Cammie and Jake and Lady Liberty, Tuesday afternoon

[x-courier.livejournal.com]

Cammie and Jake play tourist and try to look up the Statue of Liberty's skirt. Because yes, they're five. Along the way, they manage to discuss Important Things...and make dirty jokes.



"You know, if the air out here smells good to me you know there's something wrong," Cammie said, standing at the edge of the ferry that was packed with other tourists and people. more people than she generally liked to be around if she wasn't picking wallets and pockets. Large groups of people meant the chances of an accident went up too.

The salty, trashy smelling wind kept stray green hairs out of her face, the braid doing the rest. Even with the bandages the green left hand was visible and she caught the occasional person staring at it. She hated that and kept her hands over the railing.

"It's like they litter it with trash. A great way to say 'Welcome to America'."

Jake smirked at that, leaning on his elbows with his back to the railing. It wasn't often that he got to people-watch without an ulterior motive, and he was enjoying the opportunity. More than that, he enjoyed being on the water with the wind in his hair. It brought up echoes of vague, happy memories without any substance to them, and that was nice.

"The US is ridiculously clean and non-smelly in comparison to most of the rest of the world," he responded. "You all have high standards for your sanitation and garbage disposal."

"Wouldn't know. I've only been here and Canada. Though I guess I was born in Europe. I should tell people that's why I smell," she said with a side grin at Jake, "Think they'll buy it?"

"No," he said, laughing. "Maybe if you tell them you're from Chernobyl."

"Do I look Russian? Or have like three eyes and stuff?" Cammie returned, as the island drew closer. "Of course, I don't have any idea what I am. Besides half crazy mad scientist lady."

"Half crazy mad scientist lady, half nuclear reactor? I could see that." He grinned. "So you've never been to the Statue of Liberty?"

"Nope. Never really cared much about it," Cammie said, "You know, typical American teenager. Except for the case of death causing. That's a bit atypical."

"You kids always have to find some way to rebel, don't you?" he teased, then shifted his voice to a falsetto. "I like punk rock! I'm hardcore! I have green hair and have neverever been to the Statue of Liberty! Take that, Establishment!"

"In the immortal words of Rage Against the Machine 'Fuck you; I won't do what you tell me,'" Cammie said with a laugh. "And I seriously doubt the Establishment gives a rat's ass at my blatant lack of schooling as to the Great American History. So, what did you do to rebel? Wear woman's clothing? Be a girl? Be a turtle? Be some sort of odd turtle girl creature?"

Jake laughed at that. "'Some sort of odd turtle girl creature'?" he echoed. "You are so weird."

He turned around to face the water, watching as Liberty Island loomed over them. "Actually, being a girl was encouraged, for business reasons," he said, eyes fixed on something in the distance. "My parents were all about me learning to use my abilities. No, my big rebellion was majoring in Contemporary English Lit when I went to college."

"I'd blame the drugs for the weird but nothing I tried ever stuck," Cammie said candidly. And that list of attempted drug use was long, "And that's boring rebellion. 'I'm gonna go to school and read books. Fuck you mom and dad!' You could've tried a little harder. Joined a band or something."

He laughed. "I know! But you have to remember, I went to prep school. Everybody did drugs, so that wasn't really rebellion as much as it was accepted teenage behavior. And declaring as a lit major actually did cause a big row with my parents. They didn't understand why I would waste my time on something so frivolous when there were Serious Subjects to be Studied, Jacob." His grin soured at that. "Which was a fight that they won. But I got the lit degree, too."

"Must be great, the only horrible thing you ever did to your parents was choosing to major in books by dead guys," Cammie said, "Dad wanted me to be a doctor. I made it clear early on that I really, really don't have the brain for it. And now, I'm doubly glad I'm just a dumb street kid."

"Yeah, well," Jake muttered. "If it makes you feel any better, my inability to be a cutthroat bastard was also apparently an affront to their sensibilities." He smirked bitterly, pushing himself up from the railing, glad that the ferry was docking. "So. Welcome to Liberty Island, home of Liberty Enlightening the World."

