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xp_logs2004-03-22 11:26 pm
x-crowdofone.livejournal.com) wrote in xp_logs2004-03-22 11:26 pm
Jamie and Nathan, Monday afternoon
In which someone is a bad influence on someone else, although nobody can quite agree on who, and Dr. Pym gets a new shipment of cologne.
Jamie knocked cheerfully on Moira's door. "Nathan? You in there? The Doc with you?" He lowered his voice to a parody of every shady informant in every spy movie ever made. "I have the merchandise."
Nathan looked up at the knock, unable to help a slight smile. "Well, get it in here before someone sees you," he called back dryly, opening the door telekinetically. "Hello, Jamie," he said as the young man came in. "Good to finally meet you and all."
Jamie grinned and offered a hand, shifting the box under his other arm. "Yeah, same here. How do you like the place so far?"
Nathan set his book aside and leaned forward to shake Jamie's hand. "Haven't really had the grand tour yet," he confessed. His eyes flickered sideways to where the little boy from his vision was tracing symbols of some sort on the carpet. "But what I've seen, I've liked," he went on, forcing himself to look away.
"Good place to be if you're having trouble with your powers. Especially with the Doc here." Jamie shook his head and set the box down. "Anyway, it's all set. One gift-wrapped bad day. Want to include a card?"
"Tempting prospect," Nathan said wryly, and looked around. "Moira's hid all the writing material," he grumbled, swaying slightly as he got up and went over to her desk. "She doesn't want me scribbling in tongues. At least, not when she's not around to watch." He found a piece of blank paper and a pen and came back over to the couch, sitting down and folding it into a makeshift card. He paused, casting around for inspiration.
"Dear Dr. Pym, no means no?" Jamie grinned. "Yeah, she's good about that--had her whole office ankle-deep in pillows when we were working on me. Looked kinda like a Scottish harem, if they had those."
Nathan stopped short at the distracting (and rather disturbing) idea of a Scottish harem. Lots of tartan, he thought inanely, and then shook his head. "'Dear Dr. Pym'," he muttered, carefully writing the words in the handwriting that went along with one of his false identities, far more legible and smooth than his own untidy scrawl. "'Playing the field is all well and good, but never forget that the field can play you, too. Sincerely, a Secret Non-Admirer.'" He folded the card and handed it to Jamie. "There. Forceful, but not actually a death threat. There's a certain art to this, you know."
"I see that. Nice turn of phrase." Jamie very carefully opened the box, slipped the card inside, and did something fiddly to the contents before taping the box shut. "And there we are. Did you get the mailing label?" He grinned. "And you realize we're gonna be in the doghouse with the Doc once this gets back to her, right? I'm planning on setting us up with the Archbishop of Canterbury defense. 'Will no one stink me this bothersome physicist?'"
"Mailing label," Nathan muttered. "Right." He got back up and went over to the desk again. It had taken some searching, but he had found one among Moira's things. Asking her for one hadn't been an option, obviously. Now, where had he put it... in between the pages of the Clancy novel from last week, right. "I'm sure we'll survive," he said, retrieving it. "So long as I don't mention that it was your idea, Moira will probably blame me for being a bad influence." He turned around and stopped dead. The little boy was standing there, looking up at him. Nathan swallowed, then stepped carefully around him and went back to the couch. "Which alias would be best, do you think?" he asked, unable to help the slightly wild edge to the words. "The Canadian trucker, or the dentist from Miami?"
"Oh, she'll know it was my idea, I gave her first dibs on it. I may be the bad influence on you. And, hmm. Trucker, I think. They get taken a lot more seriously then dentists." Jamie cocked his head. "You okay? Is it your, um, dead people? Anything I can do to--can I get you something, or find the Doc?"
"It's physically impossible for anyone to be a bad influence on me. I'm too far gone." Nathan opted for the trucker. "And I'm fine, Jamie," he said as steadily as he could. "Getting used to the dead people."
"Okay. Sorry, I . . . didn't mean to pry, I just sort of did, I guess. You're important to the Doc, and she--I like her, and she helped me, so if there's anything I can do for either of you, well, I figure it's the least I can do. And sometimes my mouth doesn't wait for my brain."
Nathan stopped to rub his eyes before he handed the mailing label over. "Don't apologize, Jamie," he said, mustering a tired smile. "I appreciate it. I'm just a little on edge." He snorted. "The image of Pym opening this is already improving my mood, though."
Jamie grinned. "See, I need to find a picture of the guy, so I can have that mental image. I've been thinking Leisure Suit Larry in a lab coat so far."
"Suave, dapper, too good-looking for his own good," Nathan said dryly. He had looked Pym up on the net the day after the dinner, and there had been plenty of pictures. "The scientist playboy. Didn't expect him to have done his research well enough to know that coffee was the way to Moira's heart, though."
Jamie wrinkled his nose. "Erk. Sounds like everybody's least favorite homecoming king with way too many degrees." Then he grinned again. "And obviously coffee doesn't hold a candle to narcolepsy, because it's not like it worked, is it?"
Nathan pondered that for a moment or two. "I still don't like him," he said finally.
"No reason you should. He's poaching. And wears bad cologne, apparently." Jamie snickered. "Not as bad as it's going to be, but bad."
"I'll say it again: I like the way your mind works."
"Well, I'll just drop this in the mail, then, and keep an eye on the journals while I'm in Minnesota." Jamie scooped up the box and stood. "We should really do this again some time."
"I owe you one," Nathan said quite seriously. "Don't hesitate to collect, either." He couldn't help a brief grin. "If Moira squawks too loud, I'll just remind her that this is better than me offing the guy."
"Heh. That's for sure. See you later." Jamie slipped back out of the door and in the direction of the garage, whistling.
