xp_logs | Adrienne & Jean-Paul | Wednesday Afternoon (backdated)

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Jean-Paul offers Adrienne some assistance when he finds her in the kitchen surrounded by clouds of smoke.

Jean-Paul was hungry but he was very tired of lean protein and vegetables. So very, very tired. One part of him wasn't entirely sure why he cared, at this point, since it was unlikely he would ever be able to ski competitively ever again. His ridiculous, itchy ears; his ridiculous, inconvenient mutation; his ridiculous, greedy, well-meaning agent who was still in a coma. Sighing, he shook his head and walked into the kitchen, fully prepared to simply reheat a piece of boiled chicken and a plate of vegetables.

Instead, he paused near the doorway to take in the scene before him. An unfamiliar brunette, a slew of ingredients, a fair bit of smoke.

"Shit, shit, shit!" Adrienne exclaimed as she frantically tried to wave away smoke before the detectors went off. She searched frantically for a towel to help fan away the smoke from her misguided attempt to bake muffins. "No, no, no, no! Whyyyyyy?!"

Almost warily, Jean-Paul walked over to the door on the other side of the kitchen and opened it, then opened the window over the sink as well. He made sure the woman could see him as he flicked on the fan over the stove, then handed her a pair of oven mitts, since they'd be sturdier for frantic waving at smoke detectors than a dish towel.

"Thanks," Adrienne said to the newcomer with a nod. She fanned the smoke towards the window and then something in her head clicked about the face she'd seen. She looked back at him, squinting, then picked up her glasses with one hand and stabbed them on her face so she could actually see his clearly. "Well.... fuck me."

The smirk that spread over Jean-Paul's face was half mischievous, half smug. "Non, I think not. You are very beautiful, but not a man."

Well, he had the same smile. That might have made Adrienne upset, but after having dealt with a new version of Jean and of Warren, she actually was vaguely comforted by that fact. Jean and Warren looked different than Adrienne had remembered. And they acted very different from the people she'd known. Maybe, since this Jean-Paul looked like the one she'd known, he would act like that one, too? At one time that might have bothered her, as well. But after her frustrations in dealing with Warren and Jean not being the people she expected them to be, Adrienne was willing to accept that it might actually hurt less if this guy acted like the guy she'd known.

Unless this was the guy she'd known. He hadn't done anything yet to tip her off in either direction as to whether he thought they were actually strangers to one another.

"Sorry," she recovered, smirking. "Figure of speech. I... just wasn't expecting to see you here." Maybe that statement would help her determine it. If they knew each other, he would surely indicate as much after that opening, and if not, well, he would probably just assume she knew him because he was a famous athlete.

Unless this was a stranger and he wasn't a famous athlete in this dimension. But in that case, the world was probably going to explode at any moment, so it kind of didn't matter.

Jean-Paul let his smirk turn into a grin as he shrugged. "It is nothing," he said. Then his smile flickered a little bit, wondering about her comment, if this was another person who knew him from his skiing. Most likely. The Americans seemed less knowledgeable, on the whole, about skiing but there were people, certain groups... shrugging a little, he said, "I am Jean-Paul. Is there... would you, that is. Do you need help?" He gestured toward the... tins full of burnt baked goods and the bowl of batter.

Adrienne made the mental adjustments from 'long-lost really close friend' to 'stranger you haven't met but might possibly become really close friend because acting the same as long-lost really close friend.' "Adrienne Frost," she smiled, offering him a hand before realizing she still had an oven mitt in it. She tossed the mitt aside awkwardly. "I think I'm okay. The muffins, however, seem to be beyond help."

"Perhaps to start again?" Jean-Paul asked, tilting his head to the side as he took in her ingredients. "My nutritionist assures me the muffin recipe he made me memorize is very healthy." He rolled his eyes a bit, then quirked a brow. "But they do taste good."

"Healthy and tasting good is kind of rare. I think I need to experience this phenomenon," Adrienne teased as she put on an oven mitt, taking a wooden spoon in one hand and the tray of charcoaled muffin pucks in the other and scraping them over the garbage can. "So how are you finding things here? Settling in?"

Shrugging as he went to the pantry to find the oats and the apple sauce, Jean-Paul said, "It is new. Everything is strange. But I have been to worse places and here, at least, the people are nice. And there is always food, also. That is nice." Next he found the flour, the baking soda, salt, sugar, and cinnamon. Looking over everything he'd gotten, he hummed quietly and then went to the refrigerator for the eggs and the blueberries. The water was simple enough. "Have you been here very long?"

