Vanessa & Jean-Paul | Tuesday afternoon

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Jean-Paul comes by the X-Factor office and finds a new face with a familiar voice.

There were a few desks in the large, mostly empty space that made up X-Factor Investigations. One was there in case Bishop came in, one was likely to be adopted by Laurie even though it was there mostly in case paperwork got too piled up on one of the other desks and needed overflow duty, and the third had been adopted by Vanessa. There was a little name engraved in metal and mounted to a bit of triangularly shaped wood that sat at the front of the desk's surface so anyone potentially sitting in the chair opposite her would know who they were talking to. There was a similar nameplate on Bishop's desk as well.

Sitting at Vanessa's desk was not the blue-skinned, white-haired woman people would expect to be sitting there. Instead there was a normal looking brunette with long hair and sharp eyes leaned over some paperwork and occasionally making notes in a document on her computer. People were biased, prejudiced things. Vanessa had known that and she knew some people would never see beyond the glowing red eyes. For that reason she'd found herself a body that looked more professional and serious. It was a very shallow mimic, shallow enough that Vanessa had kept her own voice and most of her height despite the shift. She was working on trying to make the shift less comprehensive but mostly she ended up with half-blue skin that way so she settled for less contact with the hair for the mimic. It worked she thought, as long as no one she knew went looking for the blue version of her in a crowd for something important anyway.

Jean-Paul knocked on the office windows, since it would have been impolite to simply open them. Not to mention nearly impossible, given the mechanism you needed to turn was on the inside. So he knocked, hovering there just outside the windows, and hoped that the woman sitting inside wasn't prone to being frightened by strange men waiting patiently outside third story windows. He tossed in a little fingerwave just for friendliness.

Turning to confirm who she suspected was at the window, a brown eyebrow raised in a graceful arch. That was a blonde cheerleader wave right there. What was the world coming to? Closing her eyes and shaking her head to clear it a little, Vanessa got up and went to the window. Once it was opened a little she said, "It'd have been easier if you came to the door and I could just yell that it was open." When the window was as open as it could get Vanessa stepped back and gestured Jean-Paul inside.

"Ah, Vanessa," Jean-Paul said, smiling as he put his weight on the windowsill and stepped inside. "I like the new face. The accent, though. It is all you." Hopping down to the floor, he glanced toward the door which was, apparently, open, then said, "Bonjour - I like the paint, also. And you should simply leave your windows open if that is easier for you. Buildings and doors, they are so bothersome."

"Maybe you should just learn to endure the stairs," she said and wandered off toward the little half-kitchen. "Want something to drink?" Of course, there was also a question of what there was to drink since she hadn't opened the fridge and who knows if Laurie had been trying to stock what she insisted would become her workplace. "Glad you approve of the new face. It'd be a tragedy if my fake husband didn't approve, huh?"

"Oui," Jean-Paul said, nodding as he followed her through to the miniature kitchen. He glanced around the open space, propping a hip against one of the counters before saying, "Hm... do you know what you need here? A couch. A large couch. With a comfortable blanket. For meetings and things. And a chair or two, also. They do not have to match the couch. Not matching would give it... character, this is the word." He smiled again. "Et oui, a drink, if you please."

"I don't think we're planning on having company over, exactly." After shuffling water and soda and some orange juice out of the way Vanessa settled for pulling a pitcher of iced tea out. "Bishop and I have places to entertain people like friends. The chairs at the desks are fine for clients. I don't anticipate them spending hours here and needing a comfy armchair to hang out in while they do." After pulling down a couple glasses and filling them Vanessa stashed the pitcher back in the fridge and brought one of the glasses over to Jean-Paul.

"Merci," Jean-Paul said, taking the glass. "It was only a suggestion." Looking back toward the desk Vanessa had been working at, he said, "You have cases already? That is a great deal of paperwork."

"I've got six missing persons. Someone came in to report the first and must have liked the response I had to them because everyone that followed had some variation on 'I heard you're willing to look into this even if I reported it to the cops already' kind of thing. Either the cops don't care or just didn't get very far. But I feel like any moment I'm going to have a Kafka moment and be told someone's missing who turned into a cockroach when they manifested." Vanessa waved toward her desk as if there was an explanation there. "One guy has the body of a grasshopper. How do you just misplace someone like that?"

"With great difficulty?" Jean-Paul asked, eyebrows rising as he took a sip of tea. Then his brow furrowed a bit and he asked, "Did he always have the body of a grasshopper, or did it happen when he manifested? And how did he adapt after that?" Jean-Paul couldn't imagine something like that, himself. He wondered if the man could play his legs like violins - grasshoppers could do that, couldn't they?

"I don't know if it was an at birth mutation or if it manifested like my red, white and blue schtick did, honestly." Her smile had a bit of something in it, possibly wryness, when she said, "Apparently he was quite a talented musician. Since he didn't have hands I'm assuming it was with his legs but that could be me being speciesist or something."

