Vanessa & Jean-Paul, Tuesday Evening (backdated)

[x-quebecois.livejournal.com]

Vanessa (having borrowed Laura's body) and Jean-Paul run off to a 24-hour diner - against doctor's orders - to eat ridiculous amounts of bacon. Hijinks ensue.


Vanessa squirmed where she sat in the booth. She was trying really hard to not scratch her stitches but they were about eighty times more itchy since she'd acquired Laura's healing factor. Simultaneously she was trying to convince her body that no, really, she wasn't still hungry after two plates of french toast, a stack of pancakes and an omelet. In fact, she was close to having consumed her entire body weight in food. Except her stupid, itching stomach was about to growl at her and the waitress was going to love them for life for the sheer amount of money Jean-Paul and herself were going to be spending here. "Jesus. It won't. Stop. Itching!"

"This is very strange," Jean-Paul said, tone conversational as he gestured toward her with his fork. "You look as though you are doing the... what is it called? The pee-dance? In your seat. As though you were four." Then he stabbed another bit of his stack of four pancakes and ate it, humming quietly because they were good. Sleazy diners always had the best pancakes. There were three orders of sausage and two of bacon that he was also making his way through, though apparently the fruit salad offered on the menu was merely there for the amusement of the cooks and wait staff, since it didn't actually exist.

She stilled suddenly and looked for all the world like she was sulking. "Stitches itch, aye? But they don't usually itch this badly. No wonder dogs try to chew the bastards out all the time." Vanessa nearly started up again but schooled herself when she saw their waitress and flagged her down. "Could I get another stack of pancakes?"

The girl raised her eyebrow. "That all?"

"Ye-no." Damnit. She should just give in, give her body whatever it wanted so it could heal and the itching would stop. "Toast and ... three orders of bacon." Bacon, because grease cured all things, right?"

The girl wrote it all down with a nod. "Alright, get it out to ya as quick as I can," she said, gum snapping as she spoke.

Vanessa watched the waitress go off and began to drum her fingers against the table. She didn't pay any attention to the group of twenty-something year old guys making their way past the table. No, Vanessa was too busy taking up her new, personal mantra of, I'm going to sit still. I'm going to sit still. I'm going to sit still. I'm going to poke myself in the eye with a spoon. No, no, no. I'm going to sit still.

Jean-Paul ate an entire sausage link in one bite and picked up a second, smirking as he chewed. "The sausage is very good. I think you will like the bacon. It is possible that you should eat more protein." He noticed the younger men, there were four of them, and they seemed more rough around the edges in a very real way than the faux-rough some people thought was so popular. "Oui, ma petite, I believe more bacon would be wise." He kept his eyes on Morgan, though he was very aware of the group of men when they stopped walking somewhat closer than was entirely necessary.

"Right. Protein. Check. God, Laurie's going to lecture me for ages on how pancakes are not the answer, isn't she?" It was entirely logical, too. Protein gave you more lasting energy while carbs gave you that sort of kick in the face energy rush. No wonder she was so fucking hungry. If she still needed food after the pancakes she was going all protein. Burger. Or steak. No, they probably didn't have steak here so burger it was. Maybe she could change her order. No, she'd just get glared at for that.

The internal argument going on kept Vanessa from caring about the guys standing around nearby. It kept her from noticing they were staring at her or the fact that their eyes were particularly interested in the expanse of bared leg. The short shorts were practical, but they didn't do much for coverage. Then again, what did she care about coverage for?

"Hey, why don't you come hang with us instead of your dad?" One of the guys finally asked when she didn't look up at them.

An eyebrow quirked and Vanessa's head turned slowly. Unimpressed could have been a very apt description of her expression. "He's not my da and how 'bout you keep on walking?"

The hands that came to rest on the end of their table were a clear sign he had no intention of going anywhere. He tried for a flirtatious smirk but it just looked arrogant. "You look like you like havin' a good time. You'll have a real good time with us." The other three chimed in with their agreement.

