Marie-Ange and Amanda: Tuesday night, 3AM
Feb. 24th, 2004 03:01 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsAmanda and Marie-Ange try to have a Talk, but in the end, they're just a couple of worn-out teenaged girls, so they talk about boys instead.
She was coping. Of course she was. She didn't need her magic, no, not at all. This was her, coping.
By wandering the halls at 3am in an effort to exhaust her body enough to let her sleep.
Amanda snorted at herself and stuffed her hands into her pockets, trying to control their shaking. She felt the ever-present pack of cigarettes and decided a smoke might be an idea. Inside, though - it wasn't fit for man nor beast out there. She headed for the sunroom; technically it wasn't a smoking-friendly place, but it was close and usually warm and far enough away from the rooms that she wouldn't be disturbed.
The sunroom was barely lit - only a single lamp, pulled up close to the window seat provided any light at all, though it was still warm, and as quiet as ever - a comforting, peaceful kind of quiet. Marie-Ange was curled up in the window seat - the first time she'd been back to the room since the potion incident, though she was Not Thinking About That, in addition to Not Thinking about the Last Week at all. It had not been a good week. An educational week, a week of new and very interesting experiences and thoughts, but not a good week.
Except for certain parts, which had been very good. And she wasn't thinking about those either.
She was, thinking about how very, very difficult it was to properly draw Doug when he was a floor and many meters away, and what had possessed her to try to draw it in the first place.
Driven by thoughts of satisfying one habit in an effort to placate the other, Amanda didn't even notice the light until she'd walked into the sunroom. She stopped, abruptly. Marie-Ange. Shite. They'd talked about talking, on the new bloke's journal, but talking about talking and talking were two different things, especially at 3 in the bloody morning. Then again, it was a perfect time - no-one else would be around to bother them, no classes to interrupt, no distractions at all.
So why did she want to turn and run the other way?
Talking helped. That's what Samson had said, and things had worked out all right with Marie. Amanda fixed this fact in her mind and stood her ground. "Can't sleep again?"
Marie-Ange answered, automatically, before realizing who was asking, and why it undid all her careful planning of Things She Was Not Thinking About. "Yes. I decided to give up trying on nights like this. I don't feel it in the mornings as much any more."
Then she realized who had asked, and broke her pencil point against the sketchpad - making the drawing look as if Doug had an earring. Which he did not.
Marie-Ange forced her breathing to even, and unclenched the pencil from her hand. If she could deal with Manuel, if she could stand down Mister Logan, this was nothing. And if it wasn't nothing, there was a sketchpad full of drawings of Mister Marko on her lap.
Amanda winced at the other girl's reaction. This was the reason why she'd been hiding from people so much lately. She kept telling herself she didn't care what others thought or felt about her, but all that fell flat in the face of these reminders that she'd just about broken some of the people she considered... well, if not friends, then at least people
who were okay to talk to.
"Um, I c'n go if you want..." she said awkwardly, shuffling her feet.
"No, I was startled, but that is all." Marie-Ange's voice was flat, though not harsh. Just very tightly controlled. Had this talk come a week earlier, that control would not have been there. It had never been there before, at least. "If you go, then I will have to keep not talking to you in Art, and I will be left with Shiro, and that will just not do." For a moment, she sounded uncannily like Emma Frost, though only just for that moment - and the effect was lost with the next sentence. "He throws paper mache, you know."
"Paper mache, eh? Never trust an up himself Jap." Amanda started fiddling with the cigarette pack in her pocket again, and then stopped herself, pulling her hands out. "It's been... odd. In class. With you not talkin' t' me." Her fingers drummed against her thigh. "Not a good thing."
Marie-Ange let out a long slow breath. "It has definitely made the class more stressful, and that was my no-stress class." She tilted her head, and watched Amanda carefully. "And if I guess correctly, I am not the only person who needs a no-stress class badly."
"You think?" Realising she was practically vibrating on the spot, Amanda pulled her cigarettes out. "Look, I know this room's one of the no-smoking zones, but it's either this or watch me twitch meself t' death. You mind?"
