2046-03-11 Painting Stars

From X-Factor

Painting Stars
Date Posted 2016/03/11
Location Moody & Orianne's Apartment - Mutant Town
Participants Tiffany, Moody
Summary Roommates chat.
Tiftiffany.jpg Moomoody.jpg
This apartment, gracing the very top of the building, is a charming seventh floor walk-up that demands a certain amount of cardiovascular fitness from its inhabitants in exchange for cheap rent, smouldering summers, and a nice view of the building next door. Five tiny bedrooms, each with actual doors, line up off of a narrow hallway and small kitchen with locking cabinets that are helpfully labeled with tenant names. The living room is a spare hardwood floor space barely wide enough for a pool table (which not only can the tenants not afford, but could certainly not carry up the stairs) which has among its furnishings a modest vidscreen and a shaggy but comfortable couch. Piled in a corner is an ambitious sum of pillows, apparently for use as supplementary seating. Crowded and rickety as it might be, though, the apartment is clean, smells relatively decent, and has no neighbors stomping on the floor above them. It could most certainly be worse.

It is a winter day. The weather is cold and snowing.

"Now, what is it that she wants? Tell me, what is that she needs? Did she hear about the brand new Benz that you just bought for me? Cuz yall didn't have no kids. Didn't have no mutual friends-"

Taking up the apartment's sad little couch, Tiffany quietly sings along to the 90's R&B music marathon on the vidscreen. Her foot is propped up and she leans over her leg to carefully paint her toes. A large, glittery pink plastic travel container is opened up in front of her. Its contents, tens and tens of bottles of nail polish, are all scattered about. As the beat picks up, the newest housemate continues to bop rather slowly. "What you gonna do when you can't say no?" -- "How you gonna act? How you gonna handle that?" She wears her black 'Villain' hoody and soft pajama short-shorts covered in some cartoon character or other from the 2020's.

Moody appears with a BLIP in her spot, the taped off corner of the living room with signs all over it not to leave crap in the landing zone. She's been gone for at least the length of the morning, possibly longer, and if not for the fact that she's fully clothed and completely soaking wet it might seem like she's doing the walk of shame. (Maybe she is? But that'd be some weird shit.) Her sneakers squeak as she lands, dropping in a half inch or so above the floor, and she announces, "I have a desperate need for steamed pork buns. Ooh, that's a cute color."

As an adult capable of making her own decisions, Tiffany sleeps until noon on a regular basis. In fact, she sleeps a hell of a lot. Moody's absence likely went undetected. Judging by the state of Tiff's hair, she's only just stirred.

"Is that a euphemism?" Tiff jokes dryly, narrowing her eyes behind her glasses as she rounds the edge of her tiniest toenail. She nibbles on her bottom lip in concentration and only looks up after. It's clear she's carefully taking in the state of the other woman. Calculating. When she does speak, it isn't about that. "Thanks." Tiffany spreads her little toes and blows gently on them.

"No, it's a deep craving. Sometimes a girl just needs pork buns. And maybe dumplings. I'm starving." Moody says this airily as she swoops into her room -- which is pretty close to the living room, this being a cramped-ish apartment -- and there is a plop, plop as wet clothes are removed and dropped onto the floor. She leaves the door open, uncaring, and swoops out again wearing a cheap pink satin-y 'kimono' wrap. She's knotting it as she heads towards the drawer of take-out menus strategically located near the fridge. "I'm flush enough to pop for Chinese if you're interested." And how did you get this money, Ms. Perpetually Broke? Hmmmmmmm?

Tiffany carefully screws back on the cap to her nail polish, "Like..." Blink blink. "To China?" It's a fair question! "I'm jealous. I'm like, so super broke. I'm out here painting buildings or whatever." Tiffany rolls her eyes dramatically.

Moody snorts, "I've never been farther away from New York than Westchester, so, no, I was over in Chinatown in the 70s and oh my god, it was the worst. I didn't have any cash for that era on me, so I had to just get by entirely without sustenance for the better part of eight hours." She grabs a pitcher of water from the fridge and fills up a glass as she flips through menus. "I had a little windfall." She puts the water away, tucking her hair behind her ear and looking NOT AT ALL EVASIVE.

"Oh, yeah? Was that windfall before or after the /water/fall?" Tiffany brings up her nails and folds them against the heel of her hand to inspect her nails. "Do you think this color is okay for a threesome, though?" She asks only after Moody is well into gulping down her water.