Shaking his head, Jean-Paul took another sip of tea, decided he liked it, and took another. "But the important point is... that someone misplaced him, as you say. And so... now you must find him."

"Pretty much. I'm doing the local legwork and letting Bishop be snazzy and licensed and get me paperwork only his handy little license can get around this office. Mostly I keep talking to family or friends - mostly friends, really - and coworkers and them being so relieved I'm actually looking for Ben or Sandra or whomever." She shrugged a little. It was sad that no one else had found them, but Vanessa also wasn't sure how much use she was going to be if the NYPD couldn't locate a guy with a human head and a grasshopper's body, which was to say nothing of the woman with the crab pincher claws.

Jean-Paul didn't really know what to say to that, so he finished off the glass of tea and sat it on the counter, then asked, "The friends, do they have any ideas of where the people might have gone? If there are so many missing... it does not sound so good, oui? Do they have connections to one another?"

"They all lived in District X, some of the places they frequented overlap but some of them had serious physical mutations so it's to be expected that they didn't leave here much. Who knows where they were before Apocalypse tried to take over the world. But it's not like they all went missing in the same week. It averages one person every month or so since Christmas. In terms of missing persons, that's not all that remarkable I'm willing to bet." But when your entire life was the community in this neighborhood and your body never turned up it was at least curious.

"Is it possible that someone could be taking them for experiments and things?" It had happened in the past. Jean-Paul wouldn't put it past others to do the same thing.

"It's possible, but until I find that thread I can't follow it anywhere. Assuming it exists, I mean. But it's an option."

Jean-Paul didn't like it. He didn't like people going missing, but especially mutants who'd only just found a place that accepted them. "If I can help you find the threads, you will let me know?" It had been a very long time since he did anything involving activism for mutant rights, but he'd had some solid contacts, once upon a time. If something was being done to mutants in New York... well. He hoped he'd be able to do more than simply expose it.

Vanessa nodded. "Aye. I'll probably have a need of you at some point, I'm just not that far in yet. Another person asking questions and who can move faster can get helpful fast. You know you might regret making me that offer, right?" There was a small smile that went along with that question.

"What else am I going to do?" Jean-Paul asked, holding his arms out from his sides, palms up. "I burn food and meditate most of my time away. Something constructive, it would be nice."

"You missed where you fly in circles and complain like an old lady," Vanessa corrected, grinning.

"I do not fly in circles," Jean-Paul said, twirling one finger around in the air. He didn't bother disputing the bit about complaining, since the vast amount of time that he didn't spend burning things or meditating was spent with Kevin and... well. There was nothing to complain about there, so he didn't feel that part should be dignified with a response.

"You fly in loops?" She had that hopeful note about her that a person who wanted you to agree generally had in their voice. Loops were like circles, only bigger. Surely Jean-Paul would admit to all his looping.

"Figure eights," Jean-Paul replied, waggling his eyebrows a bit. "They are far more interesting."

"Oh, so you fly in conjoined circles? Are they the freaks of the loop world the way conjoined twins are the freaks of the twin world?" Grin broadening, Vanessa went on, "Are you going to take your figure eights on the road in a sideshow?"

"No more talking for you, mon ami," Jean-Paul said, shaking his head. "If you cannot appreciate the beauty of the figure eight, then I do not need to enumerate its many virtues. They are beyond your comprehension, obviously."

"Clearly I'm a simpleton. Get me my beer helmet and stop making me think about things! Ow, my brainmeats hurt!" Vanessa nudged Jean-Paul with her shoulder and noticed that her new alternate body was just slightly shorter than him, which was a little amusing since her own body was just slightly taller than him. She feigned a sniffle. "If you loved me you'd enumerate."

"They are symmetrical," Jean-Paul said, feigning exasperation. "And you can make many variations. Wide and short, long and thin, they can rotate, be horizontal or vertical. And they are elegant. Also, you are short."

Vanessa was nodding along as he listed the wonders of the figure eight, right up until that last comment. Her borrowed brown eyes narrowed and she growled at him a bit. "The rest of the time you're short. Feeling inadequate normally and needing to bask in your sudden height advantage? Should I wear Aoife around you more so you can feel all manly around me?" Her voice, as serious as it sounded, had that undercurrent of amusement to it if you knew what to look for.

"Aoife?" Jean-Paul thought about that. "She is very pretty, is she not? With the freckles." He gestured toward his own nose. "But I am not feeling inadequate, cheri. I only think it is funny. Your new face - she is good for glaring. Does she have a new name?"