The temptation to say 'Yes, actually." was nearly overwhelming, but petty revenge, Marie-Ange decided, was probably not the best way to settle this whole mess. Besides, she was certain she didn't want Amanda exploding messily. Brains in her hair once was bad enough. "Go ahead. I don't think the smoke detector works in here anyway. I'm not the only one who uses it as a quiet room."
"Ta. Really. You have no idea..." Amanda came more fully into the room, and grabbed the battered kitchen chair that Marie-Ange and Piotr sometimes used for drawing models - the light in the sunroom was particularly good for sketching. She dragged it as far away from the French girl as she could without having to raise her voice overmuch to talk, and spun it around, sitting on it backwards. She lit up at once, sucking smoke into her lungs greedily, and then put away the lighter and pack as she exhaled. The familiar ritual and the nicotine calmed her, somewhat, although her leg jiggled nervously. "It's 'bout the only thin' that calms me down, lately," she explained, gesturing with the cigarette.
Marie-Ange watched Amanda smoke for a few seconds, muddling over potential conversations in her head. Nothing - and that included random questions about the socks in Manuel's laundry pile - sounded right, or not contrived, or not completely stupid. So she gave up, shrugged, and flipped the sketchpad around. "So, I was thinking Doug needs an earring." She half-smiled, nervously, before mentally giving herself a good kick for mentioning Doug's name.
Amanda grinned at the picture despite herself. "Suits him. An' it would go with the pants." The grin faded and she bit her lip, taking the plunge - if one of them didn't, they'd be here all bloody night. "How's he doin'? I saw him at Ange's party, but I wasn't hangin' around t' ask. Too... well, too difficult, I s'pose."
"He is better than he was, although he still has bad moments. They are less now then they were a few days ago." Marie-Ange sagged back into the seat, obviously relieved to get the subject out into the open. "We - that is, myself, Jamie and Alison, made him see Doctor Samson, and we've been trying to keep him distracted."
"Has he said..." Amanda hesitated, needing to ask, but knowing it wouldn't go down well. Fuck it. She had to know. "Has he said how the potion got loose?"
~Crack~. So much for pencil number two. Marie-Ange silently thanked herself for not using the good pencils - with one broken point, and one broken in half, it wasn't a good night for writing implements. "He said how he got it, but he has no idea how it got out to everyone. He's blaming himself for not getting rid of it."
Amanda breathed out a huge sigh of relief, along with cigarette smoke. "I'm sorry I had t' ask, but... I needed t' know. With all the stuff he's been saying about hatin' himself an' apologising an' all, I was startin' t' think he had used the bloody thing. An'... well, people expect me t' pull that kind of shite, but not Doug. Makes it better, knowing he didn't do it. Didn't want t' be responsible for turnin' him into someone like me." She looked wryly at Marie-Ange's snapped pencil. "Guess I owe you a new pack of those."
Marie-Ange shook her head forcefully, shaking some of her hair off her shoulders. "The pencils aren't important. They're just the ones from the art room, not my good ones." She set her mouth in a tight line, and - more so she wouldn't break another pencil, or dig her nails into her hands again - dug her heels into the cushion of the seat. "I understand why you had to ask. I would have wondered myself if I didn't know it wasn't him."
Amanda crossed her forearms across the chair back and then rested her chin on them, sighing. "Look, I know it's pissed you off, me askin' that, but no-one's told me shit. They expected me t' know, and it doesn't work like that. I dunno who used the potion, or who had it used on them, 'cept what I've been readin' in the journals. All I know is I cancelled out anythin' remotely resembling a love potion for half the fuckin' district, which means there's gunna be some pissed off herbal quacks with a bunch of useless horny goatweed in their stores." She took a comforting drag on her cigarette. "Marie's helped, some, but I still don't know all of it. But if yer gunna make me guess, I'd say that Doug's not the only reason you stopped talkin' t' me, is it?"
Marie-Ange very carefully put down the sketchpad and pencils, placing them far enough away that if she decided to, say, try to brain Amanda with it, it would take more than just one switf motion.
"I don't know who used it, and I am not sure of everyone who got hit, or why. I know Rahne did, but Clarice didn't, so it was not just our room." She leaned back, and stared at the ceiling. "Amanda, Doug -ran- from me, like I was going to hurt him, because he thought I would be mad at him. That stupid potion didn't do all that much to me, and he ran. I don't want to think about how he'd have been if it was someone else who went to find him, and he tried to hide the first five times Alison talked to him, because Lorna got some of the potion."