"Seven years, off and on," Adrienne answered with a smile. "Though sometimes it feels like I've been here since the dawn of the damned universe." Smirking to herself, she stole a couple blueberries from the container he'd taken out of the fridge and popped them in her mouth. "The free food is definitely a perk. Some people here can't earn their own living, what with the temperature of the world outside, so I imagine it's nice to have a place that provides free grub. Do you have any work lined up for yourself?" She was trying to recall how he'd earned his living when she'd known him previously. Bodyguard work?

"Mm..." Jean-Paul started dumping ingredients together into a bowl he found beneath a counter. He separated the egg whites over the sink, disposing of the yolks, and then glanced toward her and shook his head. "My contracts with various companies for endorsements are still operations, but I am not so sure I can keep them." He gestured toward his ears. "Perhaps, if I grow my hair. But truly, without the Olympics..." He frowned again, stirring everything together a little more fiercely than was strictly necessary. "It is likely they would not want me. There are loopholes, I think, to get out of them for injuries and things. I am not so sure about this flying power of mine. I do not know how it works and so it is best, I think, for me to not do things so much where people might see."

"Didn't you get an image inducer when you walked through the door?" Adrienne teased. She thought about lighting up a cigarette and pulled out her lighter, but remembered where she was. Settling with flipping it around her fingers, she grabbed another couple blueberries with her free hand. "I thought we gave those things out to anyone who might be noticed by anybody."

"Oui," Jean-Paul said. "But it is only for my ears and I have nowhere here that I would like to go." He shook his head, then. "It would be easy, I think, to grow out my hair. Only, my hair is very... floppy."

"I thought you could change facial features and hairstyles and eye colour and all that jazz with image inducers?" Adrienne pondered. "But I guess if you don't want to go anywhere, it doesn't matter." That certainly wasn't like the Jean-Paul she'd known before. He never seemed to settle down in one place. But, this was a different world, she reminded herself. "So are you gonna join that team the kids have to teach them about their powers?"

"It is the only thing I can do for the moment," Jean-Paul replied, pausing mid-scoop to rub one of his ears against his shoulder before continuing to fill the new muffin tins. "I cannot... eh. The flying, I cannot make it happen when I wish. And oui, yes, I believe you can change everything with an image inducer but for my contracts it would need to be my face in the commercials and things."

"Ahh, I understand. Yeah," she told him wanly, "that part of your life might be over. At least for now. But hey. If you want money from putting your face out there... or, rather, your body, I guess, with a fake Image Induced face, I do run a modelling agency. You could have an alias or something. I would have to deny all acknowledgement of you if you got caught being a mutant, but, y'know, I would also help to make sure that didn't happen."

Quirking a smile despite himself, Jean-Paul arched an eyebrow and asked, "A modeling agency? How much do you pay?" Because he would never turn down a chance to make money out of hand.

"A competitive amount in the market," Adrienne responded coyly, smirking. "It's hard to nail down an exact number because it would depend entirely on the type of exposure you're comfortable with, the nature of the campaigns you're comfortable with, your willingness to travel, work full time or fit modeling in around school, that sort of thing. It pays better than my other business venture, at least," she shrugged. "Plus, you don't usually have to piss into a bottle unless you really want to."

"Bah, drug tests," Jean-Paul said, shaking his head as he finished up with the muffin tin. He checked the temperature on the oven, paused to do a quick calculation from Celsius to Fahrenheit, lowered it, and then opened the oven to let out some of the over-hot air. "I will take them, if you like. It is only that they are very annoying, oui? But I am used to them. Please, if you are serious, I would like to see your standard contract."

"I can have my assistant draw one up for you and send it along," Adrienne smiled, amused that this version of Jean-Paul seemed so interested in modelling when his prior-universe counterpart had been so against it. "Are you living here? Or just dropping in for powers training?"

"Living here," Jean-Paul said, sliding the muffin tin into the oven after a moment and closing the door before propping his hip against it. "Just... I fly. Sometimes. When I do not mean to. Training would be very good, I think. Is it very rude to ask if you have powers also?" The last word was said almost hesitantly.

"I can see how some people might think so, but I don't mind," Adrienne shrugged, kicking her feet against the cupboards as she sat on the counter. "I'm a psychometrist. I read the history of any object I touch. As long as it doesn't have a pulse or photosynthesize," she added. "That's the main reason I run a detective agency in addition to my modeling-slash-pr-slash-consulting business."

