Perfectly Normal
folder
X-Men - Animated Series (all) › FemSlash - Female/Female
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
63
Views:
7,396
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
X-Men - Animated Series (all) › FemSlash - Female/Female
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
63
Views:
7,396
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own X-Men Evolution, or any of the characters from it. I make no money from from the writing of this story.
16
PERFECTLY NORMAL CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Disclaimers Apply
A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE™, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta… Deep, cleansing breaths are a good thing… InterNutter, TC, Maxwell Pink and Dracena are loverly and wondermous for archiving/hosting. ProPhile: I have no idea. Too tired to be witty. Morgan: *stalkgloke* Readers/Reviewers: Tomorrow there will be no update while I work on some other projects unless I finish those tonight lol. Thanks for reading and reviewing as you can!
“What are you doing?”
“Making notes.” Brian, the student from the university in charge of the interview portion of the documentary, barely glanced up from his notebook. “You’re in my light.”
Amara raised a brow, leaning her shoulder against the doorframe as she peered down at the chicken scratch pouring across the lines on the paper. “They make these things called computers now,” she began in a very conversational tone. “They’re marvelous for this sort of thing. Save a tree and all that…” She cleared her throat gently as he looked up, brows furrowed and lips compressed into a thin line in what, no doubt, was his best ‘fuck off’ expression. She returned it with one of her own, something she never once had to practice in the mirror to get the desired effect right. “Miss Munro sent me to find you. You are supposed to be filming our third period Algebra class and it is about to start.” She straightened, tossing the dark fall of her hair over one shoulder before turning in one smooth movement and heading back down the hall, leaving the college student sitting in the narrow alcove, hunched over his notebook.
He paused, tapping his pen on the paper, a smile darting across his lips before he shoved himself to his feet and started after her. “Wait! You’re the one who has a problem with Greeks, right?”
She stiffened but did not stop. “I have no problem with people of any particular ethnocultural background,” she said coolly, repeating the words Storm had told her. That woman, Amara reflected, must have some psychic ability. Storm had told her that the crew would pounce on her slip in class, and that it would look very bad for everyone because Nova Roma did not exist for these people, and her ingrained feelings of superiority would look like bigotry. Which, Storm had added, it was. “If you’ll pardon me,” she said in the same cool tone, I’m late for class now.”
Brian’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist when she would open the door to the math classroom. “Just a sec, I want to talk to you!” She wasn’t bad looking, he thought. Young for him but she looked legal. She had to be, he realized. She was on the list of allowed interviewees, the seniors. She was one of the few that he did not have to have special permission and a pre-approved list of questions to talk to. For a fleeting moment, he thought her skin was too warm, almost feverish, but the feeling faded fast and was replaced with the normal warmth of human skin beneath his palm and fingers. “Sure you can’t "surely you can" or "are you sure you can't?" skip class and answer a few questions?” She would talk to him, he thought with a tinge of that certain superiority that seemed to only come with a certain sort of college student, that sort that was positive they are the next big thing and the key to enormous social change.
“No, I cannot.” In truth, she would have loved to miss the class entirely. She hated math and saw no need to know anything about algebra. She was a firm believer that the alphabet had no place in mathematics. But she also knew that if she missed another class, she would have Hell to pay and she had already been threatened with the concept of summer school… “Find me at lunch.” She twisted free of his already slack grasp and favored him with a raised brow. “You are not as attractive as you presume to believe you are, you know.”
Brian felt color flood his face and instantly felt a thorn of malice towards Amara for embarrassing him, even if no one were around to witness it. He swallowed the scathing comment he almost flung at her and instead forced his tone into one of kind interest. “From what I’ve observed you seem to be the most on the ball around here and the least likely to give me a line of bull about anything. I’d love to interview you and have you be the centerpiece of the documentary. I know you’re not from the states—your accent gives you away—and an outsider’s view of things within an outsider’s view would be…”
“Confusing?” she suggested, cutting him off. She could hear roll being called on the other side of the door, her name already passed over. She would be counted late now and have extra work.
“I was going for Fellini-esque [1] but okay,” he sighed, realizing he was getting nowhere. “I’ll just ask that girl who had the outburst, the one with the weird dye job…” He paused, waiting for her reaction. Amara struck him as the sort of girl who would hate to have the limelight stolen in any form, even if it was never hers to begin with. He was rewarded by her visible wavering, the drawing down of her brows and the curve of her lips into a slight frown. “Marie, right? Marie something or other…”
“I’ll do it,” Amara sighed. “I’m late anyway. I’ll say I had my moon time and the cramps were unbearable.” She had already used that excuse so many times that Storm was threatening to not accept it anymore but there was no way to prove she was not cramping, Amara thought with a tiny shiver of triumph. “We can sit in the gazebo outside. No one will bother us there.”
Brian blinked, surprised at how quickly she acquiesced after all. “Uh,you sure? I mean, I thought solo interviews were off limits. I don’t want to sit out in the open and get busted…” He clutched his notebook, his private symbol of being a true auteur, to his chest, eyes wide as Amara strode past him, heading for the darker recesses of the hall that lead to the emergency exit.