His tone slightly bored, Jean-Paul said, "I do not think she is interested. And so you should leave. Now." His burns were healing, though not healed, but they were also entirely covered by his clothing and so there was no way for the group of men to realise he wasn't entirely fit. For that matter, he'd probably be able to move a great deal more quickly than them, even injured, and he still had one good arm.

Jean-Paul did not like people who insisted upon being rude.

It was a calculated insult when he waved the man off with his fork before eating another sausage.

The man with his hands on the table glanced toward Jean-Paul, eyes narrowing as he said, "Wasn't talkin' to you, Frenchie. What don't you pay for my friend's food here and we'll forget you decided to stick your face in where it wasn't wanted."

Again, his friends chimed in with a background-quality murmur of agreement.

"Firstly," Jean-Paul said, putting his fork down carefully. "I am French-Canadian. And secondly, I will - "

"You'll what, grandpa? Squeal and tattle on us? We're just having a friendly type conversation," the leader said, eyes sliding back toward Morgan. He reached for her wrist, fingers tightening around it as he began attempting to pull her from the booth.

Being a dick she could wave off. Thinking you were entitled to something she could mostly ignore without caring too much about you one way or another. But the minute he put his hands on her Vanessa went immediately from annoyed to pissed. Simultaneously she twisted and jerked her wrist out of his grasp and two, long claws erupted from between her knuckles.

Vanessa stood, a snarl twisting Laura's lips angrily, and she went with the anger. She went with the claws and had them poised at the guy's throat. "Don't you ever touch me again or I will take your hands and your balls and mail them back to your parents with a note about what an asshole they raised."

The three men behind the leader started to move, but Jean-Paul was out of his seat before any of them could do more than take a step. Placing himself between them and the first man, he let a cold sort of smile curl up the corners of his lips and said, voice very soft, "That would be unwise, my grimy friends. Very, very unwise."

"Freaks," the leader half-stuttered. He backed away from Morgan so quickly that he ran into Jean-Paul, but he didn't seem very interested in pursuing the conversation. "They're both freaks." His words held just the slightest note of fear.

The snarl turned into a wicked little smirk. The bloke with the mouth may have been backing away but for every step he took she took one as well, keeping him at the tips of her borrowed claws. Her voice lowered to a purr. "Kiss, kiss, lover. What, don't wanna party now?"

Jean-Paul tsked softly, hands held loosely at his sides as he watched the fear in the leader's eyes grow. "Come, mon ami - your food will be here shortly and these men, they are dull, are they not?" She'd just started to pass him when he hooked two fingers in the belt loop at the back of her shorts. "And I believe the scrawny one has soiled himself. You need not dirty your very pretty claws with them, I think."

"Aye, love." But her eyes were on the fear-filled ones of the guy in front of her. Vanessa let Jean-Paul's hold on her shorts restrain her and even stopped moving completely. The way her head tilted and the calculating look on her face looked for all the world as if she were considering what they might all taste like with some steak sauce. Vanessa lowered the claws, her hand not down at her side but rather ready to strike if someone did something stupid. "I really am hungry."

The scrawny man in question was the first one to the door of the diner, then outside, followed quickly by the leader and the other two minions. Once they were gone, Jean-Paul tugged lightly on the belt loop, then released it. His tone was wry when he said, "You really are hungry?"

Vanessa let her shoulders slump. "Yeah. I dunno where I'm putting it all." Her finger turned down so it was perpendicular to the still extended claws and she poked at the center of her stomach where it hadn't been torn up. "I assume it's feeding into the healing factor." She shuffled off back to the table and flopped down onto the bench on her side of the booth. A strip of bacon was promptly stolen from Jean-Paul.

While she chomped the the bacon Vanessa shook her other hand. "I dunno how to get them to go back in."

