Summer Days
Sep. 1st, 2020 09:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
xp_dominion posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
xp_logsBACKDATED
Betsy and Kane exchange thoughts during the summer vacation.
"Hey Betsy." Kane looked up from his position in front of the finished can of food. He'd been volunteered to shuck the cooked clams and oysters, since with his powers, it just involved tearing off the top shell and putting it on the tray. Surrounding him were trays loaded with the rest of the seafood from the can; lobsters, crab legs, long neck clams, oysters, jumbo shrimp, mussels, ears of corn, thick hunks of chorizo sausage, boiled red potatoes and at the end, stacks of fresh baguettes and bowls of garlic butter, jacked with hot paprika. The Englishwoman looked at the food as if she was trying to understand it all. "First clambake?”
“Afraid so,” Betsy said with a slightly embarrassed air. “I mean, I have eaten oysters and such, just not quite so,” she waved a hand in the air, then finished weakly, “much. I’m not sure where to start. Or how, for that matter."
"I get that. I've done shore lunches with Martimer friends, but I didn't run into the classic New England clambake until I started dating a local girl." He said, snapping off the tops of clams with a simple twist of his fingers. "Are you a seafood person? Anything you can't eat?"
Betsy inspected the spread with some trepidation before replying hesitantly. “I do generally like seafood and am not allergic to anything if that’s what you mean,” she replied. “At least as far as I know. There are some things here I don’t think I could name if pressed,” she said, pointing at at a geoduck. “This one for example. I’m willing to try it though. Is there some specific etiquette or is it more of a free-for-all?"
"Mostly a free for all. Everything is cooked together, with the corn, potatoes and sausage on the bottom, which steams all the seafood on top. The liquor from the seafood trickled back down into the water and turns it into a broth that soaks into the rest of the food." Kane said, waving at the expanse of food. "I'd suggest extra bread and at least one of the sausages to pair with everything."
“That sounds rather delicious,” she said, picking up a baguette and starting to gingerly place some of the less intimidating marine life on a paper plate. “So, how is life at the seaside treating you?,” she asked. “I imagine you don’t get time off that often, what with a day job and everything. Or the non-day job, although that front has seemed more quiet as far as I can tell.”
"My girlfriend is a Boston girl, so she drags me up here at least once a year so she can be snobby and complain about New York." Kane said, pausing to take a long swig from his lock necked beer bottle. "As for the rest, quiet is nice. It means madmen, would-be dictators, and imitation gods are taking the year off. That's a win for me."
“Complaining about one’s neighbours is a well-honoured tradition everywhere,” Betsy nodded. “I believe you mentioned she was going through rehab, I hope that is going well?” Her tone was half politeness, half genuine curiousity. “And yes, the lack of mad gods seems like a win. Even I got called in for last year’s outbreak of those."
"Weird things happen. Adrienne has done rehab, but it was from a massive power spike which for psychometry. Everything she touches she can read the entire history of. Hell of a thing. But she's getting better." Kane gave her a half smile, a slash over his too handsome face. "As for the mad gods, Miss Braddock, this is the mansion. I thought life was normal, and then a god killed me at one point. This is a strange world to live in that you joined up for."
“I’m glad to hear she is doing better. There is nothing as unpleasant as an unexpected powers accident. Except possibly being randomly killed by a god. Glad you got better too.” Betsy grabbed herself a beer as well and sipped awkwardly from the bottle before shrugging. “And I am not sure if any of us really joined, Mr Kane, with the world being what it is and us being who we are.”
"Garrison. Mister Kane is my father. You can tell the difference in that I'm younger and haven't hit on you yet." He finished off his drink and reached for another. "As for joining, up, you do know that you don't have to stay, right? The mansion isn't meant to be a prison and while being there means being in the middle of this nonsense from time to time, it isn't an obligation unless you choose to do so."
“Well, I do not see a Miss Braddock around either,” Betsy grinned. “I'm Betsy. As for the rest, I was raised with some measure of noblesse oblige, as problematic as that is in itself. When you have powers like ours, and opportunities such as the mansion allows, would not using them for the good of our fellow mutants be worse than abandonment?"
"So that sounds like volunteering to me. Unless you're in the midst of garlic butter induced psychosis" Kane said, a sly grin chasing the sip from his beer. "Shall I sign you up for some X-Men training sessions in the Danger Room?”
Betsy sighed, then replied. “I am pretty sure someone warned me about this moment. Several someones actually, now that I think about it. Possibly including yourself.” She stabbed a shrimp tail with her fork, popped it in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully before continuing. “But might as well. I make no promises, mind you, but I don’t see how training sessions could do any harm. Better to be prepared for the next time it’s all hands on deck, if nothing else."
"I would promise you that you won't regret your decision, but most people end up vomiting and cursing our names after the first one, so, you know..." He saluted her with his beer bottle. "Welcome to the X-Men, Betsy Braddock. hope you survive the experience.”