“I’m sure. We will be left alone. I’ll see to it.”
____________________________________________________
[1] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fellini ____________________________________________________
Disclaimers Apply
A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE™, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta… Deep, cleansing breaths are a good thing… InterNutter, TC, Maxwell Pink and Dracena are loverly and wondermous for archiving/hosting. ProPhile: I have no idea. Too tired to be witty. Morgan: *stalkgloke* Readers/Reviewers: Tomorrow there will be no update while I work on some other projects unless I finish those tonight lol. Thanks for reading and reviewing as you can!
“What are you doing?”
“Making notes.” Brian, the student from the university in charge of the interview portion of the documentary, barely glanced up from his notebook. “You’re in my light.”
Amara raised a brow, leaning her shoulder against the doorframe as she peered down at the chicken scratch pouring across the lines on the paper. “They make these things called computers now,” she began in a very conversational tone. “They’re marvelous for this sort of thing. Save a tree and all that…” She cleared her throat gently as he looked up, brows furrowed and lips compressed into a thin line in what, no doubt, was his best ‘fuck off’ expression. She returned it with one of her own, something she never once had to practice in the mirror to get the desired effect right. “Miss Munro sent me to find you. You are supposed to be filming our third period Algebra class and it is about to start.” She straightened, tossing the dark fall of her hair over one shoulder before turning in one smooth movement and heading back down the hall, leaving the college student sitting in the narrow alcove, hunched over his notebook.
He paused, tapping his pen on the paper, a smile darting across his lips before he shoved himself to his feet and started after her. “Wait! You’re the one who has a problem with Greeks, right?”
She stiffened but did not stop. “I have no problem with people of any particular ethnocultural background,” she said coolly, repeating the words Storm had told her. That woman, Amara reflected, must have some psychic ability. Storm had told her that the crew would pounce on her slip in class, and that it would look very bad for everyone because Nova Roma did not exist for these people, and her ingrained feelings of superiority would look like bigotry. Which, Storm had added, it was. “If you’ll pardon me,” she said in the same cool tone, I’m late for class now.”
Brian’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist when she would open the door to the math classroom. “Just a sec, I want to talk to you!” She wasn’t bad looking, he thought. Young for him but she looked legal. She had to be, he realized. She was on the list of allowed interviewees, the seniors. She was one of the few that he did not have to have special permission and a pre-approved list of questions to talk to. For a fleeting moment, he thought her skin was too warm, almost feverish, but the feeling faded fast and was replaced with the normal warmth of human skin beneath his palm and fingers. “Sure you can’t "surely you can" or "are you sure you can't?" skip class and answer a few questions?” She would talk to him, he thought with a tinge of that certain superiority that seemed to only come with a certain sort of college student, that sort that was positive they are the next big thing and the key to enormous social change.
“No, I cannot.” In truth, she would have loved to miss the class entirely. She hated math and saw no need to know anything about algebra. She was a firm believer that the alphabet had no place in mathematics. But she also knew that if she missed another class, she would have Hell to pay and she had already been threatened with the concept of summer school… “Find me at lunch.” She twisted free of his already slack grasp and favored him with a raised brow. “You are not as attractive as you presume to believe you are, you know.”
Brian felt color flood his face and instantly felt a thorn of malice towards Amara for embarrassing him, even if no one were around to witness it. He swallowed the scathing comment he almost flung at her and instead forced his tone into one of kind interest. “From what I’ve observed you seem to be the most on the ball around here and the least likely to give me a line of bull about anything. I’d love to interview you and have you be the centerpiece of the documentary. I know you’re not from the states—your accent gives you away—and an outsider’s view of things within an outsider’s view would be…”
“Confusing?” she suggested, cutting him off. She could hear roll being called on the other side of the door, her name already passed over. She would be counted late now and have extra work.
“I was going for Fellini-esque [1] but okay,” he sighed, realizing he was getting nowhere. “I’ll just ask that girl who had the outburst, the one with the weird dye job…” He paused, waiting for her reaction. Amara struck him as the sort of girl who would hate to have the limelight stolen in any form, even if it was never hers to begin with. He was rewarded by her visible wavering, the drawing down of her brows and the curve of her lips into a slight frown. “Marie, right? Marie something or other…”
“I’ll do it,” Amara sighed. “I’m late anyway. I’ll say I had my moon time and the cramps were unbearable.” She had already used that excuse so many times that Storm was threatening to not accept it anymore but there was no way to prove she was not cramping, Amara thought with a tiny shiver of triumph. “We can sit in the gazebo outside. No one will bother us there.”
Brian blinked, surprised at how quickly she acquiesced after all. “Uh,you sure? I mean, I thought solo interviews were off limits. I don’t want to sit out in the open and get busted…” He clutched his notebook, his private symbol of being a true auteur, to his chest, eyes wide as Amara strode past him, heading for the darker recesses of the hall that lead to the emergency exit.
“I’m sure. We will be left alone. I’ll see to it.”
____________________________________________________
[1] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fellini ____________________________________________________