Marie-Ange stopped, and released the death-grip she had on her knees. "So, no, Doug isn't the only reason. Most of it has been because every time I go to say something, I remember how he looked right before I stopped him from running away. Again. I never, ever want to have to do that again."
"Fuck," said Amanda quietly, but with feeling. Her nails dug into the skin of her forearm, close to drawing blood. "Bloody fucking hell, I've made amess, haven't I? Samson'd better fucking well be right about this sticking around shite, 'cause right now Anywhere But Here's looking good." She looked up at Marie-Ange. "There's never gunna be any fixin' this, is there? Just when I start thinkin' there is, there's a whole bunch of other stuff that turns up an' bites me on the arse. Who'd have thought one bad idea would cause so much... whatever it is you call it." She sighed again. "Hidin' don't work, talkin' don't work - too bad there ain't no time travellers around or I'd be there like a shot. Makes me wonder if it's worth tryin' to get back here after Pete takes me home - I wouldn't be fuckin' yer lives over, that's for sure." The cigarette in her hand was nearly done - she took the last drag and stubbed it out on her jeans, leaving a scorch mark. "I'm sorry, if that's worth anythin' at all to you."
Marie-Ange ran a hand through her hair, pulling it all back from her face. "It is, actually worth a lot. Not the apology, but the rest of what you said. I don't know how to fix this, I don't know how to undo it, or if anything can put the wreck this entire -fucking- month has been." The profanity was definitely odd, coming from the girl - it almost didn't suit her, though the stress and tension in her face certainly warranted a few expletives. "Running won't help, and I don't think hiding does. It didn't for me." She forced her hands out of her hair, and back down to her lap, only to fidget with them there instead. "I don't know what to say. I'm better with writing the words than saying them in English. If it will help, if it will keep you from doing anything like that again, I can try to talk." She leaned forward, clutching her knees. "God knows, I could use it sometimes."
As if Marie-Ange's fidgeting hands prompted her own, Amanda found herself chewing on her thumbnail and fished out the cigarette pack again. Neither habit was a good one, but she would run out of nails far sooner than cigarettes. The lighter was running out of fluid - she had to crank it several times to get a light - but it finally caught. "That's what the shrink says," she said at last, the procedure giving her time to think. "That talkin' helps. An' I can pretty much promise you there's no fuckin' way I'm ever doin' anythin' like this again. 'S why I got Pete t' lock up me stuff - it was the best thin' I could think of t' show people I meant it when I said I was sorry. Time's the other thin', or so they tell me, but in the meantime I'm walking around on eggshells, tryin' not t' break anyone else. Never been so alone, an' I'm surrounded by people." Her voice caught, and she pretended to cough instead. "You an' Jamie, you done good, lookin' after Doug like that."
Marie-Ange let out a long sigh, and hugged her knees, watching Amanda smoke. The patterns of light the end of the cigarette made were oddly eye-catching. "We are trying. He was there when we did something really, really stupid a few months ago, so it is only right. You know, I gave Mister Wisdom the book you lent me, and the cards, right?" She bit her bottom lip nervously. "Because, I don't want you to get kicked out any more than I would want Doug to get hurt. You shouldn't think about leaving. People will stop being strange about it. I know." She let out another sigh. "You heard the rumors about Dr. Essex, right?"
"Pete told me. 'Bout the book an' the cards. Thanks - I can't use 'em, but I appreciate the thought. Meant somethin', havin' someone support me - it ain't easy, givin' it up. I've been doin' magic ever since I can remember, an' somewhere along the way it go t' be the solution t' everythin'. An' yeah, I heard around the traps 'bout the whole Essex thin'. Kidnappin' a teacher? That's somethin' I never had the stones t' do."
"If they, everyone, I think, was willing to talk to us after that, they will stop being nervous around you, I think." Half the sentence was barely audible, almost as if she wanted to gloss over some of the words, and Marie-Ange continued to rest her head on her knees. "I hate this. I don't have any of the words I should have. I just don't hate you, and I don't think you should leave, because I would be wrong to do either one."
The sound of Amanda's chuckle was almost shocking, given the atmosphere in the sunroom. Marie-Ange looked up, surprised.