Nathan 'nudged' the door shut behind him and sat there for a moment, watching the little boy, who had gone back to tracing things on the carpet. "I'm a very bad man," he murmured to himself.
Jamie knocked cheerfully on Moira's door. "Nathan? You in there? The Doc with you?" He lowered his voice to a parody of every shady informant in every spy movie ever made. "I have the merchandise."
Nathan looked up at the knock, unable to help a slight smile. "Well, get it in here before someone sees you," he called back dryly, opening the door telekinetically. "Hello, Jamie," he said as the young man came in. "Good to finally meet you and all."
Jamie grinned and offered a hand, shifting the box under his other arm. "Yeah, same here. How do you like the place so far?"
Nathan set his book aside and leaned forward to shake Jamie's hand. "Haven't really had the grand tour yet," he confessed. His eyes flickered sideways to where the little boy from his vision was tracing symbols of some sort on the carpet. "But what I've seen, I've liked," he went on, forcing himself to look away.
"Good place to be if you're having trouble with your powers. Especially with the Doc here." Jamie shook his head and set the box down. "Anyway, it's all set. One gift-wrapped bad day. Want to include a card?"
"Tempting prospect," Nathan said wryly, and looked around. "Moira's hid all the writing material," he grumbled, swaying slightly as he got up and went over to her desk. "She doesn't want me scribbling in tongues. At least, not when she's not around to watch." He found a piece of blank paper and a pen and came back over to the couch, sitting down and folding it into a makeshift card. He paused, casting around for inspiration.
"Dear Dr. Pym, no means no?" Jamie grinned. "Yeah, she's good about that--had her whole office ankle-deep in pillows when we were working on me. Looked kinda like a Scottish harem, if they had those."
Nathan stopped short at the distracting (and rather disturbing) idea of a Scottish harem. Lots of tartan, he thought inanely, and then shook his head. "'Dear Dr. Pym'," he muttered, carefully writing the words in the handwriting that went along with one of his false identities, far more legible and smooth than his own untidy scrawl. "'Playing the field is all well and good, but never forget that the field can play you, too. Sincerely, a Secret Non-Admirer.'" He folded the card and handed it to Jamie. "There. Forceful, but not actually a death threat. There's a certain art to this, you know."
"I see that. Nice turn of phrase." Jamie very carefully opened the box, slipped the card inside, and did something fiddly to the contents before taping the box shut. "And there we are. Did you get the mailing label?" He grinned. "And you realize we're gonna be in the doghouse with the Doc once this gets back to her, right? I'm planning on setting us up with the Archbishop of Canterbury defense. 'Will no one stink me this bothersome physicist?'"
"Mailing label," Nathan muttered. "Right." He got back up and went over to the desk again. It had taken some searching, but he had found one among Moira's things. Asking her for one hadn't been an option, obviously. Now, where had he put it... in between the pages of the Clancy novel from last week, right. "I'm sure we'll survive," he said, retrieving it. "So long as I don't mention that it was your idea, Moira will probably blame me for being a bad influence." He turned around and stopped dead. The little boy was standing there, looking up at him. Nathan swallowed, then stepped carefully around him and went back to the couch. "Which alias would be best, do you think?" he asked, unable to help the slightly wild edge to the words. "The Canadian trucker, or the dentist from Miami?"
"Oh, she'll know it was my idea, I gave her first dibs on it. I may be the bad influence on you. And, hmm. Trucker, I think. They get taken a lot more seriously then dentists." Jamie cocked his head. "You okay? Is it your, um, dead people? Anything I can do to--can I get you something, or find the Doc?"
"It's physically impossible for anyone to be a bad influence on me. I'm too far gone." Nathan opted for the trucker. "And I'm fine, Jamie," he said as steadily as he could. "Getting used to the dead people."
"Okay. Sorry, I . . . didn't mean to pry, I just sort of did, I guess. You're important to the Doc, and she--I like her, and she helped me, so if there's anything I can do for either of you, well, I figure it's the least I can do. And sometimes my mouth doesn't wait for my brain."
Nathan stopped to rub his eyes before he handed the mailing label over. "Don't apologize, Jamie," he said, mustering a tired smile. "I appreciate it. I'm just a little on edge." He snorted. "The image of Pym opening this is already improving my mood, though."
Jamie grinned. "See, I need to find a picture of the guy, so I can have that mental image. I've been thinking Leisure Suit Larry in a lab coat so far."
"Suave, dapper, too good-looking for his own good," Nathan said dryly. He had looked Pym up on the net the day after the dinner, and there had been plenty of pictures. "The scientist playboy. Didn't expect him to have done his research well enough to know that coffee was the way to Moira's heart, though."
Jamie wrinkled his nose. "Erk. Sounds like everybody's least favorite homecoming king with way too many degrees." Then he grinned again. "And obviously coffee doesn't hold a candle to narcolepsy, because it's not like it worked, is it?"
Nathan pondered that for a moment or two. "I still don't like him," he said finally.
"No reason you should. He's poaching. And wears bad cologne, apparently." Jamie snickered. "Not as bad as it's going to be, but bad."
"I'll say it again: I like the way your mind works."
"Well, I'll just drop this in the mail, then, and keep an eye on the journals while I'm in Minnesota." Jamie scooped up the box and stood. "We should really do this again some time."
"I owe you one," Nathan said quite seriously. "Don't hesitate to collect, either." He couldn't help a brief grin. "If Moira squawks too loud, I'll just remind her that this is better than me offing the guy."
"Heh. That's for sure. See you later." Jamie slipped back out of the door and in the direction of the garage, whistling.
Nathan 'nudged' the door shut behind him and sat there for a moment, watching the little boy, who had gone back to tracing things on the carpet. "I'm a very bad man," he murmured to himself.
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