xp_logs | Labor Day Weekend

xp_catseye posting in

"Forced to approve of very Canadian man. Venison jerky is very tasty. No wonder wolf has selected him." Sharon lifted her head from the plate to check with Liam, who seemed distracted by something. "You have had?"

"Hmmm?" Liam took the jerky from Sharon and took a bite before handing it back, "Not bad. My dad does better, I should have him send some. Might take a while though, he'll have to hunt the deer if we don't have any left," his eyes never left Big Bird though.

Sharon accepted the slightly used jerky and finished it. Food hygiene was a problem for other people. Licking her whiskers, she followed Liam's gaze to Warren.

"He is interesting to you?" she asked, flicking an ear. "I have met. He gave me food, answered questions. I could introduce." She regarded the man's glistening abdominal muscles for a moment then added, "Was not so disconcertingly shiny then."

"He's a douche bag that asked if I speak in meows," Liam grumbled. "And now he's just dumb in his tiny little shorts. Might as well be naked," he was wearing a very respectable pair of board shorts with a t-shirt, arms cut off.

Sharon blinked, then burst out laughing. Not a feline chuff, but loud, bright peals of human laughter, the likes of which is only produced when something deeply embarrassing has befallen a friend.

"Meows!" she giggled, ramming her head against Liam's side in delighted schadenfreude. "You wear clothes and walk on two legs, and he asks if you speak in meows? Were you playing with string? Chasing tail, maybe?"

Liam might've been an only child, but he had absolutely no hesitation hitting her as he scowled, "Exactly! And no. I want to pounce him. Those wings are enormous!" He had outgrown chasing his tail, thank you very much!

Liam got a retaliatory swat to the nose from Sharon's tail. "Should have asked politely, like me," Sharon said, collecting herself. "He let me touch. Very enlightening. And I-"

Suddenly movement by the pool caught her eye. Dark hair, rippling abs, a speedo. Instinctively, the hair on Sharon's spine bristled. She hissed.

"I didn't actually pounce him!" Liam protested, his tail poking her.... following her gaze, his brow wrinkled, "Who’s that?" Clearly, Sharon knew.

"My nemesis." Sharon's ears pressed back against her head as she flattened her body against the ground in a classic fight-or-flight pose. "Committed grievous wrong against me."

"'Grievous wrongs against you,'" Liam repeated, snorting a laugh, "What? Did he try to give you belly rubs? Pull your tail?" okay, that last one hurt and was uncool, but still kinda silly.

Sharon's tail lashed dangerously. "Dropped me in lake."

"He can fly?" Liam's eyes were like saucers and he was vibrating from tail to head, "Would he drop me in? That sounds like fun!"

"Do not think kitten appreciates gravity of this crime," Sharon observed, slitting her eyes at the boy.

"But I will teach."

Sharon pounced, and all the coiled energy that had been aimed towards Namor suddenly unwound directly onto Liam.

Yowling, Liam scrabbled back, rolling, claws out and teeth barred. He wasn't really a fighter, there was too much chance he'd hurt someone and then there would be all sorts of problems, but he didn't have to be careful with Sharon. She was both a mutant and a cat. And bigger than him. It was a good thing he was also barefoot.

Sharon regarded his challenging stance and opened her jaws in a feline grin. It was good to have a friend willing to tussle in inappropriate locations. Her tail lashed in anticipation.

"En garde, kitten."

Artie didn't spend a great deal of time around the mansion and as a rule, he didn't seek out the young people there - he wasn't their mentor or powers coach and other, more emotionally balanced people were better placed to work with them all.

Oh, he'd heard all about the two he hadn't met yet but gossip and Doug's blow by blow of the sword training session weren't the same as having met them.

There was a lot of space between not seeking them out and ignoring them when they were at the same barbeque and he was standing by one of the coolers full of drinks. He gave Shatterstar a lazy wave and projected an image of a can of cola with a question mark attached.

"Yes, please," Shatterstar said, not being able to help but stare at the image Artie projected. He was still getting used to mutant powers, and something like projected images had never occurred to him. He tried to remember if he knew who had that mutation but came up short, which annoyed him. He was trying to know everyone at the mansion.

For security reasons.

"I'm Shatterstar," he said hoping to prompt a name.

Artie fingerspelled his name, adding the sign name he used with it and then, in deference to the fact that the already absurdly tall teen in front of him likely couldn't sign, repeated it in a speech bubble.

