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Post by Magneto on Oct 7, 2005 19:47:28 GMT -5
*where Jean-Paul sleeps*
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Nightcrawler
Junior Member
Just a pirate, chasing booty
Posts: 61
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Post by Nightcrawler on Oct 9, 2005 13:45:13 GMT -5
*BAMF*
Kurt appeared in a swirl of smoke that was already fading before he took his first step toward his room, his stride never faltering from the pace he set before he teleported. He paused outside the door to his quarters, brown paper sack tucked under one arm, tri-digit hand poised above the handle.
Sigh.
He didn’t want to drink alone.
But, dear Gott, did he need to drink.
A lot.
If he couldn’t summon any sort of general good spirit, he’d instead drown his liver in the bottled kind, and a quit trip to the local package store—and everything was “local” to a teleporter—had provided him with enough liquid therapy to intoxicate an entire cage battle of professional wrestlers.
Or one Wolverine.
He couldn’t face his sister. He needed someone else, someone who wouldn’t ask what was wrong. Who wouldn’t see.
He turned his head, his eyes lighting upon the door down the hall.
Jean-Paul Beaubier.
The speedster was remarkably good at not giving a damn. The two barely spoke except where work dictated. They simply never had anything to say to each other. Had nothing in common save their individual elfin features, and even those were almost completely dissimilar. He wasn’t a friend.
He was perfect.
Kurt made his way down the hall, his knuckles already rapping away before he realized that perhaps he should think of a way to invite himself in for a drink that didn’t sound like a come on to the young gay Quebecois.
Oops.
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Post by Northstar on Oct 9, 2005 14:05:01 GMT -5
Jean-Paul was busily doing nothing at all. A television, tuned to The Weather Channel, was muted behind him. In front of him lay the sum total of the internet. He leaned back in his chair, barely stirring but for the shift of his hand as he scrolled and clicked from porn to news, back to porn again, then closed that window in favor of financial projections.
The porn was boring. The news was inane. The finances were dull.
The internet sucked.
Distraction arrived in the form of a knock on the door. Jean-Paul slanted a glance over from the corner of his eye. The light from outside flowed underneath the door, broken by the shadows of two feet. They seemed rather larger than his sister’s slender feet. His eyebrows lifted in surprise. He shut his laptop and stood, crossing over to the door and opening it. His eyebrows lifted a little higher before dropping into an expression one step from a frown.
“Well, well,” he said, for lack of anything better to say. Jean-Paul stood in the doorway, lounging casual across the wall and completely blocking the entrance. “Take a wrong turn somewhere?” He took Kurt in with a glance, from pointed blue ears to clompy two-toed feet. His eyes fell to the bags in Kurt’s hand. Slowly, he smiled, the curve of his lips touched with a tinge of irony. “Why, is that a present for me?”
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Nightcrawler
Junior Member
Just a pirate, chasing booty
Posts: 61
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Post by Nightcrawler on Oct 9, 2005 14:21:56 GMT -5
As soon as Jean-Paul loomed in the doorway, Kurt realized his dilemma. Every thing he could possibly say would sound like a solicitation. He returned the speedster's sweeping glance with the most casual and unconcerned smile he could possibly muster up as he extracted one of the bottles, some sort of expensive gin that Kurt took a liking to the color of, clear and ocean blue.
"Partially for you, mostly for me." He attempted a smirk, pairing it with an amused eyeroll, and held it out to Jean-Paul, "Here. Matches your eyes."
He leaned against the opposite side of the door frame, the remaining bottle of rum swinging carelessly from his fingers, choosing his words carefully, "I need to get completely pissed. The kind of drunk you can only do with casual acquaintances who couldn't give two shits for your woes, only in the free libations. Are you free?"
There. That sounded innocent enough. He hoped.
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Post by Northstar on Oct 9, 2005 14:37:19 GMT -5
Jean-Paul narrowed said eyes when Kurt spoke of them, yet took the offering of booze quite happily in hand. “Hmmm,” he murmured, turning the bottle in his hands. He carefully layered his voice with just the right amount of dubious skepticism, designed to keep Kurt on edge. He considered taking the gin and shutting the door, Kurt on the outside but – hey! Free booze! He eyed the label surreptitiously. Expensive free booze.
