xp_logs | [Log] Matt/Rachel - Late Night Telly (backdated like whoa)

Two sleepless teenagers meet again in the dead of night. This time, names are exchanged.

The lights in the rec room were off, but the space was illuminated by the glow of the television which was running its usual spate of late night series re-runs. Its single audience sat cross-legged on the couch, arm dipped into a jumbo bag of chips with a half-drunk glass of milk balanced somewhat precariously on the couch cushion.

Rachel wrinkled her nose in consternation as one Leroy Gibbs dipped his fingers into a sample of blood and examined it with a peer and a sniff, following it up with another visual examination of the purported murder weapon. “That’s just the dumbest forensic move I’ve ever seen. How do people even believe this shit?”

Shuffling out of his suite with messy bedhead and nothing on except his boxers, Matt wandered out to the rec room aimlessly. He'd been asleep, had a nightmare and was up now, unable to get back to sleep. Poop on a stick. "What're you doing?" he asked, words a little slurred from not quite being awake even if he couldn't go back to sleep. It was the girl who'd stolen his sandwich the other day.

“Watching TV,” Rachel glanced at Matt, raising both brows at his appearance before gesturing ineffectually at the television screen. “Lousy TV, looks like. NCIS?”

"Turn on the DVS," he requested, taking a seat on a couch. His powers didn't allow him to see the screen, but this was one of the few shows with video description added in.

“The what?” she blinked, thoroughly confused.

"Descriptive Video Service," Matt explained. "Kinda like closed captioning for your ears. Just hit menu button, then turn it on so I can watch too."

It took a while, but she got there eventually, tossing the remote on the couch between them as the DVS came on. Strange, she had not known such a thing existed. Although she supposed that what with a world-wide war going on in her world, she supposed that the developers and maintainers had not had enough of a motivation to keep the service running or expand it. Rachel stole a glance at Matt.

“So this is what passes for entertainment around here?”

"At 3am, yes," Matt replied with a yawn. "It's the middle of the night. All reasonably sane and decent people are asleep. Which is why we're up," well, he'd been asleep and had a nightmare, but whatever.

Rachel grunted, slouching further into the couch. Where she came from, people were up around the clock. Frankly, the quietness of the mansion was just about starting to send her into a mental breakdown.

"Why're you up, then?" Matt asked, being nosy. So far he had only encountered this mystery woman in three middle of the night. He didn't even know her name or anything.

"Can't sleep," she replied, glancing away from the television to size up the boy. "Just the same as you." A pause. "We need better midnight entertainment."

Matt shrugged, "I was asleep. Then I woke up," clearly, that was obvious. "Somehow, I doubt that you've been to sleep."

"Clever boy," Rachel mocked, albeit without maliciousness. "Though I do tend to sleep my day away."
Another American pop reference came up that made no whit of sense to the psion, causing the girl go huff and lose all interest in the television. She studied Matt for a moment, remembering that she did not even know his name. "I'm in the mood for a joyride, actually."

Matt scowled, "I'm not supposed to leave campus," he replied. He was serious about trying to stay out of trouble, though it was hard, especially in times like this when he really wanted something. Anything.

"Are you being punished?" Plainly curious, she arched both brows at him. "Or is that the norm? Or the result of your lack of sight?"

"I'm an addict," he answered plainly. "That's part of why I can't sleep. Not leaving campus is part of my punishment," none of this was really any sort of secret so telling the strange girl he didn't know the name of wasn't a big deal. "It's almost over, too. So I don't want to get in more trouble now."

"No rule breaking then," Rachel agreed, although she had totally been about to suggest it. "You are an addict. As in present tense?

Matt shrugged, "I've been clean six weeks," not long enough. The nightmares weren't stopping. "Most of the withdrawal symptoms are gone," but not the urge. He got up, pacing for a minute. "You want something to eat?"

Not knowing what to say to a recovering addict whom she knew nothing about, Rachel merely smirked and allowed for the subject change. "Y'know me. M'always up for sandwich stealing."

Snorting, Matt turned and headed down the hall to the kitchen, assuming the mystery woman would follow. "You're not stealing my sandwich. You pay for it fair and square," he stated.

"And how would I do that?"

"The old fashioned way," Matt was unperturbed by the question. "With information."

"That's a dangerous currency to trade in," she replied, shadowing the other teenager down the dim-lit deserted hallway.

It was, but it was also a sandwich, "I think if we keep on the sandwich level, we'll manage," Matt assured her.

"Sure. I retain all my rights, though," she replied, only half-joking as they slipped into the kitchen, not bothering to flip the light switch. He obviously didn't need the light and she found comfort in the shadows and ambient light from the windows. "Three questions. Phrase them well."

Three questions, huh? Hmmm....that was a challenge, but alright. He liked this sort of challenge and it was a good distraction. "First question, what's your name?" Start easy and work up. Matt went to the fridge to see what was there for sandwich making. He almost asked her what kind of sandwich she wanted, but caught himself. That was not what he was going to waste a question on. Instead, he pulled out some sourdough bread and cheese.

"Rachel," she replied promptly, propping her chin up on her palm as she watched the younger teenager in the light from the fridge. "Pleasure ter meet ya."

"Pleasedtameetcha," Matt replied automatically, getting a pan out and butter. Grilled cheese sandwiches sounded good to him and he began to get them ready to grill in the pan. Having a name was a good start to whatever this conversation was. He didn't mind that she didn't give a last name either. He hadn't specified and it wasn't all that important. "What're your powers?"

"Telekinesis," the redhead answered simply. Her telepathy, she was now ready to admit, was almost a lost cause -- something she should probably seek advice for, but had no desire to do so here. Perhaps when she got back, her powers would return. Meanwhile, she got by well enough. "Though don't ask me to float the butter t'you unless y'want your face smacked with it. Or somethin'."

Good to know. "Wasn't planning on it," he assured her. "Don't know that I could really see it with my powers anyways and I'm not interested in finding out right now," he slid the first sandwich from the pan and added more butter for the second one. "One sandwich or two?

She relayed the question to her stomach. "Two, please."

Hopefully, she wouldn't be an ass and regard his question about sandwiches as one of his three. Technically, yeah, it was a question, but only a hair-splitting ass would count it. Of course, there were a lot of hair splitting asses in the world, "Why are you here?" he finally asked, the second sandwich almost finished. He had been tempted to ask where she was from or if she was in school, but why she was at Xavier's seemed to be a better question since he could ask only three.

"'Cause I've got nowhere else to go." Rachel tugged on her fringe, eyes still trained on Matt, silently daring him to probe at her intentionally vague answer. The other teenager could have worded his questions better, even if she could have been more open with her answers. "And because you offered to make me a sandwich."

Intentionally vague responses weren't lies and her heart rate remained steady. Granted, he was still working on this aspect of his powers, but it was sort of cool to try to see when a person lied. The answers also served him right for asking his question the way he did, "Only because I hate to eat alone," Matt retorted, joking. He wasn't going to press her too much. It just wasn't all that important in the grand scheme of things. "Anyways, I think that's why most of us are here. Or at least, me too."

“Well,” Rachel shrugged. “Beats having nowhere to go at all.” She was, after all, immensely grateful despite everything else that the X-Men had found her. And that there were even X-Men at all. “So, do I call you Sandwich Master, or blind boy with a drug problem, or will you tell me your name?”

If they were going to keep having these midnight feedings then a name would be a good idea, "Matt," he offered. "But I'll take Sandwich Mastery too."

“Cool,” she smiled. “Those’d better be some pretty damn good sandwiches if you want to keep the title, though.”

Matt slid a plate over to her. "They're awesome and you know it."