Shatterstar knew a little bit of finger-spelling, but the speech bubble very much so helped. He clumsily repeated the sign name. "Thank you," he said and since that was one of the few signs he knew signed it as well- careful to not accidentally say "fuck you".

Artie nodded, taking in the relative lack of proficiency and adjusting his communication style in response. "No problem. Enjoying all this?" That came with a wave at the pool, the grills, the surrounds.

Shatterstar shrugged. "It's okay," he said, eyes roaming to where Rictor was. His eyes snapped back to Artie. "It's good to meet you. I'm trying to learn who everyone is still."

"Yeah, you too." He'd noticed the boy's eye gaze but didn't say anything. Artie let the text dissolve as he waved vaguely at Shatterstar, turning his attention to the grill and the food that was being sent out.

Shatterstar lifted his soda can in acknowledgement before walking away, glad to have met one of the more elusive members of the mansion.

Illyana was sprawled on a lounger, picking up the scant bit of sun her skin would tolerate while she watched the people around her. Boris was next to her, occasionally being fed bites of cooked but unseasoned chicken and hamburger while she nibbled on the occasional bite of fruit and vegetable. A shadow dropping across her lap had her tilting her head back, smiling at Clint through her sunglasses. "Do not block sunshine, have seat. I can shift over so you fit."

Clint sat at the end of the lounger, stretching his legs out to one side as he leaned back, letting the crown of his head rest on the pavement as he exhaled slowly, arms moving upward so he could carry the stretch through his shoulders. "Sorry for blocking your sun." Luckily, he'd leaned back on the side where the puppy dog was laying, so he turned his head a little and reached out so Boris could sniff at his fingers. "Enjoying the party, 'yana?"

"Slight distance from pool has kept me out of chaos," she replied, shifting the food for Boris between them. "Boris will love you easy if you give him a bite or two off plate. If Russian is good, can get him to follow basic command for food. We are still training. Little setback when Pyotr left."

Grinning even as he looked at the dog upside down, Clint murmured in Russian, "Hello, puppy, you're a very handsome man. My dads have Lucky, or he'd be all over you with happy greetings. He's getting a little old, not so interested in chasing around balls and sticks. But I bet I could throw a ball and you'd bring it back for a treat, wouldn't you?"

"He is most handsome little man," she agreed. "And loves to do chase and play. Mostly leave that to April, but yes. Will always play for treats." Boris had nudged into Clint's hand, licking at the man's fingertips. His little tail wagged furiously as he heard some of his favorite words.

Raising his hand with his palm flat, Clint said, "Chicken me, please."

Illyana dropped two bite-size pieces of chicken into his hand, then startled as Warren's voice calling her name echoed across the lawn. "What–" she turned her head, and saw him on the phone, eyebrows furrowed in that way that meant work. She let out a sigh and stood, adjusting her sunhat. "Work bellows. Can you watch Boris for minute?"

"Boris and I are bonding, we'll be fine," Clint said, enjoying stretching his Russian language muscles. "Shoo, don't let the man working on Labor Day ruin it for everyone else."

"Does not have choice. If someone called today, underling fucked up. Probably Jones." Illyana perked up. "Maybe will get to fire Jones. Oooh." She gave Clint an absent pat on the head as she stood, then did the same to Boris. "Be good for Clint. Will text you, send April over if this means office duty. Thank you."

"Sure, no problem," Clint said, already feeding Boris a piece of chicken.

It wasn't actually dissociation, Jim knew, but his brain definitely filled with some kind of haze whenever Warren started talking to him. Or at him, since conversations with Warren were inevitably more like monologues. Currently it was something about planning his wedding, or possibly about how he should start planning his wedding. He had the vague impression Warren had been "starting" to plan his wedding ever since they'd met. Regardless, a lot of words were happening, and the burger that had been forced on him was slowly congealing on his plate.

