Matt & Cecilia | Sunday afternoon

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Matt explains why Cecilia's not funny, and Cecilia explains why she's back at the mansion.

Laying in the atrium on a bench with his headset on, Matt used voice commands to navigate his iPad and work on homework for his classes. Spanish was possibly going to kill him. Firstly because what he thought was a decent accent when he practiced was horrible when he used it with others, but also because he always seemed to forget his vocabulary at the worst possible times. Between his upcoming Spanish quiz and the crap last night, this weekend was sucking.

Living in a house this size was going to take some readjustment. Cecilia knew her way around well enough, but being surrounded by so much space just felt so isolating. So after spending the morning in her room unpacking, she was determined to wander a bit and try to re-familiarize herself with her surroundings. That way she'd feel a little more rooted.

So once her afternoon jog was done, Cecilia traipsed around the house before eventually stumbling into the atrium. She glanced at the man with the headphones and figured now was a good as time as any to make friends. And then, as she approached, she realized it was the guy from last night who she'd (needlessly) bugged about being a drunk college kid. Great. She stood for a second, trying to decide whether to plunge right into the awkwardness or go upstairs and take a shower. And at that point, she realized he probably saw her standing there, so she didn't really have a choice but to interact.

"Hey," she said loudly with a wave.

Matt had heard her approach well before Cecelia spoke and smelled her too. It was hard not to with her fresh from her run, but he hadn't said anything. He hadn't recognized the heartbeat so he'd assumed it was the new girl. "Hey," he replied, saving his work and sitting up "Sup?" he didn't normally wear his sunglasses around the mansion so his milky blue eyes were uncovered.

"Oh, you know." She shrugged rather nonchalantly, trying not to reveal how awkward she now felt. "Lazy day." Which was mostly true. No bleeding bodies to repair.

She paused for a moment before meeting his gaze. Oh. Well, that was a surprise. "Matt, right?" Oh my god, when did she get so awkward?

Lazy days were good things, usually. "Yeah," he agreed, pulling the headset off and setting it carefully with his iPad, "Cecelia." he added, perhaps unnecessarily. "Look. I was...defensive earlier. You didn't know. Ain't got nothin' to prove to you," his accent thickened almost unconsciously, "18 months sober. I don't want someone's joke being taken' wrong," he unconsciously touched his split lip from his fight the previous night with Namor.

Cecilia winced. Because madre de Dios, she was a giant bitch. "Shit," she murmured. "I'm so sorry. I didn't—" But, of course, he admitted he knew that.

"Good for you," she ventured after a moment. "Seriously. That's great." No more jokes to try and fit in. She'd play it closer to the vest. "I'm not usually this..." she waved a hand casually, since she wasn't entirely sure what she meant. Time to change the subject and see if she could salvage something. "What happened here?" She nodded toward his lip. "Battle wound?"

"You didn't know," Matt repeated, accepting the apology. Addiction apparently ran in his family, at least so far between himself and his father, and while he loved his father and was proud of him, wanted to make him proud, he didn't want to do it in that way. 'Like father, like son' should not extend to rehab treatments and detoxing. Staying sober was important to him. It was a struggle sometimes, some days more than others, but he was doing it.

"What?" Matt asked, even with his powers, he missed visual cues more often than not. Part of it was the subtle nuance of expression, but part of it was that he didn't actively pay attention to things like that. "Oh, the lip. Yeah. Got in a fight with someone last night at a party," no sense in mentioning it was Namor. "You should see the other guy though."

Cecilia snorted and shook her head. "I'll bet," she said wryly. Boys will be boys, she figured, although the latent aggression built up by large-scale rejection by society probably didn't help. "Over what?" Probably a girl. What else did college boys fight over? Weed?

"Condoms," Matt replied. "Or well, I thought he should use one before the girl he wanted to bang gave him an unexpected present. Apparently, implying that she might do that was offensive. Outright saying she would got me a fight," next time, he was letting Namor get all his just desserts. And medication. Yep. "Something to do with her honor? I dunno. What does a bastard orphan from the slums of New York know about honor compared to royalty?" He was being sarcastic.