It would be beyond rude of Jean-Paul to shut him out in the cold, empty hallway. He usually tried to limit himself to simply rude, when he tried at all.
He nodded after a moment; it seemed a long moment to him, horribly long, but a bare breath had passed before he answered, “As long as you aren’t one of those drunks who takes to telling their life story, complete with maudlin tears.” If he did turn out to be one of those sorts, Jean-Paul was turning his fuzzy ass right out the door. “I suppose I could find the time to drink you dry.” A light shiver of innuendo touched the words. He couldn’t help it. He’d just as soon not breathe as not pepper his conversation with insults and innuendo.
He stepped back to allow Kurt to enter his sacred domain. There was nothing special about it: it was neither large, nor small; he did not keep it especially clean but the mess was confined to the surface of his desk. There was a television, still tuned to The Weather Channel, and a low, wide bed. Jean-Paul took the bed. Kurt could have the chair, uncomfortably supportive as it was, and unforgiving of extraneous limbs.
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Nightcrawler
Junior Member
Just a pirate, chasing booty
Posts: 61
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Post by Nightcrawler on Oct 12, 2005 0:05:23 GMT -5
Kurt watched Jean-Paul examine the gin...and since he didn't find himself redeposited into the hall with the door in his face, he considered the first battle won. As far as anyone could win anything with Beaubier--the man was nearly insufferable--but Kurt had no issue with the man, he barely knew him, which was the whole point.
"Don't worry," Kurt said dryly, shrugging off his jacket as he moved passed the Quebecois, taking a glance at the television offering with a raised eyebrow, "I won't reveal anything too...intimate." He removed the rum from its bag as Jean-Paul lounged on his bed, "Since you're going to be drinking me dry--"
He twisted the top from the bottle and hopped lightly up to perch on the back of the chair. He took a hard swallow and savored the amber burn, "--I suppose I should start on getting wet first."
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Post by Northstar on Oct 12, 2005 15:41:04 GMT -5
Jean-Paul followed Kurt’s gaze to the muted television. Catching the lift of a dark blue eyebrow, his lips curved in reply, smirk slight. Oh, but what a man of mystery he was, watching the Weather Channel in his spare time. He wondered what Kurt watched, briefly. He rather imagined it involved bad costumes and worse accents.
“Ah, good. That could be tiresome,” Jean-Paul said briskly. He made it a policy not to invite anyone the opportunity to cry on his shoulder. Much of his clothing was dry-clean only. “Of course, I reserve the right to make snide comments from here to eternity should you say anything under the influence of alcohol you’d otherwise not have said.” Of course.
Glancing from the gin to the rum, he followed Kurt’s example and opened his bottle with a slow, amused shake of his head. Not even a glass to drink it with. My, how crude they rough and tumble soldiers had become. “I do hope you’ve the stamina to match me,” he said, far too bland. “It could be embarrassing, otherwise.” He slanted Kurt a low-lashed look, very nearly pitying, as he took a long, slow drink. Poor, poor Kurt. He just wasn’t a Beaubier. That was reason enough for pity.
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Nightcrawler
Junior Member
Just a pirate, chasing booty
Posts: 61
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Post by Nightcrawler on Oct 12, 2005 16:08:46 GMT -5
Kurt chuckled and rested the open bottle on his knees, drumming his fingers on the glass, "I hope your liver is as healthy as that ego of yours, Beaubier." He took another long pull and leaned back, coiling his tail next to him. Having a built in drink-holder was just another in a long line of blessings of having been born with a tail.
Pity so few were able to experience some of the more interesting uses...
... but the life of a soldier offered little free time for such pursuits. Messy entanglements were best left for those not burdened with the name Darkholme. Not that he was above a little harmless encounter here and there, one just had to choose those lesser battles with care and utmost discretion.
