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xp_logsAmanda meets Forge and after a tricky start, they manage to find something in common. No, not magic.
Forge had his door open, mostly because he absently forgot to close it, and was giving his brain and his power a break by jamming on some chords. Today was a punk kind of day, so he was delving into what songs he knew from the Clash, the Buzzccoks, Adam and the Ants, old 70s pissed-off Brits being mad at Maggie Thatcher and letting the world know about it.
Suited him, well, like a glove. And speaking of gloves, his was off and his artificial hand was hitting the strings pretty hard, as was only right and proper for punk. His power could see the force of his artificial digits on the strings, but more than that, the simple math behind punk was a balm to a I'm-not-used-to-this-anymore levels of power use he'd been engaging in.
He wasn 't the only one that his musical choice suited - Amanda caught the familiar strains of "London Calling" as she was heading back to her suite after dinner and decided to track down the source. She was surprised to find it was the new resident and a First Nations man to boot - she hadn't thought the British Invasion had gotten so far. She waited for the end of the song and then gave him some slow applause by way of appreciation.
Forge looked up to see he had a spectator. Blonde white woman with a couple of piercings and an expensive haircut. Great. "Hey." he said, trying to be mindful of the niceties. "Forgot to close my door, sorry about that." he said with an embarrassed shrug. "I'm Forge." he said by way of an introduction. "New guy, mechanical genius."
"I know." It slipped out before she realized, and she gave him an apologetic shrug. "Saw you on the journals, so yeah. I'm Amanda. Sorry to interrupt, but there's not a lot of punk fans here besides me, so I couldn't help stopping." As she spoke she was cataloguing the differences between this version of Forge and the one she had known - older, definitely in better shape, metal hand and very likely the leg as well, if her training in body language had anything to say about it. "It's good to hear someone who appreciates good music."
"Good for giving my brain a breather." he said with a hopefully-friendly smile. "I think it's the passion that leads me to like it - they were some seriously pissed-off people and had to let the world know it. I respect that." He then put the guitar down, lurched to his feet, and extended his flesh hand for her to take if she was so inclined. "Plus the math is nice and simple." he said somewhat enigmatically.
She responded in kind, shaking his hand. There was something strange about him that wasn't connected to his prostheses - she'd noticed Doug's nanite arm tended to give her a weird energy reading - but something else. She filed it away in her memory for future poking at and smiled. "I think that's why I got into it as a kid - I was very pissed off and needed people to know. Plus I had someone who would give me CDs of stuff from his own collection, which was all British all the time."
"Very British of you." he joked. He got a weird feeling from her handshake but thinking about it too much would just make his brain spin and he was trying to calm it down, not spin it back up. Her remnants of an accent clued him in as to her probable nation of origin and if he was wrong, well, he could explain it off with the music. "Been here long?" he asked as he half-fell back into his seat - his hip was _still_ pissed off at him for that Danger Room run and was determined to let him know all about it. Another thing to add to his near-endless to-do list - redesigning the leg.
Again.
"Well, that's because I am British," she replied. "Mostly. I wasn't born there, but I was raised in England, before I came out here when I was fifteen. Been here, on and off, ever since." She grimaced. "And wow, now I feel old. But yeah, I was a student here, then I was expelled, then I came back with X-Force." She paused, and raised her eyebrow. "I'm assuming someone's given you the whole intro to the teams thing here?"
"Yes, but it was provided by Clint and I think he was both hungover and dehydrated at the time. Or possibly still drunk. He fell out of a tree. It was a very strange introduction." he said with a chuckle. "X-Force is the dirty deeds group, if I remember correctly." he said, careful of her expression. "Or, excuse me, the privately-held think tank with a global reach and diverse interests."
"More espionage and magic shite than outright dirty deeds, but you're not far off." Amanda seemed unconcerned about Forge's interpretation. "Clint didn't do a terrible job explaining things, then." She tilted her head. "So, what about you? What brings you here and all that?"
"Oh." he said, as she mentioned magic and his stomach lurched. "As for me, well, got retired from the US Army, got degrees in math and American history, then decided "You know what? Shit's getting ugly out there and I think I should use my gift for people who will appreciate and use it for helping people. The baby-killer grants were lucrative as all hell, don't get me wrong, but I don't exactly want to be pinned down in a DARPA cube-farm building better AR-15s and whatnot." he said with a shrug. "So here I am."
"Makes sense. Especially with rogue elements of the government getting into the mutant-hunting giant robot business," she replied, still making her mental comparisons. Like and yet so unlike at the same time. "And I'm sure the leather brigade - that's the X-Men - will appreciate having someone onboard who can make them all the awesome toys." She was surprised he hadn't jumped on her mention of magic, though, and decided to have it out all at once, like pulling off the band-aid. "So, since you're science bloke and all, I'll get this over with - I'm a witch, magic is real and no, I don't wear a pointy hat or ride a broomstick, unless you count what I named my car."