"Oh, that guy?" Cecilia wrinkled her nose. "He doesn't seem to know much about, like, real life." Not that she was basing that assumption on much. But didn't Marx or someone say people who grew up like her were supposed to naturally hate people who grew up in castles? "College girls are nasty," she said matter-of-factly. "They've all got herpes. At best. And they come in and act surprised, say they'll carry condoms everywhere, but then they're back three months later." She shrugged. "But some guys have to learn that the hard way."

"Apparently," Matt shook his head. Some people were idiots. "I think you're right though. Germs and crap don't care if you're royalty or not though. Which I find incredibly satisfying." He wasn't going to talk about college girls because he was single and was interested in one for himself. Not that he had any in mind.

"Score one for germs, I guess." Bad joke. But she smiled anyway hoping to cut through the unfunny. "Oh, you know, you should put something on that lip. Neosporin or something. Prevent infection." He didn't seem like the type to be interested in gross medical stories, but she couldn't help herself. "Sure that's not how they do it in Hells Kitchen — certainly wasn't the fashion in the Bronx — but pus on lips? Not cute."

"I washed it last night and this morning," Matt assured her. It wasn't that bad. At least, he didn't think so. "So the Bronx. Coulda been worse," he teased. "Why'd you leave this place? Most don't seem to. Then again, you came back."

It hadn't actually occurred to Cecilia that she'd have to answer this question, and suddenly she wished she'd prepared a speech. "Most don't," she agreed. "But I never really... wanted to be here." There was no point in sugarcoating that. It was the truth. "I was at Columbia Med back when the massacre happened back in 2004." Was he old enough to remember that? She doubted it, but it was neither here nor there. "A lot of people died. Dozens. After that it wasn't easy to hide, so I had to leave. And I came here."

She shrugged and looked at her feet. "It was nice here, but confusing. I mean, I'd spent my whole life hiding who I was. And working to become a doctor. I'd wanted to be one since I was little, and then it was ripped away from me. I think I was resentful. And coming here..." She looked around her. "All the magic, and the telepaths and everything... I don't know." Cecilia looked straight at him. "Most people who come here are comfortable. I wasn't. And I needed space, so I left." And then she'd packed up and moved to San Diego, but that was another question entirely.

Matt remembered the massacre, vaguely. He remembered hiding from Apocalypse more when New York was attacked. "I guess if you're used to normal this...isn't it. It's the new normal?" he offered with a shrug. "I was a foster kid and this place is crazy, but it's the best placement I ever had. So...I drank the crazy KoolAid. At least there are other options."

"There are," she assented. "Not everyone has it so lucky. Look, I can still touch people, and I blend in easily. I'm not blue or green." Just brown. Which presented its own set of problems, but those were more easily dealt with. "When balls get thrown at most people, they bounce off. If you're in the middle of a firefight, nobody's really... paying attention to how the bullets bounce off you.

"But I don't know," she turned her hands into an imaginary scale, weighing the options she'd been faced with. "Hiding yourself like that is exhausting. The only people who know me, really, are here. Sometimes you want to let your guard down."

"That I understand," he agreed softly. "I'm blind, but with my powers, I'm...only kinda sorta. The cane is for show most of the time. But at the same time, I can't see colours or expressions. I still need menu's and textbooks in Braille. It's hard sometimes remembering to act blind...or to remind people that no matter how I can bounce like a jumping bean, I can't see."

"Y de lo perdido, saca lo que puedas," she murmured quietly, offering a small smile. It was a saying her mother had said often after her father died, and it seemed to apply here. "We have to make the best of what we've got. Being here helps." That was really more for her own benefit. She had to remember there was more here than demon invasions that made you question your sanity and telepaths who answered questions you'd yet to ask. It's why she'd come back. "Pretty much," Matt agreed. "Hey! You speak Spanish. Help. Me."

"Yeah, sure!" Cecilia grinned. Because that she could certainly do. "But, you know, first let me shower. Because as I'm sure you've noticed but politely ignored, I don't own sweatproof running gear, and I smell like a gym sock." Also, she wanted to wear clothes that weren't so form-fitting. "But I'll be out in, say," she glanced at her watch, "veinte minuto. Y entonces," she said playfully, "te voy a ayudar."