Perfectly Normal
38
xmlns:st1="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags"
xmlns="http://www.w3.org/TR/REC-html40">
Perfectly
Thirty Nine
Disclaimers Apply
A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST
WOMAN ALIVE ™, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta… Yay! Word works
again! *happy dance * InterNutter, TC,
Maxwell Pink, Dracena and Greywolf are loverly and wondermous for
archiving/hosting.
mso-hansi-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-char-type:symbol;mso-symbol-font-family:
Wingdings'>J
ProPhile: *random gold star * Morgan: You out there?
Readers/Reviewers: Thank you for reading and reviewing as you can! Your
feedback is always appreciated!
“Ah… him.”
not seeming to register the taste as she stared past Mark at the leatherette
back of the seat. “He’s…special.”
“Special
how? Special like m-o-o-n spells smarthref="#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" title="">
special like genius special?” Mark
pushed his peas around on his plate, looking intently at his date.
trying to pretend that the incident with Sabretooth had not occurred, neither
mentioning it after the hulking man had left and neither mentioning
again, either.
“Special
like… unique,” she hedged, turning her class around in her hands, her gaze not
quite meeting Mark’s as she murmured her answer.
I just really don’t know how to explain Viktor.” Nor, she thought, would
she explain him even if she could.
“Ah, I have
a few of those sorts in my life,” Mark nodded, stabbing a chunk of the meat pie
with his fork. “Best to just smile and
nod and accept them for what they are,” he advised before popping the piece of
dinner into his mouth.
“Something
like that,” she agreed, taking a bite of her own dinner. They fell into an
almost companionable silence, tinged with the awkwardness of a first date and
the discomfort of embarrassment as they ate for a few more minutes.
familiar with the Institute and it’s workings…” she paused, one brow arching as
Mark hesitated visibly. “You are,
perforce, familiar with Us.”
He heard
the capital in the last word. “Ah, you
mean…” he glanced side to side theatrically and leaned across the table,
minding the plate of food before him. “Mutants.”
sitting back against the leatherette seat.
“For the sake of propriety, shall I just refer to the stigma as being
French?”
She
snorted. Loudly. “Typical Brit,
hmmm? They’re just French, not plague
rats.”
“Potatoe,
po-tah-toe…” He winked at her again,
taking a sip of his beer. “No, I have no
problem with the French. But it was the
best I could do on short notice. Yes, I’m
aware you’re all French.”
“And you’re
not,” she stated as a matter of fact. There was a practically audible pause
after her statement in which Mark seemed inordinately occupied with his
peas. “You’re not…French…”
“That’s as
obvious as the nose on your face,” their waiter chirped happily, refilling
Mystique’s glass. “Would you like
dessert?”
“Give us a
moment,” Mark replied quickly. The
waiter hummed and turned, trotting back towards the bar and leaving them in
peace. “Mystique… Raven…”
curse through clenched teeth as he fumbled for the device, jabbing the green
call button savagely. “Unless it’s on
fire…”
Mystique
could hear the tones of a woman’s voice trilling through the phone, her keen
hearing unable to quite make out the words but noting that the pitch and pace
denoted agitation and possibly worry. “Home
problems?”
“Emma,
breathe. I don’t know why you can’t get
hold of
you kiss Sean with that mouth?” He
rolled his eyes heavenward and muttered his farewell, shutting the phone with a
flip of his wrist. “Mystique…”
“What’s the
emergency?”
“Do you
happen to be familiar with a massive man who wears a helmet?”
from Sam via Emma. “A…red one?”
the beating he had taken mere weeks earlier.
“Does an amazing imitation of a brick wall?”
She went
very still, her lips compressing into a thin line as she signaled the waiter
for their check. “Why do you ask?”
“It seems
he gets around…” Quickly, in plain
language, he relayed the gist of his run in with the man some weeks before,
leaving out the purpose of his visit to the Boardinghouse and implying that
Lance and Todd needed something picked up there.
home in
now…”
“I am…familiar
with him. He’s French as well,” she
added with a slightest twist of her lips in a humorless smile.
Mark
hurriedly deposited a handful of bills on the small plastic tray the waiter
brought over, bearing their dinner check.
He did not even give the young man time to mouth a thank you or offer
change, instead sliding out of the booth and offering his hand to
Mystique. “Do you feel like a drive?”
“Depends,”
she replied. “Where can we go in a cab
this time of night? Bayville isn’t exactly a hotbed of entertainment…”
“Back to
the Institute to get a car then…” he shrugged, his voice falling to a near
mumble. “I hear
“
her tracks, perforce making him stop as well.
“Emma can take care of
Mark
wavered. “Yes, I remember,” he finally allowed,
ducking his head in abashment. “She just…”
“She’s a
big girl. And very French,” Mystique
pointed out, resuming their trek to the door.
“She can take care of herself.”
“Hmmm…”
Mark led her out into the bracing evening air and looked both ways down the
street. “There a cab stand in this town?”
She smiled
and turned eastward, starting to walk at a fast clip towards the main street in
town. “Only in front of the bookstore on
too far in the cups to drive a straight line.”
Mark
hurried to keep pace with her, smiling against his better judgment at this
nearly domestic image of Mystique, knowing a small town well enough to call the
cab drivers by name and remark on their habits. “Mystique…”
“Don’t tell
me,” she said suddenly. “Let’s just have
this one night of normal before we have to be honest with each other, okay?”
He glanced
at her to find she was looking away, focusing on the end of the street rather
than look at him. “Okay,” he said
finally.
name="_ftn1" title="">
"Times New Roman";mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-US;
mso-bidi-language:AR-SA'>[1]
Stand”… one of the characters was not too bright and said things like that.