Nice try, Tiffany. Moody finishes her water and looks over thoughtfully, squinting at the nails, "I mean, I'd maybe go with a metallic or holographic just for the extra kick -- easier to tell who's foot is wear, y'know? -- but sure, it's super pretty. And it was fucking /pouring/ the whole time. Normally I hang out in the library, but it was closed for Memorial Day. So I got stuck out in the rain most of the day." She washes her glass and puts it in the rack to dry, glancing over and admitting, finally, "I lifted some earrings and pawned them on my way home. Rent cleaned me out completely and if I want to eat, I needed to top off. I hate it, but I was out of options -- short of things way more unsavory than a little petty theft in a different timeline."

Tiffany pouts, nodding a few times, "I can probably do little holographic stars. I think I have that somewhere." The tiny glass nailpolish bottles clink together as Tiffany sifts through them, "If I had your power, I'd be 'inventing' some crazy shit. Do some butterfly effect Napoleon things. So, I think on the scale of misdeeds, society should probably be thanking you for /only/ shoplifting."

The subtle tension in Moody's shoulders eases and she says drily, "Yeah, well, I never really benefit from it if I did. I've been tempted to do a little gambling, but honestly, things are unpredictable enough to make it not worth my while. I try to...minimize the harm I can do with it, you know?" Good ol' Xavier's morals rearing their ugly head. "It's just that -- well, until I can get a handle enough on it to stop disappearing in the middle of my shifts, I can't exactly hold down a regular job, you know?" She leans against the counter, flicking her fingers to place an order for Chinese. Once that's done, she folds her hands in front of her expectantly. "So who's the threesome with? Anyone I know?"

"Ugh. I know what you mean. I've been fired for that a couple of times," Tiffany holds up a space-aged shaped bottle to the light to make sure it's stars and not the tiny dicks one from her sister's bachelorette party. "Lexie and her giant boyfriend." She shakes the bottle up. "So, if you don't see me for a while. It's because I broke my spine in the most awesome way possible." Her lazy eyes find Moody, "Aren't there any people around who could -- I don't know. Help you figure it out? Go in your head or something?"

"Not really. I mean. The Professor's gone, and I'm not exactly on tight terms with any telepaths that I'd trust to go poking around in there. Vega's helping me sort out a sensor thing that might help me figure out if there are biological signs I can be aware of before I shift, but I still need to find her the parts." Moody tilts her head, "Lexie and the giant, huh? That seems like it'd be fun -- hope you have a good time and avoid all major spinal injuries." Have good sex, roomie!

Tiffany flaps a hand, "Thanks." Shucks.

"My sister is an Empath." Yes, and there was no empathy left over for Tiffany. "Not a telepath but like, an empath might be able to help you look for an emotional trigger if there is one?" She offers a big shrug, frowning just a little. "There is something kindof whimsical about the whole thing. ~can't be tied down."

"Or locked up," Moody agrees, a quick smile coming to her features. "It's not all bad. Inconvenient, though. Especially when I poof right in the middle of sex." She crinkles her nose. "That was awkward."

Tiffany opens the new polish, setting it aside to fish out a teenie-tiny drawing tool, "I've done that. Well, I mean I've gotten dizzy and fallen out of my body." She shakes her head, "Going comatose is a mood-killer but I can't imagine popping up in like, a different century naked." ... "Wait. Do you bring people with you? If you're like, touching?"

"No -- well, okay, once, but only because the Russian amplifier guy was around when it happened. God, that was scary. I was so worried I wouldn't be able to get us home. Me and Sumit and Talya -- you know, Colossus' niece? -- we ended up in Revolutionary War New York. Redcoats, tri-corner hats, the works. Scared the shit out of me." Moody shivers, wiggling her toes at the memory. "But most of the time it's just me. Naked was...yeah. That was a problem. I don't control where I land, but. Thankfully, I'm a teleporter. I can usually get out of trouble if I get into it."

Stop. Everything. "Wait, like. Is that where he got that coat? Because-" Tiffany raises her eyebrows high over the rim of her glasses.

Moody's smile is cat-ate-the-canary (or cat-got-eaten-by-the-canary) wide. "Yup."

"Mmf," Tiffany purses her lips, shaking her head a few times as she looks back down to her project. "If you're to blame for that, then. Well. You really are a fucking superhero, you know that?" She brings her open hand to her chest in a gesture of sincerity and flicks her eyes back up, "You're my hero."

"I think I could really rock the spandex," Moody says cheerily, throwing her arms up into the air in a tried-and-true superheroine pose. All it needs is a bit of breeze and a cape. The R&B on the vid screen gets her moving a bit as she heads (briefly) back into her bedroom to toss her wet clothes into the hamper where they won't ruin the floors, and then she's back out again, still in the robe but with the addition of her fuzzy cozy slipper boot things. "I'm a little tapped out on reasons to get him into it, to be honest, so if you come up with anything let me know. The man knows how to wear a damn coat."

