cutting_edgex23 | (no subject)

He never took her for a fish person. And he looks around, he's seeing a lot of things that don't fit her, either. "How many roommates did you say you have?" Ah, the keen mind of a detective (or someone who fancies himself one).

"I do not have roommates."

Bela was a very helpful decorator, though. And she has generous friends.

X doesn't look back over her shoulder at him, just heads to the fish tank to feed Logan.

"But my friends like to visit."

She does tilt her head slightly as she returns to the kitchen, frowning a bit.

"It is relevant?"

Edited 2009-04-13 18:51 (UTC)

"Only in that your apartment doesn't feel like your apartment." The nametag on the fishbowl with the sparkles is evidence of that.

"Oh."

X stops where she is for a moment, considering this.

Then she puts the fish food away.

"Bela decorated. When I moved here."

And since it is polite and she is already in the kitchen --

"You are thirsty?"

She will ask for clarification in a second, though. Probably.

"Water's fine." He can't imagine she would offer a beer. (He bets this Logan guy is a stickler for the drinking age.)

"Okay."

She gets him a glass of water, then pours milk for herself. There's a moment where she is transparently considering pulling food out of the cabinets, but she stops herself after a second and moves back into the living room.

X does not like alcohol. And Logan has other things to worry about.

"You were thinking about my apartment? What it would look like."

It seems, from the expression on her face, as if she is not sure why he would bother. Why anyone would bother.

X misses the point a lot. About some things.

"Very spare. With only the necessities of life. Furniture, shelves, not much else." Not even a bed. "Not fish or cacti." No sparkles.

"Oh."

X considers that, too, glass of milk held carefully in one hand. She does not want to spill.

"They were presents. From Duo and Rose."

Beat.

"The cactus is a metaphor. I asked."

"A metaphor...for what?" He moves closer to the somewhat off-kilter photo of the Golden Gate Bridge (which is the same in his world as hers).

"Me."

X's reply is simple.

"It is hard to kill. And it has spikes."

X watches Charlie study the image.

"I do not have many photographs."

"So should I call you cactus then?" He wants to see how she reacts. He's not one for nicknames.

"I like photographs. There's a saying that a picture is worth a thousand words." An ex-TV reporter would have to agree with that idea.

"No. Laura is okay. Or X."

She's frowning at him now, just a little.

"Photographic intelligence is more useful sometimes. Or maps."

"For missions, yes. But not to show other things. You look at this, you see a great city at night. A great work at night."

"Liz gave it to me," X says.

"It was a present."

Her cousin liked the view of the bridge, too. X remembers.

She clearly doesn't understand art. Oh well. It would have eluded him at her age, too.

"Anything else here you want me to see?"

X flicks a quick glance around her apartment.

"I do not know if you would like the movies I have."

Particularly True Lies: The Musical. Thanks, Cal.

"There are other things you want to see?"

Because X's apartment aside, there's lots to see in San Francisco.

Including the Dreaming Celestial. That one is hard to miss.

"I haven't been here in a long time." Well, technically, ever. "I think I want to see your city. The things you like."

"I have quartered most of it," X says.

Duo helped once or twice.

"It is useful."

Beat.

"You will want to see Greymalkin Industries?"

It's a bit of a cautious question. Just because.

"I don't know that firm. Why do I want to see them?"

"It is what replaced the Institute."

Beat.

"The X-men are there."

She slips into her bedroom, pulling a waist-length leather jacket out of her closet and putting it on. She scoops her wallet off the coffee table in the front room and tucks it into her pocket.

"But we will go to the diner, first."

Pam is working, and X has a schedule. Plus she told Inez she would drop dinner off for her and Tomas. It is tax season. Apparently this is problematic.

And if Charlie sees fit to follow her, she'll take him down a narrow flight of stairs and out into a pawn shop. A very quiet pawn shop.

"Huh." He hasn't seen a pawn shop in years, since his days on the road as a poker player. Only that silence is very hard to miss. "What's this?"

"More new friends, Laura?"

Okay, maybe quiet doesn't mean empty.

Out in the front, behind the counter, there's a man sitting reading a newspaper. He sets it down in front of him, hands bracing against the arms of his chair as he heaves himself up.

Figures. Just when he gets comfortable --

"You sure you don't have Grand Central Station up there? Or is everybody you know just as quiet as you?"

"Charlie is my friend," X says.

She takes a half step forward and to the side, making sure she can see both of them. And that her presence does not interrupt their own sight lines.

"But he is good at being quiet, too."

She flicks a sideways glance at Charlie, now.

"He is my landlord. Mr. Simmons. He is good at plumbing. And fixing the roof."

"Hello," he says quickly, wondering if Mr. Simmons will get the wrong impression of who Charlie is supposed to be.

It's almost funny.

"Good to meet you, Charlie."

He'd hold out his hand, but some of X's friends aren't too big on shaking.

"You big on jumping off roofs, too?"

Even if some of X's friends can fly, it's still a damn weird thing to see.