"Anyways, that's why I'm really not sure about if cerulean is the way to go, or maybe a darker teal? It's so difficult to plan this out when -- " His phone rang, and Warren stopped mid-sentence. Glancing at the caller ID, he sighed. "Illyana!!!!" He knew she was there somewhere, and she would need to have some of this information. He hated it when he had to deal with work that Jones should have dealt with. "Sorry buddy, gotta answer this..... Worthington." The tone of voice instantly shifted, as did the look on Warren's face. No one had ever accused him of being a good poker player. "Right ... Okay, I hear what you're saying, and I appreciate the conversation. What I need to know though is what will be the ramifications of postponing this? We've already extended the deadline on this merger several times, and have added at least two phases to ensure that employee rights and benefits are being adhered to as well as added to .... No. I'm not going to do that. I've already invested thousands extra into severance packages and I have Illyana working on the insurance extensions right now." He rolled his eyes and gave Haller a 'blah blah blah' look. "I recognize that, I do. Listen, I promise to review and have the document back within a 24 hour time period, but I can't do much more than that. I know you are trying to do what's best, and I appreciate it.... oh -- you sent it to Jones last week? And asked for it to be in for today? I can absolutely see why you're upset. Thanks for reaching out directly to me, I'll have this dealt with even sooner then."

Illyana appeared silently at Warren's call, face screwing into an angry frown as she heard the word 'Jones'. "Idiot man," she mouthed at Haller's perplexed look, mistaking his confusion at Warren's business competence for confusion about the person. "Want to be there when you fire idiot," she announced as Warren hung up. "Tell me when, will wear ass-kick boots and armor, throw him out on ear. Will also order treat for office as reward for putting up with him."

Warren frowned and nodded. "Alright, well, I hope you got your fill here because we are off to Los Angeles 10 minutes ago. You prepare the jet, I'll start getting a team together. Obviously, Jones is useless and is not properly dealing with this merger. You're allowed to fire him once you get him to beg for his job."

Illyana brightened at that, though she was still somewhat pouty at the thought of trading free time for cleaning up after Jones. She looked down at herself, contemplating her bikini and sandals. "Need to change," she muttered, before looking Haller over. "Borrowing you from party, need more than two hands. Thank you."

Her phone appeared in one hand, the other giving Warren a shooing motion. "Go, will have flight plan in 15 minutes."

The first thought that had crossed Jim's mind when Warren had taken the call was: What the hell? He sounds like an actual professional. The second thought, RUN, unfortunately had not triggered in time to be of any practical use. Now Illyana was staring at him with a look that was equal parts Executive Assistant and Sovereign of a Hell Dimension.

"Uh, you need me?" Jim said, still trying to recover from the emotional whiplash that was witnessing Warren Worthington III in business mode.

She gave him a flat look. "Have two hands, need extra. Congratulations." She started moving towards the grill, tapping on her phone and expecting Haller to follow behind. "Flight, length of stay, hotel rooms," she muttered to herself, sending a quick text to Warren to verify the number of people for the trip. "Hold please." Her phone disappeared from her hands as she held out a container for Haller.

Jim surrendered to the inevitable and accepted the container, setting his own plate aside in resignation. "You know what, if it gets me away from Warren, sure."

Illyana waved a hand. "He is in business mode. Mind is not on whatever he was blabbering about." She filled the container up quickly with various vegetarian dishes and snapped the lid on, then picked up Haller's plate and placed it on top. "Can walk and eat, yes? Need to pack." The phone came back out as she headed inside. "Am going to ask. Why did Warren ask about coordinating your outfit for wedding to Jean and Sooraya?"

"Did he? I must have blacked out by then." Jim pinched the bridge of his nose as he kept pace with the blonde. "For some reason Warren is under the impression that I'm sleeping with at least three different women. I seem to pick up another one every time we talk. And by the way, I don't know if you're in whatever group chat is happening, but if so: I'm not involved with anyone. Not romantically, not sexually, not spiritually. Please spread it around."

"Do I look like type of person that gets invited to group chat? Do not answer. Only group text is for Excalibur." They'd headed up the stairs, and Illyana held her phone up to her door, pushing it open with a twist of the handle. "He will find out you are in here. Do not know how, but he is like bloodhound for possible sex things." She gave Haller a look. "He should get cologne suggestion instead, you do not smell like man after gym."

"My idea of personal scent begins and ends with deodorant and regular bathing. And yeah, I noticed. If I so much as take the same elevator with someone they get added to his conspiracy board." He paused as Illyana shouldered her way into her room. "By the way, why am I about to be in here?"

"Must pack for business, must make sure everything is ready for business. Need more than two hands for this. Do not worry, will not ask you to pack embarrassing things unless you want me to troll Warren." Illyana raised an eyebrow, then very flatly said, "So sorry late to plane, boss. David needed to give me special goodbye in bedroom."