"Congratulations." he said with a sarcastic clap of his hands. "My uncle's arguably _the_ Cheyenne shaman, I'm well-aware magic is real, and your fashion choices are your business." he told her, holding his tongue before invoking the most foul of stereotypes - the Karen. No, she could not talk to his manager. He was also not about to go into his apprenticeship with Naze to someone he'd just met. Hell, he didn't like talking about it with people he knew loved and cared about him. J Random Mutant Witches were way, way down the priority chain. "But thanks for letting me know."
Amanda blinked. Of all the responses she'd been expecting, that hadn't been on the list. "Wait, what?" she stuttered, before recovering. "Okay, so that is not the answer I was expecting. Obviously. I'm really sorry, I went and did the thing that I hate people doing to me, making judgments before I actually knew you. I've just had so many 'debates' with people about whether what I do actually exists, I've gotten a bit defensive about it." She was dying to ask about Naze, but held her tongue. "I've met Maya's grandfather and he told me a little about his side of things, but I'm not about to stick my nose in where it's really not wanted, being a colonizing bastard and all."
Forge waved that off. "At least you're not one of those who thinks all Natives are magical." he said. "Those people need to die in a fire. Or be forced to actually live on a rez." he said with a sneer. "Oh, you've met Maya's grandfather? Nice guy. Loves cars, loves his family, way too vested in the Rockies to be healthy, Decent shaman, too." he said with warmth - it really sucked that he couldn't tell the old man what'd he done, lest he get ostracized by the entire damned tribe. "Plus, you're white and British. Under colonizer in the dictionary, they could use your picture if they were so inclined. Sykes and Picot are getting lonely." he joked.
Amanda had no idea who either of those two were, but she wasn't about to compound her already shaky situation here by saying so. "British by adoption," she clarified. "I was born in Germany, to a Romani family. But since I've been in England since I was a toddler and didn't know any different until my teens, I think of myself as a Brit. But I'm also trying not to be that person when it comes to other types of magic than mine, so I'll keep in mind not to assume all scientists think I'm delusional when I mention I'm a witch."
Forge made a face. "Ah." he said. "Well then. Sorry about that." he said helplessly. "I'm an engineer, not a scientist. Scientists suss out theory, determine what may or may not be possible. Engineers are the boots on the ground turning theory into reality. Pro tip." he said with a grin. Then he paused for a moment and then had an Idea. "Got anything you'd especially like to hear? Brit-punk isn't my strongest genre by far but I know a few things..."
"Any Buzzcocks?" she asked, grinning in return.
Forge had his door open, mostly because he absently forgot to close it, and was giving his brain and his power a break by jamming on some chords. Today was a punk kind of day, so he was delving into what songs he knew from the Clash, the Buzzccoks, Adam and the Ants, old 70s pissed-off Brits being mad at Maggie Thatcher and letting the world know about it.
Suited him, well, like a glove. And speaking of gloves, his was off and his artificial hand was hitting the strings pretty hard, as was only right and proper for punk. His power could see the force of his artificial digits on the strings, but more than that, the simple math behind punk was a balm to a I'm-not-used-to-this-anymore levels of power use he'd been engaging in.
He wasn 't the only one that his musical choice suited - Amanda caught the familiar strains of "London Calling" as she was heading back to her suite after dinner and decided to track down the source. She was surprised to find it was the new resident and a First Nations man to boot - she hadn't thought the British Invasion had gotten so far. She waited for the end of the song and then gave him some slow applause by way of appreciation.
Forge looked up to see he had a spectator. Blonde white woman with a couple of piercings and an expensive haircut. Great. "Hey." he said, trying to be mindful of the niceties. "Forgot to close my door, sorry about that." he said with an embarrassed shrug. "I'm Forge." he said by way of an introduction. "New guy, mechanical genius."
"I know." It slipped out before she realized, and she gave him an apologetic shrug. "Saw you on the journals, so yeah. I'm Amanda. Sorry to interrupt, but there's not a lot of punk fans here besides me, so I couldn't help stopping." As she spoke she was cataloguing the differences between this version of Forge and the one she had known - older, definitely in better shape, metal hand and very likely the leg as well, if her training in body language had anything to say about it. "It's good to hear someone who appreciates good music."
"Good for giving my brain a breather." he said with a hopefully-friendly smile. "I think it's the passion that leads me to like it - they were some seriously pissed-off people and had to let the world know it. I respect that." He then put the guitar down, lurched to his feet, and extended his flesh hand for her to take if she was so inclined. "Plus the math is nice and simple." he said somewhat enigmatically.
She responded in kind, shaking his hand. There was something strange about him that wasn't connected to his prostheses - she'd noticed Doug's nanite arm tended to give her a weird energy reading - but something else. She filed it away in her memory for future poking at and smiled. "I think that's why I got into it as a kid - I was very pissed off and needed people to know. Plus I had someone who would give me CDs of stuff from his own collection, which was all British all the time."
