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Tweak says, "im free,*stix toung out*"

Arla Lawrence (mathemafishian) wrote in age_of_miracles,
@ 2008-02-16 00:16:00

Entry tags:

mermaid, postman

Thread: Mermaid & Postman
Who: Arla Lawrence and David de Souza
When: Around midnight, moving into Saturday, February 16
Where: Xavier's School, Teacher Lounge
What: Arla for the most part is back to her normal behavior but that doesn't necessarily mean she's actually normal. However, instead of hiding in the pool she's pigging out on ice cream in front of the television, so... we might be making progress.

_______________

There was a lot to be said about Arla Lawrence in the last year. She'd gone revenge-crazy, taking her last birthday as a sign that she had to go after the people who'd killed the Morlocks. She'd gone against Remy's warnings and pursued the course until it became obsession, and obsession nearly got her killed. In fact, obsession led to Jack Bantock pumping a few gajillion volts through her body while holding her gills closed underwater and by rights it should have killed her. Instead, it left her with a twitchy right hand and a complete inability to write in anything other than nonsense mathematical formulas. She lost her place with the X-Men and then she lost her job, but more importantly she lost her sanity somewhere along the way.

Through sheer force of will she managed to get something back, cracking through her own mental codes in order to make some sense out of herself. She didn't know how it happened and couldn't explain it but she'd busted through what Xavier had done to try and help her and as far as most people were concerned, she was feeling just fine and dandy these days. She had her job back, her right hand was still twitchy, and she still had a bit of a problem with gin, but really, that was par for the course when it came to the eccentric mathematics professor at Xavier's School. She'd always been something of a bitch, and now she just had a little dose of crazy to go along with it.

She was rarely seen in the teacher's lounge these days, preferring to hole up and do her work in her room. She rarely socialized. However, Remy Lebeau had really gotten on her fucking nerves with a few things that he'd said and she wasn't in the mood to put up with him harping on her anymore. It wasn't that she was suddenly going to become some kind of socialite but she didn't have to be a recluse. And... well, it wasn't like she was looking to socialize tonight.

In fact, she was raiding the lounge freezer. Given that students weren't supposed to be in the teacher's lounge, the adults tended to hide the best things in there. This time, she happened upon a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream-----her favorite----and there wasn't any name scribbled on it in sharpie, which meant by all rules of public refrigerator etiquette, it was free for the taking. Right? Right.

After grabbing the pint and rummaging in a nearby drawer for a spoon, she plopped down on the sofa and switched on the small television. The glow from the television lit up the room and reflected in her glasses (which were crooked from her rolling over on them the other night----she hadn't been able to fix them properly). Deciding that this was an acceptable way to spend the late hours, she popped open the pint and dug in, flippers curling with delight when she tasted it.

Mint ice cream was good enough to almost make her give up gin. ...Almost.

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memoria_rasa
2008-02-18 06:21 am UTC (link)

David shrugged, used the slow motion as chance to dig through memories that were blurred by both time and grief. He'd never thought he'd have to explain this, hadn't really thought about very much beyond surviving each day at a time back then.

"Someone new someone," he finally answered. "It was word of mouth, rumors of a ... promised land for mutants who weren't accepted on the surface. I never knew how much truth there was to it, if any, and that was back in ... God, '98? Maybe? After that, information didn't really travel so quickly in the tunnels, I never heard anything else until I left a few years ago. Even then, not much." David shook his head.

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mathemafishian
2008-02-18 06:36 am UTC (link)

"S'fucked up," Arla muttered, jamming her spoon into her ice cream. She crawled off of the couch and shoved the ice cream in the freezer with the spoon in it and no cover-----and then she was rummaging for alcohol. There was alcohol. Where was the fucking----oh. She grabbed a bottle of vodka and looked it over for a brief second before deeming it acceptable for the time being.

It wasn't necessarily that what David was saying was so horrifying, but Arla wasn't sane. And she drank too much. "I don't... I don't really know what to say to that," she said, and so instead of saying anything, she took a sip of vodka from the bottle. "But you're okay and you're not all dead. Nobody came after you."

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memoria_rasa
2008-02-18 06:52 am UTC (link)

It was pretty hard to disagree with her assessment.

As Arla got up David turned his attention back to his pie, still sweet and warm and vaguely reminiscent of being twelve and failing a spelling test. And about the only alternative he'd ever had to the solution that she seemed to be taking - a mild suggestion was on the tip of his tongue, something about alternate ways of adjusting one's mindset, but he let it drop. Too many memories of his own were resurfacing now, remarkably clear once they'd pulled their way through the muck he burried them under.

"We're not okay," David disagreed softly. "Some of us died, they came after us when they saw us. The only reason it wasn't worse ..." was because he'd ripped his entire clan's existence out of more minds than he could count - and done more damage than that in the beginning, before he'd learned how to control both his mutation and his temper. He couldn't hope to compare the attacks his Morlocks suffered each time they stepped on the wrong feet to the massive attack in New York, but it felt like a disservice to just sweep so much suffering under a rug. Too much like what he could do ... "It wasn't a massacre, it was never that bad. But ... it wasn't okay."