"I've never had a complaint about my stamina yet, " Kurt said mildly, "Though, I'm not known for my speed either, I like to take my sweet time." He took a hearty pull of the rum, licking the slight sting from his lips, "The trade off, I suppose, for lacking in a faster-than-thou metabolism."
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Post by Northstar on Oct 13, 2005 23:37:19 GMT -5
Jean-Paul favored Kurt with an amused look, as though he were a particularly clever pet who had finally managed a new trick. “Oh, at least as healthy.” His ego was in no danger. He could imagine his ego outliving him, hovering smugly around his grave – possibly, smirking.
He eyed Kurt with narrow eyes as he leaned back on the chair – not against the chair, but on the chair. The chair, well built, did not utter even the slightest of creaking protests, but Jean-Paul objected on principle. He lounged and leaned with the best of them, but he never clambered on the furniture like an overgrown (blue, betailed) child. He said nothing, trusting to the narrow-eyed look to convey it all.
He soon had another reason to target Kurt with that look, teasing the thread of intent from his words. Why, had he just insulted—Oh, rich! It was a battle of wits, then. Jean-Paul took a moment to consider his reply: carefully weighed words and a measured tone—
Eh. Sometimes direct was better. He snorted in rude dismissal and waved away Kurt’s words. “Oh, please.” He smiled, wide and white, but not entirely friendly. “I do not do everything fast.” He rolled the bottle delicately in his hands, grip sure on the slender neck. The stroke of his fingers was very nearly suggestive. “I am perfectly capable of leisurely enjoying those things that warrant my attention.” The tragedy was, so few things were.
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Magik
Junior Member
Posts: 68
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Post by Magik on Oct 17, 2005 19:45:28 GMT -5
Unlike Kurt's bamf and sulfur stench, Illyana's stepping discs made a smaller noise, like the rush of air when one opens an airtight seal. The light, however, was a dead giveaway. It blazed a bright yellow for a second when she teleporting in and then faded away, leaving a slight visual afterimage that even she had never gotten quite used to.
Blinking off the excess illumination, Illyana glanced around the room at the two men, her teammates. Bottles. A slight tang of alcohol in the air.
Noticing that the Soulsword was still gripped in her right hand, Illyana thought it away, shook the cowl out around her shoulders and then settled herself cross legged onto the floor before either of the men had a chance to ask her to stay. "And what do we have here?"
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Nightcrawler
Junior Member
Just a pirate, chasing booty
Posts: 61
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Post by Nightcrawler on Oct 18, 2005 0:53:12 GMT -5
Kurt paused, his next mouthful of rum going unswallowed, as the whoosh of air rushing into a vacuum and a flash of brilliant yellow announced Ilyana's arrival. He swallowed hard, wincing around the heat of the alcohol as it seared away his next amused-sweetened retort to Jean-Paul's amusing brand of communicative art.
He looked from the speedster to the new, and infinitely more fetching, new arrival.
Illyana Rasputin.
Not that Beaubier was unattractive, or that Kurt was particularly biased toward one gender...far from it. But it would take a roll of duct tape for Jean-Paul's pretty mouth and a copious amount of alcohol for Kurt's blood chemistry before JP could be rendered to have any sort of entertainment value above just a drinking partner. And having to gag JP would ruin half the fun of having him around in the first place.
But the blonde Russian teleporter was another matter entirely.
And she sat down Indian-style on the floor with every intent of sticking around. Kurt chased his mouthful of rum with another. He'd need it.
"Just enjoying a bit of Dutch courage," Kurt held out his bottle to the beautiful woman, "Care to join us?"
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Post by Northstar on Oct 18, 2005 14:04:22 GMT -5
At the first flash of light, Jean-Paul sped up, invisible but for a slight quiver. He covered his eyes with a hand, shielding against the glare for a dragging instant. He recognized the light before acting on it, and blinking away the starry afterimages, drawled a dry, “Oh, do come in,” in his lazy Québécois.