Betsy and Kane exchange thoughts during the summer vacation.
"Hey Betsy." Kane looked up from his position in front of the finished can of food. He'd been volunteered to shuck the cooked clams and oysters, since with his powers, it just involved tearing off the top shell and putting it on the tray. Surrounding him were trays loaded with the rest of the seafood from the can; lobsters, crab legs, long neck clams, oysters, jumbo shrimp, mussels, ears of corn, thick hunks of chorizo sausage, boiled red potatoes and at the end, stacks of fresh baguettes and bowls of garlic butter, jacked with hot paprika. The Englishwoman looked at the food as if she was trying to understand it all. "First clambake?”
“Afraid so,” Betsy said with a slightly embarrassed air. “I mean, I have eaten oysters and such, just not quite so,” she waved a hand in the air, then finished weakly, “much. I’m not sure where to start. Or how, for that matter."
"I get that. I've done shore lunches with Martimer friends, but I didn't run into the classic New England clambake until I started dating a local girl." He said, snapping off the tops of clams with a simple twist of his fingers. "Are you a seafood person? Anything you can't eat?"
Betsy inspected the spread with some trepidation before replying hesitantly. “I do generally like seafood and am not allergic to anything if that’s what you mean,” she replied. “At least as far as I know. There are some things here I don’t think I could name if pressed,” she said, pointing at at a geoduck. “This one for example. I’m willing to try it though. Is there some specific etiquette or is it more of a free-for-all?"
"Mostly a free for all. Everything is cooked together, with the corn, potatoes and sausage on the bottom, which steams all the seafood on top. The liquor from the seafood trickled back down into the water and turns it into a broth that soaks into the rest of the food." Kane said, waving at the expanse of food. "I'd suggest extra bread and at least one of the sausages to pair with everything."
“That sounds rather delicious,” she said, picking up a baguette and starting to gingerly place some of the less intimidating marine life on a paper plate. “So, how is life at the seaside treating you?,” she asked. “I imagine you don’t get time off that often, what with a day job and everything. Or the non-day job, although that front has seemed more quiet as far as I can tell.”
"My girlfriend is a Boston girl, so she drags me up here at least once a year so she can be snobby and complain about New York." Kane said, pausing to take a long swig from his lock necked beer bottle. "As for the rest, quiet is nice. It means madmen, would-be dictators, and imitation gods are taking the year off. That's a win for me."
“Complaining about one’s neighbours is a well-honoured tradition everywhere,” Betsy nodded. “I believe you mentioned she was going through rehab, I hope that is going well?” Her tone was half politeness, half genuine curiousity. “And yes, the lack of mad gods seems like a win. Even I got called in for last year’s outbreak of those."
"Weird things happen. Adrienne has done rehab, but it was from a massive power spike which for psychometry. Everything she touches she can read the entire history of. Hell of a thing. But she's getting better." Kane gave her a half smile, a slash over his too handsome face. "As for the mad gods, Miss Braddock, this is the mansion. I thought life was normal, and then a god killed me at one point. This is a strange world to live in that you joined up for."
“I’m glad to hear she is doing better. There is nothing as unpleasant as an unexpected powers accident. Except possibly being randomly killed by a god. Glad you got better too.” Betsy grabbed herself a beer as well and sipped awkwardly from the bottle before shrugging. “And I am not sure if any of us really joined, Mr Kane, with the world being what it is and us being who we are.”
"Garrison. Mister Kane is my father. You can tell the difference in that I'm younger and haven't hit on you yet." He finished off his drink and reached for another. "As for joining, up, you do know that you don't have to stay, right? The mansion isn't meant to be a prison and while being there means being in the middle of this nonsense from time to time, it isn't an obligation unless you choose to do so."
“Well, I do not see a Miss Braddock around either,” Betsy grinned. “I'm Betsy. As for the rest, I was raised with some measure of noblesse oblige, as problematic as that is in itself. When you have powers like ours, and opportunities such as the mansion allows, would not using them for the good of our fellow mutants be worse than abandonment?"
"So that sounds like volunteering to me. Unless you're in the midst of garlic butter induced psychosis" Kane said, a sly grin chasing the sip from his beer. "Shall I sign you up for some X-Men training sessions in the Danger Room?”
Betsy sighed, then replied. “I am pretty sure someone warned me about this moment. Several someones actually, now that I think about it. Possibly including yourself.” She stabbed a shrimp tail with her fork, popped it in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully before continuing. “But might as well. I make no promises, mind you, but I don’t see how training sessions could do any harm. Better to be prepared for the next time it’s all hands on deck, if nothing else."
"I would promise you that you won't regret your decision, but most people end up vomiting and cursing our names after the first one, so, you know..." He saluted her with his beer bottle. "Welcome to the X-Men, Betsy Braddock. hope you survive the experience.”