Eyes lingering on the door, Jean-Paul waited until he was sure the men wouldn't be making a reappearance, then slid carefully back into the booth and attempted to ignore the pain in his side and back as he did. Morgan's last sentence registered for him only a moment later and his brows rose as he pushed one of his servings of sausage toward her. "Well, how did they come out?"

She shrugged and looked very much like a petulant teenager. "I dunno, they just did. And it hurt." Once the bacon was gone she rubbed at her other hand where the bone claws came out of her hand. It didn't hurt anymore but she remembered it hurting when they had emerged. Laura said there was a muscle that did it, right? But Vanessa couldn't figure out where that muscle was now that she needed them back inside.

Pursing his lips on a smile that was likely entirely inappropriate, Jean-Paul nodded said, "Maybe attempt to relax your hand?" There was no reason to find this amusing, really - except for the expression on Morgan's face.

Their waitress turned up just then with all the food Morgan had ordered and put it on the table, then cleared away the dishes that were empty, doing an admirable job at not flat-out staring at the claws. "Uh... anything else?"

"A few more servings of sausage, please," Jean-Paul said. "And bacon, also."

"Sure." She turned to look at Morgan. "Anything else?"

Vanessa was back to shaking her hand but when addressed she stopped and began to massage the muscles in her forearm. The waitress received a dazzling attempt at an innocent smile, the sort you wore when you were clearly up to no good. Vanessa was willing to bet Laura's face wore mischief well. "Something protein-like? Ham? Do you have ham?"

The waitress smiled, but it looked a little nervous. She wasn't entirely sure what the girl with the claws was going to do even if she'd been perfectly nice this whole time. "We've got ham."

"Awesome!" There was slightly too much enthusiasm in Vanessa's voice. "Can I have ham, too, then?"

"Sure." The waitress began to edge away from the table, moving backward casually enough that it wouldn't look strange to most people.

Vanessa put her hands up in a gesture of surrender. "They're not my weapons! I'm just borrowing them and I don't know how to put them away!" Then, in a grumble, she added, "I didn't know I was getting the combat model until I'd already spent over two hours holding hands and sleeping during a bad vampire comedy."

The waitress relaxed a little and turned to shuffle off to the kitchen.

Jean-Paul started coughing in a weak attempt to hide the fact that he was laughing. "The... combat model?" He shook his head. "You should get something with cheese as well." He ate another bite of his pancakes, swallowing before resting his good hand against his side. If he kept laughing, he was going to wind up getting a stitch there and it would be painful.

"She only told me 'healing factor,'" Vanessa defended with a bit more whine in her voice than was dignified. "Then after she was all 'well I've got lots of sandals for the claws.'" Vanessa extended a leg so she could raise her foot high enough for Jean-Paul to see the claw that had popped out there. "That's going to make walking hard, I think."

He was trying. Jean-Paul really, really was. He just couldn't help the fact that this situation was entirely ridiculous. Maybe it was the pain medication he was on. He had to put his fork down again, pressing his hand a little harder against his side as he laughed. It was mostly silent, at least, but it did hurt. "Mon Dieu, Morgan. I cannot breathe."

"Yeah, about that." Her voice was suddenly very conversational while she tucked her clawed foot back under the table. "My name's not actually Morgan." Jean-Paul, more than any other in a way, had more than proved himself worthy of trust. He'd committed an illegal, and perhaps unspeakable, act for her. It was high time she tell him her real name. Besides, as she'd realized when Laura had asked her name, she didn't feel like Morgan anymore.

His laughter fading, Jean-Paul felt his expression move from amusement to confusion to a strange sort of wariness. "Pardon?"