Brows rising a little, Jean-Paul said, "You are a very busy woman." He smiled, though, and shook his head. "It seems useful, though. How far does your power go? Into history, I mean?"

"I don't get a lot of sleep," the brunette agreed. "I can see the entire timeline. From its creation through to its destruction. Of course, the future is very malleable and not to be trusted. Sometimes I can see fifty different futures for a thing. It's a bit of a pain. I've never had the attention span to take more than fifty readings, but I imagine the possibilities are infinite. Are you asking out of polite curiosity, or did you have something you wanted me to Read?" she asked him with a smirk.

"Curiosity," Jean-Paul replied. "It is only that... I am not so familiar with powers and things. I did not know I was a mutant until the accident. Or just before the accident. And now..." He shrugged. "It is good to know about these things." Hitting the button on the stove that would turn on the oven light, he bent to check the muffins and then glanced at the clock to check how long they'd been in.

"What accident?" Adrienne asked, unaware of what he was talking about.

"Ah," frowning a little, Jean-Paul debated explaining the situation, then he shrugged. "There was a car crash, my coach and agent, he was driving. And he is... in a coma now. I went through the windscreen and should have hit the car that Maurice hit, but I did not. Raymonde says it is because I flew - dodged. But I do not remember it."

"Crazy," Adrienne murmured sympathetically as she digested this information. The Jean-Paul she'd known had shared with her the story of the car crashes that had defined his life and left him with a fear of automobiles. He'd been young then, which meant, if the timelines were similar, that this version of him was much younger than the one Adrienne had known. Which, again, might not be a bad thing. He would probably be much less traumatized now than he had been when Adrienne had known him. Must be nice. "Sorry to hear that. I'm sure Maurice will come out of it okay," she told him, trying to sound as sympathetic as possible.

Quirking a rueful smile, Jean-Paul shook his head. "He is not such a good man, Maurice. But he is not a truly bad man, either." Bending to check the muffins again, he shrugged. "C'est la vie. These should be finished in a few more minutes."

"Hopefully they're the best muffins ever, because if you're going to be working for Meridian I'm going to make you ration your carbs," she teased. "Unless you wanted to be, I don't know, a hand model or something. How do you feel about watches and those Medic Alert bracelets?" she smirked.

Snorting softly, Jean-Paul said, "If I would not have to wear an image inducer, I would not mind modeling those. Or pants. With a very large focus on the pants themselves. Shoulders down. I do not mind so much. And I have had... how do you say it - a nutritionist. Oui, a nutritionist for many, many years. It would not be so hard to continue as I have been. Only, I am very tired of plain chicken."

"At least you eat chicken," she told him with a wry smirk. "Try being full veg. It gets ridiculously boring. And that's not even being vegan. I don't know how those people survive."

"Oui, this is true," he said, nodding. "I would not like to eat only broccoli, I think. And lettuce. However, this said, my muffins are very good."

"I feel like if I don't say 'that's what she said' I'd be quite remiss," Adrienne pointed out with a straight face. "I can do that schtick with a gay guy, right? Or would making muffins into euphemisms be insensitive to someone who doesn't like vaginas?"

Jean-Paul paused for a moment, expression thoughtful, and then shrugged. "It is not insensitive, I think. But I do not see why vaginas are like muffins. Would that not be a better euphemism, as you say, for breasts?"

"Nah," Adrienne shook her head. "Vaginas are definitely muffins. Has Lady Gaga taught you nothing?" she teased.

Laughing, Jean-Paul shrugged and then grabbed an oven mitt so he could pull the muffins out and let them cool on the stove top. "I am not sure how bluffing with her muffin means vaginas."

"I'd explain it to you," Adrienne smirked, "but this place is teeming with children, and since I spend a goodly amount of time chastising the adults here for not acting like adults around the children, I would be remiss if I didn't take my own advice. You'll have to live in the mystery until you can google it, I suppose."

"This will never happen," Jean-Paul said, expression mock-serious for a moment before he smiled again. "I have no desire to google muffins and vaginas. Or vaginas ever." Picking up a muffin, he bounced it between his hands, as it was still a little hot, and then handed it to Adrienne. "Et voila."

Adrienne juggled it a little and then started to lick it all over, just to see if she could get a rise out of him.

In the process of reaching for one of the other muffins, Jean-Paul paused and simply watched Adrienne lick the one he'd handed her. He blinked slowly at her, then set the small of his back against the counter and half bent over as he started laughing again. Helpless against it, he couldn't stop.