xp_logs | Marie-Ange and Amanda, backdated

Early Wednesday morning, Marie-Ange is woken by nightmares - and also by Amanda's mad cleaning and cooking fit. They quickly establish that Marie-Ange is not sleeping well at all, that Amanda is still buzzing off India and that everyone loves a fry-up.

The most annoying thing in the list of annoying things Marie-Ange had found upon rooming with Amanda once again was that she was so used to the noise from Doug's computers that she actually had even more trouble sleeping in a quiet apartment. Not that she was doing much of any sleeping these days, but even a little bit was better than nothing. She'd taken to raiding the kitchen for tea, Amanda's labels were more about what the tea would do than what it was made of and that suited Marie-Ange just fine. It was a lot easier to make tea that didn't give her the twitchies when the labels said "Wake up!" or "Zzzzzzz" than when they said "Willowbark" or "Dandelion tisane".

The smell of fry-up hit her as soon as she came out of the spare room. Marie-Ange considered just going back to bed, to not have to figure out why Amanda was up and up this early and not have to ask questions that she was fairly sure she knew the answer to already. But by the time she'd convinced herself to go back to the room and just pull the pillow over her head, she was already in the kitchen and making the "not awake yet" face at Amanda.

Not only was Amanda up early, to judge by the fact the kitchen was spotless, she had been for a while. The usual pile of dishes was gone, the garbage was empty and the box of empty beer bottles was gone from its corner. The only sign of disorder was the half-full ashtray on the window sill, a half-smoked butt still smoldering in it, and the cloud of blue-grey smoke hovering around the open window.

"Morning," the witch said from the stove where she was overseeing the pan of artery-hardening goodness. "Didn't wake you, did I?" Her bare foot was tapping out an unknown rhythm on the floor, as if she couldn't stand still.

"No, the gnomes who broke in and cleaned your kitchen and fed you all the coffee in Brazil did..." Marie-Ange said tiredly. "Just bad dreams, not noise." She amended, not sure if her quick response would be taken seriously or not. She was too tired to think first and talk second right now

Amanda blushed a little at the gnome comment. "Um, yeah, couldn't sleep. And I had to distract myself, or I might have wound up 'porting to India or China or something." She shifted the pan off the flame and turned off the burner, before waving her houseguest to a seat. "There's enough food for two, if you want some. And I'll make you some tea. Looks like you could use it." She glanced up at the fridge, where she kept a spare bottle of painkillers for Angie's visits. "You need anything for the head?" she asked, their personal code for 'did you have a vision?'

Marie-Ange sat, slumping in the chair tiredly. "Please." The headache was a nine on her personal scale of headaches, and it hadn't gone under five for the last few days. "Yes, and the last thing we need is more tabloids about the mystery pyjama girl from London."

"And they didn't even get my good side." Amanda mock-groused as she reached up for the painkillers - they were some of Marie-Ange's powerful ones, not regular aspirin. She wrestled with the child-proof cap for a minute, grumbling under her breath until she finally got it open and shook out a couple. "You get anything solid for your pains?" she asked, referring to the headache's cause as she went to get a glass of water.

"No." Amanda, she could lie to. Marie-Ange hated it, but she could do it. With some of the others, it would be much more difficult. It wasn't even entirely a lie, if you looked at solid in the same dictionary that William Jefferson Clinton's definition of sex was in. "Just many nightmares. I likely have several days of tarot readings in my future to try to sort it out." And hiding the notebook she'd started taking notes for these dreams in. Best not let anyone see that either. That would result in far too many questions she would not have answers to for some time.

"Bugger that for a joke, then," Amanda said sympathetically, accepting Angie's word for it and handing over the water and the pills, ignoring the slight tremble of her hands as she passed the glass over. "You up for breakfast, or do you want to wait until after tea?"

She was torn. On one hand, it was entirely possible she might throw the food up later. On the other, it was not often she got to have one of Amanda's fry-ups. "It is still allright if I do not eat any puddings of any colour? Because I am still sure they are made of things that are not food." Marie-Ange said, a smile crossing her face. "And we eat snails and eels where I am from." Which was a terrible stereotype, but still funny.

"You forgot the frog's legs," Amanda reminded her with a grin. "No black pudding. All the more for me. And you're lucky - I decided against kippers this morning, otherwise you would have been praying to the porcelain god already"

The eyebrow went up, and Marie-Ange couldn't help but giggle. "Yes, but they make frog legs you can microwave, so I can make them. All of the mystery is gone from them. It is like the chicken nuggets only made of frogs." Technically you were supposed to put them on a tray and in your oven but if the people who made them did not want them to be microwaved, they would not have included the instructions on the box. "Thank you for not making the smelly fish."

"And a thousand French chefs just rolled over in their graves and howled," Amanda snickered as she doled out food onto a pair of plates. "You're a terrible French cliche, sometimes, you know that, right?"

"At least I do not smoke? Jean-Phillipe does, but that is because he is contrary." Although, hopefully he would be quitting soon, Marie-Ange thought, if she was getting the correct impressions from the readings she had done. "And I do not like mimes, although I do not understand why anyone likes mimes. They are a cover for pickpockets and purse snatchers."

"And creepy as fuck besides." Amanda set a plate of breakfast and cutlery in front of Marie-Ange and moved to the counter to finish making tea now the kettle was boiled. "I've got to say," she continued on another tack, apparently out of the blue as her brain was having trouble concentrating on one thing at a time. "This is like old times, having you staying here. I'd forgotten how much I liked living with you, to be honest."

"Oh, and I do not like Jerry Lewis at all." Marie-Ange said, seemingly still a bit stuck on the previous topic. Which she could blame on the headache if pressed - and if not, well, either way hopefully Amanda wouldn't notice the lack of response.