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xp_logsEv meets Jennie in the garage and they both attempt to bring themselves back to the real world.
Ev whistled softly as he entered the mansion's garage, twirling his key ring around his finger. He'd spent the past few days cooped up in his room, continuing to reacquaint himself with what had once been so familiar, but he needed supplies if he was going to continue his hermitage. It would only be a short trip to town, and he had more than enough cash on him, so there was no need to worry.
In his line of sight was a 2011 Harley Davidson motorcycle, parts of it currently occupying the garage floor as a black-haired young woman, greasy and lovingly, worked her way through the disparate parts and pieces. For Jennie this was a ritual. Donal had loved his bikes, and this had been his favorite. His gift to himself with the Moscow money. The one that he'd take her out on and proposed to her on. And the one she'd ultimately taken and driven through continental Europe, and refused to leave in Prague. This was the last of her lover, and she took very good care of it.
Jennie looked up at the sound of the whistling though, and found herself... pausing.
"Well, hello," she purred. "Everett, right?"
No mutant ever took Ev by surprise, and there was no mistaking the telltale aura of a probability manipulator as soon as Ev had stepped within detection range. Still, he let himself appear to be a little stunned by the stranger's sudden appearance and her playful tone. "That's me. And I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage . . ."
"Jennie Stavros," Jennie said, tossing her hair out of her eyes with a flick of her head. "One of Wanda's students," she leaned back on her arms and looked up at Everett and let herself enjoy the view. She wasn't dead, after all.
"Ah." Ev nodded and smiled. "Wanda mentioned your name. Very nice to meet you, Jennie Stavros. I didn't know there were so many mechanics enthusiasts here. Remind me next time I need an oil change."
"Aha, don't get your hopes up. The only enthusiasm I have for mechanics is for this bike here, I don't touch the other vehicles. I've worked on it so long my powers rarely accidentally interact with it anymore. That does not go for the other vehicles. Also, I don't work for free. Also, I'm not a mechanic. I'm a dancer," Jennie turned back to her project at hand. Flirting while she had her hands in her dead lover's favorite bike. Go to hell, go directly to hell, do not pass go...
Secret agent or not, it would have been difficult for most men not to give elevator eyes to a woman who looked like Jennie when she revealed that she's a dancer. Ev was only human. Long limbs, lean legs, sneakers that suggested high arches, all features that suggested . . . "Ballet?"
"Points for the eagle eyes, secret agent man," Jennie's blue eyes sparkled with mirth. "If you want to hone any more skills, I have a dance school in Salem Center. I can give you a brochure if you want." Also a private tour.
Just the thought of spending his time doing something so mundane (relatively speaking) as dancing lessons elicited a bark of laughter. "Mastering the waltz and the tango are requisites for spy school," he joked. "You never know when that honeypot is going to need to be wined and dined and entertained first. Trade secret, don't tell anyone."
"But of course," Jennie said. "Or when you need to be a honeypot yourself," she winked.
"Or when you just want a nice night out." Which had pretty much ceased to exist several months ago. Under Jennie's desirous gaze, he was apt to consider changing that. "So what do you do around here, besides dance and teach dance and maintain your motorcycle?"
"Save the world," Jennie stretched out her back. "You know, like you do." Flirting came so naturally to her, it was like slipping back into a well-worn jacket. Not that she was starting anything. Murderous ex-fiancé who may not take kindly to her dating again and all. No point in painting a giant target on the cute man.
Ev nodded with a hint of pride, although he couldn't help feeling a twinge of regret, considering her youth. Her personality, her style, so much like Janet. Still, the small smile never left his face. "Very admirable. This place breeds heroes."
"It's more like a hazardous by-product," Jennie said. "Or peer pressure. Or PTSD. One of them."
"Truth. I'll let you get back to François over there," he said, pointing a thumb at her bike, which he assumed had some fancy name. "Hopefully I'll see you around. Maybe for some coffee." He surprised himself with his proposal. Was he finally ready to abandon life as a recluse?
Jennie arched an immaculately groomed eyebrow. "Maybe," she said, with a wink and a grin. Perhaps she should, she had to get back to the business of living. Someday.
His grin match hers, as if she were looking into a mirror. "Maybe, then. Take care."
"Ta," she said, and watched him go. Shamelessly admiring the view. "Guess everything still works," she said, shaking her head. Then she turned back to Donal's bike. Maybe it was a sign after all.
