, I’m going to dance some more, see ya!” Without waiting for a reply, she jumped up and headed back to the dance floor, losing herself in the music.

Manuel watches her normally purple posterior head back out onto the dance floor. "You know, that coloration isn't all that bad..." he muses to himself in Castilian before standing up himself to head back out to the dance floor.

REMY/M/SHINOBI/SARAH: Home For A Rest

“We have got to do this again.” Shinobi said, flushed from the heat and the alcohol. He and Sarah walked from the club, Monet a few steps behind them. “Do you see when Doug got up with Amanda. I thought I was going to die.”

“Best thing for him.” Sarah said, enjoying the night of attention from Shaw and some of the other men at the club. It was nice to not feel like a freak, even if only for a moment. It didn’t make her weak, she thought firmly, helping her unsteady but surprisingly coherent boyfriend.

“Possibly not for the general standard of dancing, but he seemed to have fun.” From Monet that was nearly a compliment. “And you obviously had a good time, Shinobi, you’re pissed as a newt.”

Shinobi grinned happily, waving a hand in the air. “Only half a newt!”

“What’s Remy?” Sarah said, looking around, mentally ready to kick him in the crotch if he was playing another of his hiding games. Shinobi pointed off to the side, where Remy was talking with the bartander. She passed him a piece of paper and he nodded.

“Guess he got her number.”

“And the numbers of half of the girls in the club.” Sarah said, not entirely nastily. A blonde girl came out of the club and slide her arms around Remy’s waist and pulled him towards a cab. He briefly waved in their direction before getting into the cab and heading in the opposite direction.

“I guess he’s sleeping over with her tonight.” Monet snorted. “Must be talking books or something.”

“If something means him pawing her breasts, then yes.”

“It’s certainly interesting to see you relaxed and not trying to be gooder than thou,” Monet grinned, not entirely steady herself.

Shinobi snorts and Sarah clung to her happiness and firmly didn’t let that annoy her. “You had fun being you, I saw,” she said.

“I’m always me,” Monet informed her, then waited while the other two climbed into the limo. “It’s the easiest way.” She gave the interior of the limo a careful look before sitting down, then she squinted at Shinobi and started giggling.

“What?” he asked, falling gently sideways onto Sarah as they started moving.

Being extremely drunk, it took Monet a while to control her giggles sufficiently to answer, and for some reason, every time that she looked at them she started snorting again, in a not remarkably classy way. Eventually though, she was breathing steadily enough to point at the seat they were sitting on. “You... well. You’re sitting on the wet spot!” She shakily said, then curled up into her seat, sniggering again.

MANUEL/CLARICE: Mrs Ferguson, You’ve Got A Lovely Daughter

Manuel looks absolutely wiped - he's been a very busy boy, judging by the wide grin on his face. Most of the others have left already in the limousines or in the cabs, leaving the last trip back to the Mansion for him.

“Hey,” Clarice had tried to grab the cab with Amanda and Jubilee, but Doug had taken her seat. “Have fun?”

Manuel looks over at Clarice, and smiles tiredly. "Yes. You?"

“Mostly, yeah,” she replied. She couldn’t stop thinking about what Manuel had said about Remy or Remy and Amanda. It all just didn’t quite fit. She checked her watch, which was clipped to her skirt, “I should get home soon, and Amanda said that the glamour spell only lasts six hours.”

Manuel yawns, and then motions to the waiting cab. "Get in. It's heading back to the Mansion."

Clarice climbed in, giving the driver the address while Manuel followed. “You fence, right?”

Manuel looks surprised, and then nods. "Not competitively, but yes. Trained with some of the best fencers in Spain."

“Why not competitively? It’s fun,” she began to unbraid her hair, pulling the braids in front of her face.

"It was unseemly for a de la Rocha to compete with the commoners,” he says with absolute honesty. "The blade is a gentleman's weapon, yes, but competition with peasants would just Not Do. I did manage to fence a couple of people in my own class. I was rather good at it, until ..."

“Yeah, yeah ‘until’, lot’s of those around. Y’know, feudalism is dead. There are no more lords and serfs. And America has that so-called ‘life, liberty and pursuit of happiness’ thing,” if nothing else, her teachers couldn’t say that she wasn’t paying attention, even if she didn’t always believe what they told her.

Manuel laughs. "This wasn't in America. And even here, there are the lords and then there are commoners. Here they go by names like Carnegie, Kennedy, Bush..."

Manuel continues on. "So, in Spain, the de la Rocha name is ancient and honored. It is no different here."

“Bush is a hick. And Arnold Schwarzenegger is a Kennedy. It’s a joke.” Clarice didn’t really follow politics, but she had paid some attention to thing that had interested her. The presidential election did not interest her.

Manuel, on the other hand, thinks that politics is slightly less important than breathing. "Aiee, I should have guessed. You're an American, you don't follow politics. Forget I said anything, then."

“Some American’s follow politics. I don’t. Not enough glitter, I guess,” she smiled at him, “My dad does, he shmoozes with all sorts of people at the golf course.”

Manuel tries very hard to look impressed. "I see. Good for him, I guess. Is he the same man who drove you away when you changed?"

“My parents don’t hate me…” even as she spoke the words she realized it wasn’t entirely true, “Well, not really. They didn’t know what to do. And my step-mother and sisters freaked out, but they didn’t kick me out of the house or anything.”

Manuel ahs. "So they didn't know what you were or how to deal with you, so they kicked you out. Is that it?"

“They took me to Xavier’s. I was never ‘kicked out’. Your parents must’ve been thrilled at their son having ‘tainted blood’.” It was a cheap shot and Clarice knew it, but talking about home mad her upset and she didn’t want to cry.

Manuel smiles thinly. "They both hated and blamed me for the problems of the other. They did not know of my power until I was about to leave anyway."

“Are they divorced too?” she asks, understanding. “Or just miserable together and won’t separate for fear of gossip?”

"There is no divorce in Spain. It would not surprise me if my mother were dead. Poison, most likely. Very tragic. Father would find someone new to bear the new de la Rocha heir, since I was...unsuited for the position. Some little girl from a noble house, likely. " He looks honestly devastated by this thought, but rallies quickly.

“I’m sorry,” Clarice saying, giving him an awkward hug. “It sucks the sweat off a dead mans balls. And I thought the step-monster from Neiman Marcus was bad.”

Manuel returns the hug gratefully, but more importantly, he pulls towards him her honest sympathy. "Thank you. It is not easy for me to remember, since I feel it strongly."

Clarice nods, understanding. Her parents had been divorced since she was 10. “We’re back,” she says, nodding towards the front gates.

Manuel looks out the window of the cab. "So we are." he says, still a little shaky. "Come up to my room, later?" he asks quietly. "I don't want to be alone tonight."

“Sure, I need to stop by my room first though,” Clarice handed the driver some money and got out of the cab. “But no funny stuff, okay?”

Manuel just gets incredibly offended at the suggestion. "Never mind, then." he says, icily lifting his chin as he climbs out of the cab. "Forget I said anything. Good evening, senorita."

“Hey! Manuel! Wait!” she grabs his arm as he headed up to the front doors, “I…just don’t want you to cry or anything, that’s all. I’m sorry.”

Manuel rips his arm out from her grip. "Perhaps tomorrow I shall forgive you. But not right now." he says coldly.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers as he heads back into the mansion, before heading around to her bedroom window and blinking inside.