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	mathemafishian 2008-02-18 07:05 am UTC (link)
	Arla didn't like the sound of that. He looked sad, like there was a whole lot of pain that wasn't being spoken. Bad things... really bad things. She didn't know what, but it didn't sound like fun even if it wasn't a massacre. So, instead of saying anything, she offered out the bottle with an outstretched arm. (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

memoria_rasa
2008-02-18 07:18 am UTC (link)

David considered the bottle for a moment, expression unchanging. How exactly had he ended up in this situation - where he was the one recieving what might have been a peace offering, might have been the adult equivalent of a teddy bear, might have been a lot of things, but was definitely a comfort. He was the one who usually held things together, got people on their feet ...

On the other hand, only an idiot turned away offerings, especially when they were good for you. With a wry half smile he took the bottle and ignored the impulse to put a disclaimer on it - no, he didn't normally do this kind of thing, but this wasn't a normal meeting, and anyway, no one ever believed it. The first swallow burned enough to chase off the could over his head, and enough to make David remember why he didn't normally drink hard liquor straight. Nodding, he handed the bottle back to her.

"The people who say it just makes you stronger really need to live it for a day or two, that's all I can say."

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mathemafishian
2008-02-18 05:41 pm UTC (link)

At that, Arla actually smiled. It was a bitter, sad smile, but it was a smile nonetheless. She raised the bottle to him in a toast and took a gulp. "Amen to that."

Maybe sharing a basement with this David guy wasn't so bad after all. Maybe she could start to get by with making new friends again. Not that she was automatically latching onto him because he was some kind of Morlock, or... or automatically opening up and deciding they'd be pals. She was a little disconcerted. It had been a long time since she'd had a connection like this with another human being----that first glance, that moment of mutual understanding. It was warm and it was a familiar feeling that she always tried to push away. But this time... this time, she accepted it and her smile warmed and turned pleasant. Twitchy, a little nervous, but... pleasant.

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memoria_rasa
2008-02-19 03:29 am UTC (link)

So ... it seemed like they were all right. At least, Arla seemed to have relaxed somewhat, and David was able to put the past back where he kept telling himself that it belonged. He'd never expected to meet another Morlock, it was almost a blessing. And more than just another member of a remotely affiliated group, he'd also met a women who wasn't nearly as bad as she seemed to think that she was. David seemed to be unable to make attachments that didn't have some sort of vaguely theraputic feel to it, old habits dying hard, but it seemed like this one stood a chance of going both ways, and that was always the best sort of friendship.

Finishing the last of his pie David set the plate down on his armrest, spinning the fork slightly shakily between the fingersof his right hand. He rarely let himself stay down for long when there was someone else nearby, and a smile returned to his face as well. "That vodka is terrible. I hope it's not yours, I don't mean to be offensive, but ..."

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mathemafishian
2008-02-20 12:57 am UTC (link)

Arla snorted in a most unladylike way and adjusted her glasses when she squinted at the label. "God, no," she said, shaking her head vehemently. "I'll drink just about anything but this stuff is shit. Isn't mine. You better not drink a lot of it, you could get ether poisoning."

Disregarding her own advice, she took another gulp like a practiced professional. Vodka wasn't her booze of choice----especially cheap vodka----but it would do. The only trouble with cheap vodka was that if it was old, there was a little problem with ether... something that Arla had figured out the hard way a few months ago.

"I take my chances, though. I figure... with the amount of stuff I've survived in my lifetime, it's not very likely that I'll be killed by a bottle of vodka. I'm a survivor. It's what I do. --In fact, I survived so well that I can't... actually... let go of this bottle right now." She paused, looking down at her right hand. "I didn't die, I just got held underwater with my gills closed up while a few bajillion volts were pumped through me----but I didn't die, I didn't even end up a vegetable... I ended up with a few short-circuited muscles and synapses." Really, she wasn't normally this talkative, especially with a stranger, but it just kind of spilled out.

Backtracking, she set the vodka down on the table and used her other hand to try and pry her fingers off of the glass. "It's not technically mathematically more likely that I won't be killed by cheap vodka, but ... given the pattern of my life ..."

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memoria_rasa
2008-02-20 03:38 am UTC (link)

That made David pause. Everyone had their share of terrible experiences, to be sure ... although one might think that the Morlock Massacre would be enough experience for just about anyone. It seemed as though it wasn't, though, not for this woman, and whatever shit days he'd gone through David still choked slightly at what Arla had just described. Something like that seemed to go beyond general anger, it felt targeted and cruel in a way that left a bitter taste in the back of David's mouth, one that had absolutely nothing to do with the terrible vodka.