Ev whistled softly as he entered the mansion's garage, twirling his key ring around his finger. He'd spent the past few days cooped up in his room, continuing to reacquaint himself with what had once been so familiar, but he needed supplies if he was going to continue his hermitage. It would only be a short trip to town, and he had more than enough cash on him, so there was no need to worry.
In his line of sight was a 2011 Harley Davidson motorcycle, parts of it currently occupying the garage floor as a black-haired young woman, greasy and lovingly, worked her way through the disparate parts and pieces. For Jennie this was a ritual. Donal had loved his bikes, and this had been his favorite. His gift to himself with the Moscow money. The one that he'd take her out on and proposed to her on. And the one she'd ultimately taken and driven through continental Europe, and refused to leave in Prague. This was the last of her lover, and she took very good care of it.
Jennie looked up at the sound of the whistling though, and found herself... pausing.
"Well, hello," she purred. "Everett, right?"
No mutant ever took Ev by surprise, and there was no mistaking the telltale aura of a probability manipulator as soon as Ev had stepped within detection range. Still, he let himself appear to be a little stunned by the stranger's sudden appearance and her playful tone. "That's me. And I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage . . ."
"Jennie Stavros," Jennie said, tossing her hair out of her eyes with a flick of her head. "One of Wanda's students," she leaned back on her arms and looked up at Everett and let herself enjoy the view. She wasn't dead, after all.
"Ah." Ev nodded and smiled. "Wanda mentioned your name. Very nice to meet you, Jennie Stavros. I didn't know there were so many mechanics enthusiasts here. Remind me next time I need an oil change."
"Aha, don't get your hopes up. The only enthusiasm I have for mechanics is for this bike here, I don't touch the other vehicles. I've worked on it so long my powers rarely accidentally interact with it anymore. That does not go for the other vehicles. Also, I don't work for free. Also, I'm not a mechanic. I'm a dancer," Jennie turned back to her project at hand. Flirting while she had her hands in her dead lover's favorite bike. Go to hell, go directly to hell, do not pass go...
Secret agent or not, it would have been difficult for most men not to give elevator eyes to a woman who looked like Jennie when she revealed that she's a dancer. Ev was only human. Long limbs, lean legs, sneakers that suggested high arches, all features that suggested . . . "Ballet?"
"Points for the eagle eyes, secret agent man," Jennie's blue eyes sparkled with mirth. "If you want to hone any more skills, I have a dance school in Salem Center. I can give you a brochure if you want." Also a private tour.
Just the thought of spending his time doing something so mundane (relatively speaking) as dancing lessons elicited a bark of laughter. "Mastering the waltz and the tango are requisites for spy school," he joked. "You never know when that honeypot is going to need to be wined and dined and entertained first. Trade secret, don't tell anyone."
"But of course," Jennie said. "Or when you need to be a honeypot yourself," she winked.
"Or when you just want a nice night out." Which had pretty much ceased to exist several months ago. Under Jennie's desirous gaze, he was apt to consider changing that. "So what do you do around here, besides dance and teach dance and maintain your motorcycle?"
"Save the world," Jennie stretched out her back. "You know, like you do." Flirting came so naturally to her, it was like slipping back into a well-worn jacket. Not that she was starting anything. Murderous ex-fiancé who may not take kindly to her dating again and all. No point in painting a giant target on the cute man.
Ev nodded with a hint of pride, although he couldn't help feeling a twinge of regret, considering her youth. Her personality, her style, so much like Janet. Still, the small smile never left his face. "Very admirable. This place breeds heroes."
"It's more like a hazardous by-product," Jennie said. "Or peer pressure. Or PTSD. One of them."
"Truth. I'll let you get back to François over there," he said, pointing a thumb at her bike, which he assumed had some fancy name. "Hopefully I'll see you around. Maybe for some coffee." He surprised himself with his proposal. Was he finally ready to abandon life as a recluse?
Jennie arched an immaculately groomed eyebrow. "Maybe," she said, with a wink and a grin. Perhaps she should, she had to get back to the business of living. Someday.
His grin match hers, as if she were looking into a mirror. "Maybe, then. Take care."
"Ta," she said, and watched him go. Shamelessly admiring the view. "Guess everything still works," she said, shaking her head. Then she turned back to Donal's bike. Maybe it was a sign after all.
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