"America," Cammie said, feigning a good deal more respect than she had, "Fuck. Yeah." After a pause she looked over at Jake, "So, we going to the crown to lob spitballs at immigrants?"

He smiled, although it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm pretty sure they frown on that. There was a guy who climbed out of one of the windows once. He fell, bounced off of the statue and landed on the grass just a couple of feet away from a groundskeeper."

"Damn, and there's no real way to top that. Unless.... can we throw you?" she asked brightly.

"No!" He swatted her shoulder lightly. "No throwing. Besides, I'm not very aerodynamic." He glanced up at the crown, which looked a lot higher up from here than it did from the other side of the harbor. "So if you're trying to hit immigrants with spitballs, does that mean I need to stay down here to give you a target?"

Cammie snorted, "No. That means I'd have to go down there too. So we're only going to go for the uncool dirty immigrants."

He raised one eyebrow. "You're stinky. Doesn't that count?"

"Pffft, no. So what if I can't use deodorant? I shower every day. The rest is just my wonderful natural musk," Cammie returned, "It makes me cool."

"Whatever you say," Jake smirked as they disembarked. "So. What sort of history are we learning about here? All I remember is 'Give Me Your Tired and Your Poor,' and I only know that from the cartoons."

"Sorry I don't smell like flowers," Cammie returned, "And I dunno. I just thought it was funny that of all the places you could come into the states, Ellis Island turned down the most. And they house the Statue of Liberty. Irony, you know?"

"Land of the free, but only if you get here?" Jake shrugged, looking around. "Do they have a museum or something?"

"They should," Cammie said, walking towards the statue, "It just killed me that apparently there's a perfect view of this thing from the Reject Room on Ellis. At least I remember Mom talking about that, how it really had to be a soul crushing experience."

"Sucks," Jake agreed. "Now they just don't let you on the plane." They wandered towards the base of the statue. "It looks a lot bigger from down here."

"That's what she said," Cammie said, sniggering.

* * *

"Do you feel learned and enlightened and stuff now that you've looked up the skirt of the vaunted Lady Liberty?" Jake asked as he sat down on the steps overlooking the harbor, a little ways away from the rest of the tourist crowd. They'd grabbed drinks from the gift shop cooler, neither one of them quite ready to head back into the city just yet.

"I learned she doesn't shave," Cammie said happily, even though the pop tasted like carbonated water she drank it. "She is so totally French in that way."

Jake snorted before slurping on his water. "You should write a paper about that. 'The Statue of Liberty is, Like, So Totally French, Yo.' I bet you could get it published."

Cammie laughed, "You think so, huh? Well, I suppose weirder things have gotten published. Ever read any of the many crack theories on mutants?"

"Oh God." Jake rolled his eyes. "Unfortunately, yes. Aliens, alien babies, spores, radiation, pollution..." He shook his head. "I saw one that claimed that mutants were God's retribution for humanity's sins."

"Like zombies!" Cammie exclaimed happily, "In that crappy remake of Dawn of the Dead. There were zombies because hell was too full or some shit like that."

Jake laughed. "I'm pretty sure I'm not a zombie." He leaned back on one hand, taking another drink of water. "So, have you given any thought to your legal issues?"

"Nope," Cammie said blithely, "Why should I? They're not going anywhere."

"Until you get picked up in a bar fight," Jake pointed out, not unkindly. "Then instead of a night in jail, you're looking at serious time."

"Hey," Cammie said, "I quit," she was the picture of innocence. It wasn't a total lie. She was trying to quit. Her goal was to quit getting hit in the damn things. Other than that, it was hard to give up something that was that fun.

"So you're going to live an unremarkable life and hope you never get arrested, or pulled over driving a car, or that no one runs a background check as a condition of employment?" He shook his head. "Seems like a lot of risk to me."

"It's worked so far," Cammie said, "They don't run background checks for real licenses so I'll get my New York ID, take that stupid test, attempt - and likely fail - college and go from there. No one needs to know what I was."

"And they won't if the record's sealed," he countered.