"Ain't it ironic?" the witch said. "You need t' write to say what you mean, an' I need t' talk."
"I didn't learn English to speak, at first. It is easier with a dictionary to look up the word I want, and I can take my time. None of the words when I am writing have all the feelings attached, and I don't have to worry about making a face, or blushing." Marie-Ange rubbed the back of her neck, wincing at the tension she found. "I can't hide it when I am talking, at least, not yet."
"An' I'm the other way - me schoolin' was pretty patchy when I was with Rack. Lots of Dark Magic an' dead languages an' Keepin' My Mouth Shut lessons, not so much of the readin' an' writin'. I... have trouble trustin' words written down; like you said, there ain't any feelin's attached, an' it's hard t' know what a body really means without 'em." The chuckle came again. "We're a pair, ain't we?"
Amanda's chuckle was soon followed by Marie-Ange's own laughter, though not her normal giggling. This was much more a tired laughter, though full of relief as well as fatigue. "You would never guess, looking at us, that we would ever even speak together, much less be able to speak now."
"Who says we are? Maybe we've both gone nuts an' we're hallucinatin' this whole thing," Amanda said. It felt good to laugh, even better to laugh with someone. She rested her chin on her arms again, looking at Marie-Ange intently. Yep, no mistaking it - the girl had a lovebite on her neck. She'd done a cover-up job earlier, but the make-up was wearing off. "Yeah, got t' be. 'Cause there is no way I'm seein' what I'm seein' on the neck of our pure Catholic virgin." She kept the tone light, teasing just a little. Laughing with Marie-Ange had put her in mind of some of their conversations over divination technique testing.
Even in the barely-lit sunroom, the blush that crept up Marie-Ange's face was visible as she reached up to touch the slight discoloration on her neck. "I thought I covered that." She ducked her head, laughing nervously. "I really hope you are the first person who noticed that.. this is definitely not something I need to explain. It would be awkward."
"I doubt half our fainting blossoms would know what they were lookin' at, if they saw it. You did a good job of coverin' it." Amanda noted the girl's embarrassment - it was hard not to, with the blush - and decided to say nothing else. Even if she was insanely curious.
That lasted all of two seconds. "You probably don't want t' talk about it, but..." She left it hanging there.
Marie-Ange half-smirked. The expression would have been a smirk, if she hadn't also been blushing and trying to look at her own neck at the same time. "Clarice would know, I think, and Kitty. Only, Kitty is the last person I want to have to explain this to, because it would mean explaining it to Jamie, which would mean explaining it to Doug. Who would go spare and not understand, not one bit." She barely paused for a breath, continuing, obviously just needing to talk about it. "This has just been the strangest week, and I don't know if its going to get less strange any time soon."
"Definitely 'strange'," Amanda agreed. She raised an eyebrow. "I'm not gunna need t' give you the safe sex talk, am I, you little French tart?" A hint of a grin showed she was still teasing.
Marie-Ange shook her head, now snickering through the blush. "No, the nuns talked about that, even if they lied about the rest of it. They said it was supposed to hurt, and, suddenly, I am thinking that listening to Catholic nuns talk about sex and believing them was not a very good idea. Sister Beatrice was cranky about a lot of things that turned out to be fun."
"That's the spirit. An' what would a bleedin' nun know 'bout sex? Not even the mother of Jesus done it, accordin' t' them." Amanda snorted and took the last puff of her cigarette. "But I'm serious - you need t' ask anythin', you come t' me. I don't know shite about the love part, but the rest?" She grinned wickedly. "Could tell you some tales that'd make yer hair curl."
"I don't suppose you could explain the handcuffs, then?" Marie-Ange tilted her head, affecting an almost-innocent look. "The ones in Manuel's closet? Because I couldn't bear to ask him."
Smoke exploded from Amanda's lungs, as she burst out laughing. "Fuck, I wondered where those had got to. You little cow, you ain't half as innocent as you make out, are you?" An evil grin slid across her face. "You want the gory details?"
Marie-Ange lost her control over the facade, and doubled over, snickering. "No, no, I really don't, but I had to ask, just the once. " She thought for a minute, then shook her head. "Okay, I do want them. I'm dying of curiosity."