"Very British of you." he joked. He got a weird feeling from her handshake but thinking about it too much would just make his brain spin and he was trying to calm it down, not spin it back up. Her remnants of an accent clued him in as to her probable nation of origin and if he was wrong, well, he could explain it off with the music. "Been here long?" he asked as he half-fell back into his seat - his hip was _still_ pissed off at him for that Danger Room run and was determined to let him know all about it. Another thing to add to his near-endless to-do list - redesigning the leg.
Again.
"Well, that's because I am British," she replied. "Mostly. I wasn't born there, but I was raised in England, before I came out here when I was fifteen. Been here, on and off, ever since." She grimaced. "And wow, now I feel old. But yeah, I was a student here, then I was expelled, then I came back with X-Force." She paused, and raised her eyebrow. "I'm assuming someone's given you the whole intro to the teams thing here?"
"Yes, but it was provided by Clint and I think he was both hungover and dehydrated at the time. Or possibly still drunk. He fell out of a tree. It was a very strange introduction." he said with a chuckle. "X-Force is the dirty deeds group, if I remember correctly." he said, careful of her expression. "Or, excuse me, the privately-held think tank with a global reach and diverse interests."
"More espionage and magic shite than outright dirty deeds, but you're not far off." Amanda seemed unconcerned about Forge's interpretation. "Clint didn't do a terrible job explaining things, then." She tilted her head. "So, what about you? What brings you here and all that?"
"Oh." he said, as she mentioned magic and his stomach lurched. "As for me, well, got retired from the US Army, got degrees in math and American history, then decided "You know what? Shit's getting ugly out there and I think I should use my gift for people who will appreciate and use it for helping people. The baby-killer grants were lucrative as all hell, don't get me wrong, but I don't exactly want to be pinned down in a DARPA cube-farm building better AR-15s and whatnot." he said with a shrug. "So here I am."
"Makes sense. Especially with rogue elements of the government getting into the mutant-hunting giant robot business," she replied, still making her mental comparisons. Like and yet so unlike at the same time. "And I'm sure the leather brigade - that's the X-Men - will appreciate having someone onboard who can make them all the awesome toys." She was surprised he hadn't jumped on her mention of magic, though, and decided to have it out all at once, like pulling off the band-aid. "So, since you're science bloke and all, I'll get this over with - I'm a witch, magic is real and no, I don't wear a pointy hat or ride a broomstick, unless you count what I named my car."
"Congratulations." he said with a sarcastic clap of his hands. "My uncle's arguably _the_ Cheyenne shaman, I'm well-aware magic is real, and your fashion choices are your business." he told her, holding his tongue before invoking the most foul of stereotypes - the Karen. No, she could not talk to his manager. He was also not about to go into his apprenticeship with Naze to someone he'd just met. Hell, he didn't like talking about it with people he knew loved and cared about him. J Random Mutant Witches were way, way down the priority chain. "But thanks for letting me know."
Amanda blinked. Of all the responses she'd been expecting, that hadn't been on the list. "Wait, what?" she stuttered, before recovering. "Okay, so that is not the answer I was expecting. Obviously. I'm really sorry, I went and did the thing that I hate people doing to me, making judgments before I actually knew you. I've just had so many 'debates' with people about whether what I do actually exists, I've gotten a bit defensive about it." She was dying to ask about Naze, but held her tongue. "I've met Maya's grandfather and he told me a little about his side of things, but I'm not about to stick my nose in where it's really not wanted, being a colonizing bastard and all."
Forge waved that off. "At least you're not one of those who thinks all Natives are magical." he said. "Those people need to die in a fire. Or be forced to actually live on a rez." he said with a sneer. "Oh, you've met Maya's grandfather? Nice guy. Loves cars, loves his family, way too vested in the Rockies to be healthy, Decent shaman, too." he said with warmth - it really sucked that he couldn't tell the old man what'd he done, lest he get ostracized by the entire damned tribe. "Plus, you're white and British. Under colonizer in the dictionary, they could use your picture if they were so inclined. Sykes and Picot are getting lonely." he joked.
Amanda had no idea who either of those two were, but she wasn't about to compound her already shaky situation here by saying so. "British by adoption," she clarified. "I was born in Germany, to a Romani family. But since I've been in England since I was a toddler and didn't know any different until my teens, I think of myself as a Brit. But I'm also trying not to be that person when it comes to other types of magic than mine, so I'll keep in mind not to assume all scientists think I'm delusional when I mention I'm a witch."
Forge made a face. "Ah." he said. "Well then. Sorry about that." he said helplessly. "I'm an engineer, not a scientist. Scientists suss out theory, determine what may or may not be possible. Engineers are the boots on the ground turning theory into reality. Pro tip." he said with a grin. Then he paused for a moment and then had an Idea. "Got anything you'd especially like to hear? Brit-punk isn't my strongest genre by far but I know a few things..."
"Any Buzzcocks?" she asked, grinning in return.