Illyana sat. “Please, have a seat,” Jean-Paul added with a roll of his eyes. He slowed, eying the sword warily until she vanished it. Truthfully, he found her somewhat unsettling – but then, they all could be that way.
Kurt courteously offered his alcohol to the young woman, leaving Jean-Paul free to horde his own. He took another long sip and glanced between Kurt, Illyana, and the bottle between them. “You know, that doesn’t match her eyes.”
Gagging him would be a crime, with such excellent conversation to be had.
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Magik
Junior Member
Posts: 68
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Post by Magik on Oct 18, 2005 18:29:54 GMT -5
"Please, have a seat.”
Illyana spared a glance for Jean Paul. Then she smirked and turned away. Sometimes he was simply unbearable to be around. But this was more interesting than crashing on anybody else. "I don't mind if I do."
Kurt seemed to be sucking on his bottle as though it were a piece of candy. How fetching. An alcoholic teammate. Northstar's metabolism would, of course, burn it off. What excuse did Kurt have? Not that she cared. In the slightest. It was just interesting.
Mystique's son. Drinking away with Jean Paul, the man least likely to ask why in the entire complex. Very interesting indeed.
"Just enjoying a bit of Dutch courage." Illyana glanced at the proffered bottle. "Care to join us?"
Hair fell over her face but she didn't bother to brush it away. Normally, she never would have accepted anything opened by another. There was always the slim chance that something had been put in it. After the talk to Mystique about trust, though, she was wondering if maybe she shouldn't test the waters a bit. Expand her own horizons.
If it became too much for her, she could always leave. Or find her own bottle in her room. "Sure." She accepted the bottle, swallowing a rather large mouthful before handing it back. It made only the slightest of burns in her throat. "Thanks."
“You know, that doesn’t match her eyes.”
She rolled her eyes. Jean Paul always seemed to think he was simply the most entertaining and beautiful thing in any given room. "I much prefer contrasts anyway," she said, glancing at him through the fallen locks of hair. "So much more interesting than a match, don't you think?"
Another mask clicked into place.
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Nightcrawler
Junior Member
Just a pirate, chasing booty
Posts: 61
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Post by Nightcrawler on Oct 25, 2005 9:09:28 GMT -5
“You know, that doesn’t match her eyes.”
The sudden rush of warmth to his cheeks and lips slowed his tongue, and Illyana shot back at the speedster before Kurt could counter with something that surely would have been truly scathing.
"I much prefer contrasts anyway," she said, glancing at him through the fallen locks of hair. "So much more interesting than a match, don't you think?"
"Oh, I've always been fond of contrast; rough-smooth, dark-light..." He trailed off with a glance toward Jean-Paul, "Sweet-Sour..." He drummed his fingers on his cheek and looked back at Illyana, watching her throat work as she swallowed, quickly attempting to smother the myriad of pleasant images brought suddenly to mind. It was entirely indecent how beautiful the woman was. But then, he was surrounded by beautiful, and deadly, women...but at least this one he wasn't related to.
He waved the bottle back to Illyana, "No, you keep it. I have another." He shifted and reached for his jacket, slipping a smaller bottle of Meyer's Dark from the inside pocket. He twisted the cap free and held up the fifth of potent rum, "What shall we drink to?"
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Post by Northstar on Oct 25, 2005 14:16:37 GMT -5
"I don't mind if I do."
“I noticed,” Jean-Paul said pleasantly. He watched Illyana with narrow eyes, amused by her behavior. Frankly, that was just like something he might do. He saluted her rejoinder with a lift of his chin, but no reply. He felt no need to test his wits against hers: the conclusion was foregone, in his mind – himself the clear victor.
He canted his head in Kurt’s direction, catching his gaze with an amused twist of his lips. “Am I sweet, then, or is she?” He glanced at Illyana, a spare look but eloquent in his way. None present seemed very sweet to him.
Jean-Paul lifted his bottle and fixed his gaze on the drink within. “I don’t know,” he said slowly, words torturously slow on his tongue. “Perhaps to drinking.”
There was no higher cause.
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