Amanda got off her chair and came over to the window seat. "Right," she said, "The thing about handcuffs is..."
She was coping. Of course she was. She didn't need her magic, no, not at all. This was her, coping.
By wandering the halls at 3am in an effort to exhaust her body enough to let her sleep.
Amanda snorted at herself and stuffed her hands into her pockets, trying to control their shaking. She felt the ever-present pack of cigarettes and decided a smoke might be an idea. Inside, though - it wasn't fit for man nor beast out there. She headed for the sunroom; technically it wasn't a smoking-friendly place, but it was close and usually warm and far enough away from the rooms that she wouldn't be disturbed.
The sunroom was barely lit - only a single lamp, pulled up close to the window seat provided any light at all, though it was still warm, and as quiet as ever - a comforting, peaceful kind of quiet. Marie-Ange was curled up in the window seat - the first time she'd been back to the room since the potion incident, though she was Not Thinking About That, in addition to Not Thinking about the Last Week at all. It had not been a good week. An educational week, a week of new and very interesting experiences and thoughts, but not a good week.
Except for certain parts, which had been very good. And she wasn't thinking about those either.
She was, thinking about how very, very difficult it was to properly draw Doug when he was a floor and many meters away, and what had possessed her to try to draw it in the first place.
Driven by thoughts of satisfying one habit in an effort to placate the other, Amanda didn't even notice the light until she'd walked into the sunroom. She stopped, abruptly. Marie-Ange. Shite. They'd talked about talking, on the new bloke's journal, but talking about talking and talking were two different things, especially at 3 in the bloody morning. Then again, it was a perfect time - no-one else would be around to bother them, no classes to interrupt, no distractions at all.
So why did she want to turn and run the other way?
Talking helped. That's what Samson had said, and things had worked out all right with Marie. Amanda fixed this fact in her mind and stood her ground. "Can't sleep again?"
Marie-Ange answered, automatically, before realizing who was asking, and why it undid all her careful planning of Things She Was Not Thinking About. "Yes. I decided to give up trying on nights like this. I don't feel it in the mornings as much any more."
Then she realized who had asked, and broke her pencil point against the sketchpad - making the drawing look as if Doug had an earring. Which he did not.
Marie-Ange forced her breathing to even, and unclenched the pencil from her hand. If she could deal with Manuel, if she could stand down Mister Logan, this was nothing. And if it wasn't nothing, there was a sketchpad full of drawings of Mister Marko on her lap.
Amanda winced at the other girl's reaction. This was the reason why she'd been hiding from people so much lately. She kept telling herself she didn't care what others thought or felt about her, but all that fell flat in the face of these reminders that she'd just about broken some of the people she considered... well, if not friends, then at least people
who were okay to talk to.
"Um, I c'n go if you want..." she said awkwardly, shuffling her feet.
"No, I was startled, but that is all." Marie-Ange's voice was flat, though not harsh. Just very tightly controlled. Had this talk come a week earlier, that control would not have been there. It had never been there before, at least. "If you go, then I will have to keep not talking to you in Art, and I will be left with Shiro, and that will just not do." For a moment, she sounded uncannily like Emma Frost, though only just for that moment - and the effect was lost with the next sentence. "He throws paper mache, you know."
"Paper mache, eh? Never trust an up himself Jap." Amanda started fiddling with the cigarette pack in her pocket again, and then stopped herself, pulling her hands out. "It's been... odd. In class. With you not talkin' t' me." Her fingers drummed against her thigh. "Not a good thing."
Marie-Ange let out a long slow breath. "It has definitely made the class more stressful, and that was my no-stress class." She tilted her head, and watched Amanda carefully. "And if I guess correctly, I am not the only person who needs a no-stress class badly."
"You think?" Realising she was practically vibrating on the spot, Amanda pulled her cigarettes out. "Look, I know this room's one of the no-smoking zones, but it's either this or watch me twitch meself t' death. You mind?"
The temptation to say 'Yes, actually." was nearly overwhelming, but petty revenge, Marie-Ange decided, was probably not the best way to settle this whole mess. Besides, she was certain she didn't want Amanda exploding messily. Brains in her hair once was bad enough. "Go ahead. I don't think the smoke detector works in here anyway. I'm not the only one who uses it as a quiet room."