She traced little circles with her claws on the table, light enough to not scratch it. "Carlysle. My name's Vanessa Carlysle. I stopped using it when my mother kicked me out. The guys all used it when Aleister took me out of the brothel but I was wearing other people and having other personas so much that Ness was more a codename when I called in than anything else. Too noticeable being blue. And eighteen." She shrugged a little. "I picked a name and crafted a personality to go with it, just like for my mimics, when I came here. I didn't plan on staying so no one needed to know me and I didn't want to connect the school to my mercenary crew. They didn't need that trouble showing up at the door for helping me. Only I did stay and the persona dropped away and," she shrugged. "Seemed pertinent. Most the people close to me know by now, except you."

The tension that had begun coiling through Jean-Paul's shoulders as his mind had flashed through all the scenarios that could lead to Morgan saying that began to ebb. "Ah," he said, then tilted his head to the side. He couldn't necessarily say that he saw, since he was only just beginning to, he thought. "But you are you, oui? You simply go by another name?" He wasn't sure the question made any sense, but it was sort of important to him that he know that his friend, whatever her name might be, was still his friend. It was logical in his own head, at least.

"Yeah," she nodded. "Morgan's personality was always a sort of sliver of my own. It was an easy sort of defense drawn from my own personality so it made it easier to maintain. But it's always been me. There's just more to me than there was to Morgan." He saw that in a big way when she'd thought Garrison had been killed and spent a week or so curled up in Jean-Paul's suite. She didn't think he'd remember that nearly as vividly as she did, though.

Cutting off a slice of his stack of pancakes that was, perhaps, a bit bigger than was strictly necessary, Jean-Paul ate it in one bite and then chewed thoughtfully for a moment. After swallowing, he pointed his fork at her and said, "The real you still owes me a belt buckle."

"I thought the real me owed you a whole belt?" She carefully cut into her pancakes and stabbed a stack with her fork. Raising it to her mouth, she stared at the sharp claws inches from her face. Vanessa was very careful in pulling the fluffy pieces off of the fork. Great, now she couldn't eat because she might shave her nose off in the process. Even if Laura could grow that back, it'd still suck. Vanessa sighed as she chewed and glared at the claws. After she swallowed she speared another piece of pancake with a claw. It seemed a safer way to go about it for her nose.

"Mm..." Jean-Paul was partway through another sausage when he nodded. "Oui, and the belt, also." Then he picked up a piece of bacon and ate it. "Can the real you owe me a new pair of shoes?"

"Why would the real me owe you shoes?" She was about to pull the pancake off of her claw when suddenly the claws all retracted. The pancake, skewered on the end of one, followed along until the claw was one again buried in Laura's arm. Vanessa ended up with a bit of syrupy pancake on her bare thigh. Wrinkling her nose, she stared down at it. "Oh, you suck."

"I do not know," Jean-Paul said, laughing again. "But I thought it was worth a try. What did you do to make the claws go away?" The healing factor should keep her from getting some kind of bizarre infection from the food particles on the claws... he thought.

"I dunno." She was pouting at the pancake. At least she was until she carefully pressed the fork into it. When the tines pressed into her leg she pulled the pancake off and happily snatched it off the fork with her teeth. She glared a little bit at the syrup glistening on her leg, though.

Jean-Paul tossed a napkin at her head. "It is going to take me a while to remember that your name is not really Morgan. Mostly from habit."

Wrinkling her nose, she grabbed the napkin, licked it and then started to try to wipe the syrup off her leg. "You'll adapt. If Adrienne can adapt then so can you. I mean, this is the woman I had to explain the whole wearing people thing to about four times." She was also the reason Vanessa thought of mimics like clothes, that had been the metaphor that had finally worked.

"I will manage, I am sure. It might be a week or so before it sticks, though." He finished off his pancakes, then worked his way through the rest of his sausage and bacon just in time for the waitress to turn up with the rest of what they'd ordered. She was going to get a very large tip when they finally vacated the premises.

"A week? See, I knew you were adaptable. Some people it'd take months for." She grinned, took another mouthful of pancakes and gave the waitress an appreciative look. Now she had bacon and ham. Life was so good.