"Sure, why not. I don't think I've allegedly romanced a blonde yet." Jim sighed as Illyana produced a bag. "I don't know, you work for him. Any suggestions on how to mitigate this?"

Illyana shrugged. "Could not tell you how he thinks yet. Maybe sex with people inside house bad for X-Man business. Or that you are holding torch for someone not attainable."

Damn, he should have tried the "bad for the team" excuse. Then again, he wasn't sure that would've registered with Warren, either. And that was before Cyndi had decided to do . . . whatever her idea of help was.

"Unfortunately I think that ship has sailed," Jim admitted. "I don't know. Denial doesn't work. Going limp doesn't work. It just bothers me. It doesn't really matter what he thinks about me" much "but the assumptions spread to anyone in my general proximity." Particularly Sooraya, but he was also horribly fascinated by the narrative Warren had managed to weave with Jean who, as far as Jim could tell, was guilty only of spending the last few months doing nothing but minding her own business after having the audacity to be cheated on. He couldn't tell if this was some sort of transference or if Warren had an incredible talent for selectively editing memories.

She let out a hum of thought from the closet. "Could say you are dating shapeshifter. Is not Jean, Sooraya, anyone else. Just same person, taking on other skin temporarily because you are both private and hate gossip. Tell them before saying that, probably. Pack please." She dumped a few dresses and suits into his arms. "Maybe do not talk about going limp unless you want blue pill."

"Good point. I'm not sure I could handle men's health advice from Warren." The telepath shook his head and began to fold, noting vaguely that while everything she handed him seemed fashionable it wasn't quite in a way he could understand. Who could guess what the Queen of Limbo considered business casual. At this point Jim knew only one thing for certain, and it was this:

If he was at the point where he was asking Illyana Rasputin for advice, he definitely needed to get his shit together.

Jim stared at the drink in his hand, disbelieving. "Wait, so kombucha is . . . fermented?"

The glancing glitter of casually juggled knives filled the space between Haller and Arthur as Arthur's mouth hung open.

"So is beer, my dude," the blonde man offered. Thankfully, the shock was not enough to interpret any showmanship or knife play. To enunciate the point, he added a twist so that the knives spun mid-air. "Most people get weirded by the live bacteria."

"I know the logic behind probiotics, but there's something about a drink that's actually grown from a culture . . ." The telepath scrolled through the phone in his other hand, frowning at the information it was providing him about the drink in his hand. "Okay, like this. What the hell is a 'zoogleal mat'?"

Shatterstar didn't mean to hang around the edges of their conversation like, well, bacteria around the edges of a petri dish. But he didn't exactly see an opening and as much as he would be fine with being rude to Haller at this point (Cyndi would probably find it funny), he was still skirting around Arthur a little. Instead he just moved a little closer to watch the knife show with more ease.

Though, for the record, he agreed with Haller on the appeal of kombucha. It was always so strong anyways.

The movement caught Jim's eye. Shatterstar was hard to miss, and his presence offered a welcome alternative to the increasingly bizarre origins of what he'd been trying to drink. He also seemed to be unusually interested in Arthur's demonstration. Jim slid his phone into his pocket and nodded to the young man.

"Oh, hey, Shatterstar," he said. "You've met Arthur, right?"

Shatterstar nodded stiffly, as though any progress made the last time he met Arthur was gone. It was one thing to meet the man over breakfast and another entirely to watch him engage in his craft. (The skill of which, Shatterstar was sort of jealous of). "Yeah. We talked once." Since Haller invited him to the conversation he moved to join it, though he stuck closer to his teacher.

"Turns out Shatterstar and I share some history!" This was helpfully offered as Arthur palmed one of the knives, only to spin and dislodge it into the center of a nearby archery target. He continued to juggle the remaining blades.

"I promised to show him the many fine ways of showboating."

"Oh, yeah?" Jim raised an eyebrow at Shatterstar. "Do you do knives, too?"

"Not yet," Shatterstar said, letting the 'yet' leave room for interpretation. He was intently staring at the knives, trying to track the ones Arthur palmed. "Arthur said he'd show me to fall gracefully," he added to get Jim off the scent of their shared history.

Arthur was beaming, already happily taking a detour back toward knives. His juggling came to a halt as he caught each. "A little different than Davey, but every student has their own path."