"Ta. Really. You have no idea..." Amanda came more fully into the room, and grabbed the battered kitchen chair that Marie-Ange and Piotr sometimes used for drawing models - the light in the sunroom was particularly good for sketching. She dragged it as far away from the French girl as she could without having to raise her voice overmuch to talk, and spun it around, sitting on it backwards. She lit up at once, sucking smoke into her lungs greedily, and then put away the lighter and pack as she exhaled. The familiar ritual and the nicotine calmed her, somewhat, although her leg jiggled nervously. "It's 'bout the only thin' that calms me down, lately," she explained, gesturing with the cigarette.
Marie-Ange watched Amanda smoke for a few seconds, muddling over potential conversations in her head. Nothing - and that included random questions about the socks in Manuel's laundry pile - sounded right, or not contrived, or not completely stupid. So she gave up, shrugged, and flipped the sketchpad around. "So, I was thinking Doug needs an earring." She half-smiled, nervously, before mentally giving herself a good kick for mentioning Doug's name.
Amanda grinned at the picture despite herself. "Suits him. An' it would go with the pants." The grin faded and she bit her lip, taking the plunge - if one of them didn't, they'd be here all bloody night. "How's he doin'? I saw him at Ange's party, but I wasn't hangin' around t' ask. Too... well, too difficult, I s'pose."
"He is better than he was, although he still has bad moments. They are less now then they were a few days ago." Marie-Ange sagged back into the seat, obviously relieved to get the subject out into the open. "We - that is, myself, Jamie and Alison, made him see Doctor Samson, and we've been trying to keep him distracted."
"Has he said..." Amanda hesitated, needing to ask, but knowing it wouldn't go down well. Fuck it. She had to know. "Has he said how the potion got loose?"
~Crack~. So much for pencil number two. Marie-Ange silently thanked herself for not using the good pencils - with one broken point, and one broken in half, it wasn't a good night for writing implements. "He said how he got it, but he has no idea how it got out to everyone. He's blaming himself for not getting rid of it."
Amanda breathed out a huge sigh of relief, along with cigarette smoke. "I'm sorry I had t' ask, but... I needed t' know. With all the stuff he's been saying about hatin' himself an' apologising an' all, I was startin' t' think he had used the bloody thing. An'... well, people expect me t' pull that kind of shite, but not Doug. Makes it better, knowing he didn't do it. Didn't want t' be responsible for turnin' him into someone like me." She looked wryly at Marie-Ange's snapped pencil. "Guess I owe you a new pack of those."
Marie-Ange shook her head forcefully, shaking some of her hair off her shoulders. "The pencils aren't important. They're just the ones from the art room, not my good ones." She set her mouth in a tight line, and - more so she wouldn't break another pencil, or dig her nails into her hands again - dug her heels into the cushion of the seat. "I understand why you had to ask. I would have wondered myself if I didn't know it wasn't him."
Amanda crossed her forearms across the chair back and then rested her chin on them, sighing. "Look, I know it's pissed you off, me askin' that, but no-one's told me shit. They expected me t' know, and it doesn't work like that. I dunno who used the potion, or who had it used on them, 'cept what I've been readin' in the journals. All I know is I cancelled out anythin' remotely resembling a love potion for half the fuckin' district, which means there's gunna be some pissed off herbal quacks with a bunch of useless horny goatweed in their stores." She took a comforting drag on her cigarette. "Marie's helped, some, but I still don't know all of it. But if yer gunna make me guess, I'd say that Doug's not the only reason you stopped talkin' t' me, is it?"
Marie-Ange very carefully put down the sketchpad and pencils, placing them far enough away that if she decided to, say, try to brain Amanda with it, it would take more than just one switf motion.
"I don't know who used it, and I am not sure of everyone who got hit, or why. I know Rahne did, but Clarice didn't, so it was not just our room." She leaned back, and stared at the ceiling. "Amanda, Doug -ran- from me, like I was going to hurt him, because he thought I would be mad at him. That stupid potion didn't do all that much to me, and he ran. I don't want to think about how he'd have been if it was someone else who went to find him, and he tried to hide the first five times Alison talked to him, because Lorna got some of the potion."