Starting with her fingers, Tiffany carefully and meticulously paints a single tiny five pointed star. It's the first of many. "Threesome," she dead-pans, holding out her hand to look at the star from a different vantage point, "Or we could always throw a costume party." Her eyes shift around at their surroundings, "On the roof. When it gets warmer out." Not here.

"Hey, I'm not opposed." Moody frowns and comes over to sit on the couch, eyeing the box of nail colors speculatively. "He -- well, okay, I might be wrong. He seems a little cuddly. I mean. I'm more of a good times all around, no strings, no broken hearts kind of girl. Ugh." She leans forward and picks up a color, studying the label (Oil Slick) and sighing. "Why can't we all just get laid without people getting worked up about it?"

Tiffany pricks up her eyebrows, not looking up as she applies a second star on a different finger. "Men are like that." She considers the new star for a moment before choosing a place for a third, "Always falling in love."

"When was your last relationship?" Tiffany asks without sounding very interested in the answer.

"I don't do relationships." Moody answers easily, then wiggles the nail polish, a dark gunmetal gray with iridescent shimmers of color lurking within, "Mind if I...? I'm feeling dark and shiny today."

Tiffany scoots over to make room on the couch in response. She carefully relocates some of her supplies as well. "Neither do I," she agrees quietly, although without half as much resolve. "Although, I'd be remiss if I didn't point out the poetic connection between lack of commitment and like," Tiffany looks up skeptically, "Lack of grounding to this dimension or whatever."

"Chicken or egg," Moody says drily. "Or maybe it has something to do with my crippling abandonment issues." She puts her feet up and starts to work, removing the old chipped color on her toenails and starting to paint. It's nice, the rhythm of the brush. "Oh, or the way my future selves haunt people I'm close to and freak them the hell out. That's definitely part of it."

"I thought you wanted pork." Tiffany pffts, "Haunting people is totally acceptable in my book. I do it all the time." She curses quietly under her breath after making a mistake, quickly reaching for a tissue to carefully soak it up, "Why do you have crippling abandonment issues?"

"The only person who ever loved me died when I was ten - my nana. Mom was always on something, so. Ended up in foster care. I got lucky, though, and when I manifested I got sent to Xavier's." Moody pokes the tip of her tongue out while she paints, keeping the lines straight. "By then I figured out that the only person I can really rely on is myself. Even if I did have someone -- I mean, I have friends, obviously, I'm not a sociopath -- it's not like they can be there when I need them if I'm in 1945. But it's not like I didn't have therapy about this. I know myself. I get by, you know?" She glances sideways. "You're still doing the ghost thing? Do people still scream and wet themselves? That was hilarious." Okay, maybe a little sociopathic.

"Isn't that exactly what a sociopath would say? ... I've never felt closer to you." Tiffany returns the sideways glance with side-eye of her own, "Not as much as they used to. Now, I usually just tell them I'm like their subconscious or the devil or the visual representation of their computer system after having achieved sentience."

"So, have you ever like, gone back and I don't know, hung out with your nana?"

That earns a long pause, a silence as Moody finishes painting one foot and moves on to the next. "Yeah. I check in on her whenever I can. Usually I say I'm someone from church, there to help out or something." Another long stroke, a dab of color. "For her, I'm just some girl that stops by once and never comes back. But I still go. She makes the best cookies in Queens."

"That's bittersweet. Standing on the outside, looking in," Tiffany mumbles dreamily. "I wouldn't have considered our powers to be very similar before." Careful not to disturb the work she's already done, Tiffany pulls out a bright yellow. Painting a fine circle on her thumbnail, she blows on it. When it dries, which it does quickly because this is the future, she adds a little holographic ring around it like the rings of Saturn.

"It's hard to explain to people who don't know what it's like to be trapped -- and free at the same time, you know?" Moody finishes up, her nails considerably less elaborate, then looks up as her Eye blinks that the Chinese has arrived. "Oh, be right back." She blips away, right from the couch, and is back a minute or so later with a plastic bag stuffed full of cartons. She has to walk with her toes up, an awkward motion, as she stacks the food on the counter. "We can form a Sucky Powers But At Least We're Hot club."

"First order of business, I propose changing the name to 'Awesome Super Powers /And Also/ We're Super Hot' club," Tiffany remains reserved and unsurprised during the vanishing act. In the few moments Moody is retrieving Chinese food, Tiffany has used the silver and red to paint a little rocket-ship on her other thumb. "All in favor, say aye. ... Aye."

"Oh, fine. Aye." Moody starts dishing out food and snickers, "I'm not going to argue, I have buns and dumplings. Which I am willing to share when you're dry."

This page uses the Log form.