" 'I'm sorry' doesn't really come close," he murmured, shaking his head. Leaning forward slightly to prop his elbows on his knees, David took in her struggles with the muscles of her hand without comment. Her hands were webbed, he suddenly noticed. Which tied the comment about gills smoothly into the picture, some sort of amphibious donation to human physiology that let her breathe in both places? He could imagine that coming in handy, although the soft light from the television through the webbing made her seem almost fragile. Or maybe it was the subject matter.

"This sounds like a sales pitch," he acknowledged slightly wryly, "but if you ever need to get any of it off your chest I'm around. That, or any other coping mechanism ... better alchohol, for example. I think I might have half of a bottle of scotch that wouldn't double as paint thinner."

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mathemafishian
2008-02-20 04:23 am UTC (link)

"Wh----ohhh, no, don't do that," said Arla, laughing nervously. "Don't do that, don't enable me. They tell me that I drink too much." Her muscles finally relaxed and she tugged her hand back, shoving it into the front pocket of her sweatshirt. "That's what they say. I drink too much. So... so don't encourage that, I mean----I'd love that. This stuff is shit, I'd love a nice scotch----but no, don't ... don't do that." She grinned a little and adjusted her glasses again. "And god, please, don't be sorry, right? I mean, like... it was a million years ago. And by a million years ago I mean a few months ago. But don't be sorry, you don't have anything to do with it... it's not the pity party today. I promised myself I was going to stop moping and feeling sorry for myself, so I can't have anyone feeling sorry for me."

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memoria_rasa
2008-02-20 04:35 am UTC (link)

"Feeling sorry for you ... no." David laced his fingers together across empty air. "Not the way you put it, of course not. Believe me, I don't feel responsible in the slightest - but no matter what you say, I think I'm allowed to wish that bad things didn't happen to friends?"

He shrugged, and smiled. "It's not about pity - I do pity about as well as I do enabling. Which I suppose I might as well just admit to as a complete and utter failure. I confess, I only suggested decent alcohol because there's no sense in poisoning yourself physically as well as mentally. Really, though, it was the beginnings of a convoluted and subversive scheme to slowly supplement drinking with semi-decent conversation, or possibly board games." David paused, as though thinking, and then shook his head. "A scheme that you've now foiled, thank you. I'll have to find another way to earn my keep."

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mathemafishian
2008-02-20 02:35 pm UTC (link)

Arla quirked an eyebrow over the rim of her glasses. "Board games?" she asked, deadpan. Arla Lawrence was a serious mathematician. She was troubled and haunted and angst-ridden... or something. She didn't play motherfucking Parcheesi.

But instead of saying no, she shifted from one foot (er, flipper, really) to the other, head tilted to one side. She was rather charmed that someone actually wanted to spend time with her for once instead of running off in the other direction or trying to tell her what to do. Chewing on her lip, she twirled her hair around her webbed fingers and gave it a thoughtful tug before saying, "I... could do a board game."

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memoria_rasa
2008-02-20 09:27 pm UTC (link)

"Of course you can." David grinned at what almost felt like a little victory. While a portion of both the offer and his light banter was automatic, he had to admit he was actually looking forward to getting to know this woman. She seemed to have a lot of stories that would be worth hearing - and her smile, once she let it happen, was a delight.

He rose from his chair with a drawn-out, audible sigh of satisfaction. "They're all the more fun when you're old enough to know better, and doing it all anyway. So if I challenge you to a game of Uno sometime when it's not midnight, you'd accept?"

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mathemafishian
2008-02-20 10:08 pm UTC (link)

Arla hesitated a little, but she nodded, shoving her hair out of her face. Uno was one of the few games she actually did know. David might have thought twice about challenging her to any kind of game when he learned how viciously competitive she could be, but----well. He'd find out the hard way; why ruin the moment now?

"Yeah... yeah, I'd accept," she said, swaying a little and nodding. She wasn't sure just what he did or how he'd managed to charm her, but the idea of enjoying another person's company and being enjoyed... well, fuck, it really threw her off. She felt a little dizzy, a little floaty, like he'd just... the only thing to compare it to was like he'd grabbed her and laid a big kiss on her for no reason at all. Something like that.

Human company was pretty nice. Gosh.

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memoria_rasa
2008-02-20 11:22 pm UTC (link)

Plate and fork were recovered moments before David's elbow would have sent them crashing to the floor, which left him with a slight dilemma; the kitchen was not on the way to his room, and was therefore far away. On the other hand, while it was likely that no one would notice him putting an empty plate back in the fridge, it also struck David as very bad form. Kitchen it was, then.

He narrowed his eyes at Arla. "Need a hand?" It was asked with slightly more amusement than concern, because she didn't actually look like she was going to fall over. Just ... wobble, slightly. "I should wash this before I forget, but if you come with me, I can walk you home. Give me a chance figure out when I'm free to clean your clock with brightly colored cards."

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