Marie-Ange stopped, and released the death-grip she had on her knees. "So, no, Doug isn't the only reason. Most of it has been because every time I go to say something, I remember how he looked right before I stopped him from running away. Again. I never, ever want to have to do that again."
"Fuck," said Amanda quietly, but with feeling. Her nails dug into the skin of her forearm, close to drawing blood. "Bloody fucking hell, I've made amess, haven't I? Samson'd better fucking well be right about this sticking around shite, 'cause right now Anywhere But Here's looking good." She looked up at Marie-Ange. "There's never gunna be any fixin' this, is there? Just when I start thinkin' there is, there's a whole bunch of other stuff that turns up an' bites me on the arse. Who'd have thought one bad idea would cause so much... whatever it is you call it." She sighed again. "Hidin' don't work, talkin' don't work - too bad there ain't no time travellers around or I'd be there like a shot. Makes me wonder if it's worth tryin' to get back here after Pete takes me home - I wouldn't be fuckin' yer lives over, that's for sure." The cigarette in her hand was nearly done - she took the last drag and stubbed it out on her jeans, leaving a scorch mark. "I'm sorry, if that's worth anythin' at all to you."
Marie-Ange ran a hand through her hair, pulling it all back from her face. "It is, actually worth a lot. Not the apology, but the rest of what you said. I don't know how to fix this, I don't know how to undo it, or if anything can put the wreck this entire -fucking- month has been." The profanity was definitely odd, coming from the girl - it almost didn't suit her, though the stress and tension in her face certainly warranted a few expletives. "Running won't help, and I don't think hiding does. It didn't for me." She forced her hands out of her hair, and back down to her lap, only to fidget with them there instead. "I don't know what to say. I'm better with writing the words than saying them in English. If it will help, if it will keep you from doing anything like that again, I can try to talk." She leaned forward, clutching her knees. "God knows, I could use it sometimes."
As if Marie-Ange's fidgeting hands prompted her own, Amanda found herself chewing on her thumbnail and fished out the cigarette pack again. Neither habit was a good one, but she would run out of nails far sooner than cigarettes. The lighter was running out of fluid - she had to crank it several times to get a light - but it finally caught. "That's what the shrink says," she said at last, the procedure giving her time to think. "That talkin' helps. An' I can pretty much promise you there's no fuckin' way I'm ever doin' anythin' like this again. 'S why I got Pete t' lock up me stuff - it was the best thin' I could think of t' show people I meant it when I said I was sorry. Time's the other thin', or so they tell me, but in the meantime I'm walking around on eggshells, tryin' not t' break anyone else. Never been so alone, an' I'm surrounded by people." Her voice caught, and she pretended to cough instead. "You an' Jamie, you done good, lookin' after Doug like that."
Marie-Ange let out a long sigh, and hugged her knees, watching Amanda smoke. The patterns of light the end of the cigarette made were oddly eye-catching. "We are trying. He was there when we did something really, really stupid a few months ago, so it is only right. You know, I gave Mister Wisdom the book you lent me, and the cards, right?" She bit her bottom lip nervously. "Because, I don't want you to get kicked out any more than I would want Doug to get hurt. You shouldn't think about leaving. People will stop being strange about it. I know." She let out another sigh. "You heard the rumors about Dr. Essex, right?"
"Pete told me. 'Bout the book an' the cards. Thanks - I can't use 'em, but I appreciate the thought. Meant somethin', havin' someone support me - it ain't easy, givin' it up. I've been doin' magic ever since I can remember, an' somewhere along the way it go t' be the solution t' everythin'. An' yeah, I heard around the traps 'bout the whole Essex thin'. Kidnappin' a teacher? That's somethin' I never had the stones t' do."
"If they, everyone, I think, was willing to talk to us after that, they will stop being nervous around you, I think." Half the sentence was barely audible, almost as if she wanted to gloss over some of the words, and Marie-Ange continued to rest her head on her knees. "I hate this. I don't have any of the words I should have. I just don't hate you, and I don't think you should leave, because I would be wrong to do either one."
The sound of Amanda's chuckle was almost shocking, given the atmosphere in the sunroom. Marie-Ange looked up, surprised.
"Ain't it ironic?" the witch said. "You need t' write to say what you mean, an' I need t' talk."