A path that apparently led to Arthur offering Jim a knife.

"Your turn!"

"Huh? Oh, okay." Jim automatically took the knife, then hurled it at the archery target. It didn't hit center, but it came surprisingly close. Jim blinked and stared at his hand.

"Wait, how do I know how to do that?" he asked. Then, as his brain finally caught up to his ears, "What do you mean 'different than Davey'?"

"Davey is a doer," the blonde man offered helpfully as if this answered both questions, "He learns best through repetition. I haven't had the pleasure of discovering Shatterstar's learning style yet."

The knife, this time, was offered to the redhead. "Want a shot?"

"Davey got to throw knives before me?" Benji forced himself to front, turning on Jim with an accusing glare. He realized he was almost pouting and took a step back from front to let Shatterstar take the knife from Arthur. It was Shatterstar after all who had all that practice aiming.

Perhaps it was the shift, or maybe it was just the fact that neither had gotten the memo, but the handoff of the knife to Star caused the boy's exposed hand to brush just over the gloves Arthur was wearing.

Skin to skin.

For Arthur, the world shifted as the image of Shatterstar split before him into two different images that vibrated in concert with each other. What everyone else saw was merely the blonde man staring after Shatterstar blankly.

Jim, oblivious, was still on the last critical detail. "Davey got to throw knives?" he repeated, appalled.

Arthur, sputtering, managed, "What?"

The double exposure Arthur saw was this. One figure was Shatterstar's height, with the same hairstyle as Shatterstar but more of a strawberry blonde than the auburn hair their body actually had. He had a younger Arthur Centino's face, ripped straight from VHS. The star shaped birthmark the two shared wasn't the port-wine color, but a dark black, more like a tattoo. The other figure was younger, maybe fourteen or fifteen, with short hair and the body's features. His birthmark was larger than it was on the actual body- port-wine birthmarks tend to shrink with age. He was maybe half a foot shorter than the other figure. They overlapped each other, like a 3D image.

"What?" Shatterstar asked, not knowing what Arthur was seeing. "Can I throw it now?"

Arthur squinted hard at the two figures before him carefully. "Have at it," came with a feigned exuberance before he turned to Haller and tapped his temple.

#Jim, what am I seeing?#

Unaware of Arthur's faking, Shatterstar faced the archery board, not catching the silent communication. He was too focussed on trying to make his shot and making sure to be even with his throw. It wasn't as good as Davey's, but better than he had expected, having never done it.

Jim frowned, but Arthur's intent was clear. He slipped into the other man's mind and directly into the proffered reading.

#That's--# he began, then stopped. It could only have been Benjamin and Shatterstar -- was perhaps the same kind of read of him Arthur had gotten when he read Davey. The truth was on the tip of his tongue, but no matter how startling the vision it wasn't his place to tell Arthur about Shatterstar's system.

But this was Arthur. Arthur wasn't the kind of person to judge or press. And, with a power like this, Jim was beginning to realize just how valuable that was.

#That's normal for Shatterstar,# Jim concluded.

#Huh,# and that was apparently enough for the other man as his mental tone went from confusion to curiosity, #Well, as long as nothing is wrong. Discovering folks are multiple people wasn't on my New Year's resolutions, but that's happened twice!#

"Oooh, good. We'll have to work on the spin, but your grip is already fantastic."

Shatterstar had a small smile, still unaware of the second conversation. He nodded to Arthur and walked to the archery board to retrieve the knives. "Thanks."

"He's a talented kid," said Jim in lieu of addressing Arthur's too-accurate observation.

"He certainly is," Arthur agreed readily. "Knife throwing is a very useful form of meditation. Focus. Aim. Emptying one's mind except for the target. Of course, I had to start with lawn darts with Davey, but he picked it up pretty quickly."

Against his will, Jim was once again directed to imagine a perpetual ten year old of variable attention span with projectiles. "I can't believe you did that," he muttered as Shatterstar returned with the knives, knowing with absolute certainty Davey had been the one to ask. It was one thing to have an inner child, and another to know he was running around unsupervised.

Arthur either missed the point willingly or pointedly, since all he had for that was, "I'm not shocked at all! Shatterstar is wonderfully gifted. He'll be hitting the bullseye in no time flat."

His smile broadened once again to its normal, genuine width as he beckoned Star back over for instruction. "Now this time I want you to..."