"Aye, Aoife's the pretty one." Aoife was also the short version of what Vanessa would have looked like without her physical mutation, at least in terms of coloring and freckles. Maybe that was why she loved women with freckles now, because she'd lost her own. "This one gets to use my name, actually. Confuse everyone when they meet different Vanessa Carlysles." She grinned and the look was all mischief. Mischief didn't look like it was nearly up to as little good on this face as it did on her own, though. "The good glaring, though, that could be important for my new line of work."

"This is what I was thinking, oui," Jean-Paul nodded, then pushed off the counter and actually went to sit in Vanessa's chair. He didn't look at any of the paperwork she'd been doing, just settled in the chair and leaned back.

"Gettin' a feel for it?" Vanessa wore a smirk and placed her hands on the edge of the other side of the desk so she could lean in. "Am I going to have to tell you eighty-eight-and-a-half times that I'm not employing you and couldn't pay you if I did, too?"

"Eighty-eight-and-a-half? Non, cheri. I do not think it will take so many times. And I do not need the payment." The chair was comfortable, though. Rocking backward in it a bit, Jean-Paul wondered if he could make a wheeled chair balance on two of its little rollers without falling over. If he cheated a bit and used his powers, he could probably manage it. The thought made him smile.

Pointing a finger at him in a most accusatory fashion, Vanessa leaned closer and narrowed her eyes at him once more. "You are not joining that contingent, either, Monsieur Beaubier." The last was said in an approximation of a Parisian accent which would have passed for such anywhere that wasn't too close to Paris. Vanessa even added an extra little note of haughtiness to the word 'monsieur.' Just for good measure.

"You would presume to tell me what contingents I may and may not join?" Jean-Paul flipped into Parisian French easily, his tone equally haughty even as he arched an eyebrow at Vanessa. He held the expression for a moment before it cracked and he laughed. "Mon Dieu, if you would like to pay me, I will not argue. It is only that I do not need it. You could pay someone else who did need the money instead."

Then he wrinkled his nose and shifted his jaw back and forth a bit. "European French, it is odd to speak it." He'd once had a professor to who spoke of languages having a particular feel to them in her mouth. The thought had struck him as rather odd, but he thought he might understand it now.

"Right now I'm not paying anyone, including myself. And right now no one works here but me and Bishop so all that paying people stuff remains to be seen anyway." She gave this sort of half-shrug, her head nodding back and to the side a little. The dismissive hand wave just didn't seem to fit this body, Vanessa needed a different mannerism. "Also, you remember that bit where I don't speak French, right? Aye, something about the French being the devil. Swahili, on the other hand, I'm brilliant with. I can get by in Afrikaans, too."

"That is more than I," Jean-Paul said, laughing a little. "I speak European French, Quebecois French, and English." Then he quirked an eyebrow and, still smiling, said, "Some would say I do not speak the first or the last, really." Standing up, he headed for the refrigerator to get himself some more tea, asking over his shoulder, "When did you learn to speak Swahili?"

"Around the age of eighteen or nineteen. I spent a lot of time in East Africa on and off before I came here a couple years back. I learned the language quickly out of necessity. I'd probably be lost for some words in polite conversation. Stuff like 'sir' or 'ma'am' isn't as useful doing what I was doing as expletives and orders were." She assumed Jean-Paul would put two and two together to conclude that her time in East Africa was spent in wars as a mercenary.

"Ah," Jean-Paul said, nodding. "Well, cursing well in a language is sometimes as good as speaking it 'properly.'" He put air quotes around that last word, smirking a little. "They are good to get your points across, anyway." Putting the tea back in the refrigerator once he'd poured himself another glass, he closed the door and leaned against the counter again. "Universal. That is what curses are." He frowned, then, the expression fleeting, before saying, "Of course, all French curses involve the curse. So religious." He shook his head.

"What, no outright 'fuck off' in French?" Vanessa made a rather disappointed sounding tsk as she shook her head slowly. "They've probably got eight words for love and twenty for the act of having sex but no good non-religious expletives? Fuck, that's a damn shame."

"Ah - 'damn' has many religious uses, does it not?" Jean-Paul pointed a finger toward Vanessa and quirked an eyebrow. This his expression turned contemplative and he shrugged. "There are others, but the very interesting ones are religious. At least in Quebec. But they can be very long." That thought sparked another smile.


"I guess that was just the original way of offending people and no one ever grew out of it." Vanessa sipped her iced tea and then let her eyes move back toward the pile of papers on her desk. "So, how do you feel about lunch?"

"Lunch?" Jean-Paul considered that for a moment, then nodded. "I would enjoy lunch. Do you want to go somewhere specific? Or just to find a place that looks good?"

"Anywhere that looks good, isn't shady enough to tempt me to stab someone and will get my mind off of missing crab girls is fine by me."

Quirking a smile, Jean-Paul's eyes slid to the side as he said, "So... no seafood, oui?"

Vanessa only glared, grabbed a knife off her desk and pointed him at the door.