"I didn't learn English to speak, at first. It is easier with a dictionary to look up the word I want, and I can take my time. None of the words when I am writing have all the feelings attached, and I don't have to worry about making a face, or blushing." Marie-Ange rubbed the back of her neck, wincing at the tension she found. "I can't hide it when I am talking, at least, not yet."
"An' I'm the other way - me schoolin' was pretty patchy when I was with Rack. Lots of Dark Magic an' dead languages an' Keepin' My Mouth Shut lessons, not so much of the readin' an' writin'. I... have trouble trustin' words written down; like you said, there ain't any feelin's attached, an' it's hard t' know what a body really means without 'em." The chuckle came again. "We're a pair, ain't we?"
Amanda's chuckle was soon followed by Marie-Ange's own laughter, though not her normal giggling. This was much more a tired laughter, though full of relief as well as fatigue. "You would never guess, looking at us, that we would ever even speak together, much less be able to speak now."
"Who says we are? Maybe we've both gone nuts an' we're hallucinatin' this whole thing," Amanda said. It felt good to laugh, even better to laugh with someone. She rested her chin on her arms again, looking at Marie-Ange intently. Yep, no mistaking it - the girl had a lovebite on her neck. She'd done a cover-up job earlier, but the make-up was wearing off. "Yeah, got t' be. 'Cause there is no way I'm seein' what I'm seein' on the neck of our pure Catholic virgin." She kept the tone light, teasing just a little. Laughing with Marie-Ange had put her in mind of some of their conversations over divination technique testing.
Even in the barely-lit sunroom, the blush that crept up Marie-Ange's face was visible as she reached up to touch the slight discoloration on her neck. "I thought I covered that." She ducked her head, laughing nervously. "I really hope you are the first person who noticed that.. this is definitely not something I need to explain. It would be awkward."
"I doubt half our fainting blossoms would know what they were lookin' at, if they saw it. You did a good job of coverin' it." Amanda noted the girl's embarrassment - it was hard not to, with the blush - and decided to say nothing else. Even if she was insanely curious.
That lasted all of two seconds. "You probably don't want t' talk about it, but..." She left it hanging there.
Marie-Ange half-smirked. The expression would have been a smirk, if she hadn't also been blushing and trying to look at her own neck at the same time. "Clarice would know, I think, and Kitty. Only, Kitty is the last person I want to have to explain this to, because it would mean explaining it to Jamie, which would mean explaining it to Doug. Who would go spare and not understand, not one bit." She barely paused for a breath, continuing, obviously just needing to talk about it. "This has just been the strangest week, and I don't know if its going to get less strange any time soon."
"Definitely 'strange'," Amanda agreed. She raised an eyebrow. "I'm not gunna need t' give you the safe sex talk, am I, you little French tart?" A hint of a grin showed she was still teasing.
Marie-Ange shook her head, now snickering through the blush. "No, the nuns talked about that, even if they lied about the rest of it. They said it was supposed to hurt, and, suddenly, I am thinking that listening to Catholic nuns talk about sex and believing them was not a very good idea. Sister Beatrice was cranky about a lot of things that turned out to be fun."
"That's the spirit. An' what would a bleedin' nun know 'bout sex? Not even the mother of Jesus done it, accordin' t' them." Amanda snorted and took the last puff of her cigarette. "But I'm serious - you need t' ask anythin', you come t' me. I don't know shite about the love part, but the rest?" She grinned wickedly. "Could tell you some tales that'd make yer hair curl."
"I don't suppose you could explain the handcuffs, then?" Marie-Ange tilted her head, affecting an almost-innocent look. "The ones in Manuel's closet? Because I couldn't bear to ask him."
Smoke exploded from Amanda's lungs, as she burst out laughing. "Fuck, I wondered where those had got to. You little cow, you ain't half as innocent as you make out, are you?" An evil grin slid across her face. "You want the gory details?"
Marie-Ange lost her control over the facade, and doubled over, snickering. "No, no, I really don't, but I had to ask, just the once. " She thought for a minute, then shook her head. "Okay, I do want them. I'm dying of curiosity."
Amanda got off her chair and came over to the window seat. "Right," she said, "The thing about handcuffs is..."