"Whatever, look, I honestly don't think anyone is going to go digging around in my past. Once you get over my Mom, I'm nobody," Cammie pointed out.

"I really don't think anybody who spends time at the mansion can consider themselves 'nobody'," Jake said dryly. "It's my understanding that they don't let normal in the door up there."

"Yeah, I suppose the fact that my hand to hand teacher can't be poisoned and pops claws out of his hands isn't exactly every day stuff," Cammie said with a laugh, "But you can have powers and still be nobody. I'm not one of the leather ballet brigade, and I won't ever be. I'm not a teacher... I'm just a freeloader with a poison arm problem."

His problem, Jake reflected, was that as much as he didn't want to care, he couldn't help but be fascinated by the mansion set and the sheer potential contained within Xavier's walls. "Are you always going to be?"

Cammie shrugged, "Probably. Thieves aren't all that marketable. Neither are one-hit kill punchy people. But it beats living on the streets and I have two jobs that didn't ask questions. It doesn't matter what I might've wanted at one point. It's better just to take what you can get. It might be gone tomorrow, but hey, that's life."

He stared at her incredulously for a moment, then started laughing. "...Really? That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. You're living at Xavier's, where everyone believes that no matter who you are and what you've done you're still one shiny mess of potential, and trying to tell me with a straight face that you've got no way of trying to do whatever you want?" He was shaking with laughter now. "Cheer up, emo kid. People are starting to stare."

"Fuck them. They can stare all they want. And everyone else is shiny happy messes of potential. I'm a shiny happy ball of death. There's a bit of a difference between me and them," she snapped back.

Jake sobered slightly, then held up fingers as he started to count off, pitching his voice low to keep it from carrying. "Logan. Remy. Pete. Cable. All of them astoundingly bad people at one point in their lives. For fuck's sake, Remy still makes me want to shit myself in fear, and he's a pale imitation of the international assassin he once was." He shook his head, suppressing a shudder; despite the weather, he suddenly felt cold. "You killed a high school kid by mistake. He killed heads of state on purpose, and in brutal and imaginative and utterly horrifying ways. You really think that you stack up? Please."

"First, I've killed more than just a high school kid," Cammie returned. Everyone had been a fight or self defense or an accident, "I just never got caught. And I'm glad I'm not a professional killer, because I can ever get over that feeling of sickening abject horror in knowing you've cut someone out of life completely. But look at all the people walking around. I'm packing enough to take down just about everyone here with little more than a tap on a shoulder. Do you know what that feels like?"

"Not a clue," he said flippantly, smirking at her. "But I work with a lot of people who do, and they don't sit around and whine about it."

"Yeah, but I bet those peeople don't have the track record with accidents and random violence," she returned and then shrugged, "Whatever though. I'm still a kid, right? I'm allowed to be all upset about this shit."

"Remy totally threatened to kill me, like, four days ago," Jake laughed. He had the feeling he wasn't going to get much further with Cammie on this--not today, at least. "But yes. You're allowed to be upset about this. And if you're anything like me, you'll find ways to run away from it for as long as possible."

"Yeah. I think most people are good at that. But I don't like running. It's emo, but I do it enough when I'm sleeping," Cammie said. "So for now, we'll leave the record alone, because I'm a ball of fail and it doesn't really matter."

He rolled his eyes at that, but let it go. "So. Anything else you want to do here, or should we allow ourselves to be herded onto the ferry? Ooh--" His eyes lit up. "We could pretend you're green because you're seasick, and you could pretend to throw up on people."

"Or... I could make people vomit. Either way, what fun!" Cammie said brightening up, "So, which shall it be? Maybe a bit of both?"

"You're disgusting," Jake said affectionately, resisting the urge to reach out and ruffle her hair. He pushed himself up off of the steps. "C'mon, you. Let's get you home before you start an international incident."

"Yeah. I bet that's a good thing to do. Since you and your friendly neighborhood spy agency won't cover to me," Cammie said, standing up and stretching, "LAND HO!... or Land whore, I suppose... That dirty, dirty land."

"Let me guess," Jake said dryly, "you're going to try to look up its skirt?"