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X-Men: Genesis

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Bobby Bits. [May. 31st, 2005|06:33 pm]
X-Men: Genesis
aberrant_ez_x
[mandorla]
Monet turned the brass doorknob and gently pushed the door open at the resident's behest.

To say she was disturbed by the strange man in black silk pajamas with a keyboard on his lap would be an understatement. She didn't move from the threshold, just stared. It was quite undignified, but she really couldn't think of something coherent to say or do.

On one hand, he was beautiful.

On the other, he was tapping away at a keyboard with no apparent computer in sight. The residents of this place truly were demented. As a whole, completely demented.

"Mr. . . . I apologize, I did not receive your surname. The young woman who led me here merely called you . . . . Bobby." Only a nickname. How . . . . common. "She said you could lead me to a place where I may freshen before I see your professor."

What more could she say? While it was tempting to just turn around and run back to the car, it wouldn't be at all proper.

And they had nowhere else to go.

As Bobby typed in the last few keystrokes of what he had been doing, he did a spin in his chair again depositing the keyboard in front of the monitor and completed his spin facing the visitor again. "Greetings and Salutations. I am indeed the one known as Bobby. I answer to a good many things. You can call me Bobby, Robert, Iceman, or if you are feeling up to it, Robert L. Drake."

Running a hand through his hair and down over his face, he stretched against the leather of his chair and put his thoughts in order in his head. "Well, I could do that. Getting you some place to shower and relax isn't very difficult but I could get you more permanently situated if you are going to be a student here? Have you already received an invitation to join? Are you more of a refugee?"

Monet continued to hover in the doorway. Her back muscles tightened when Mr. Drake said "refugee." The word hit entirely too close to the truth of it. Her chin tilted just a little higher as she mentally donned her armor.

"Mr. Drake." There, that was a decent start. "I believe a temporary room will do quite nicely." She took a short step back from the door, to give Mr. Drake room to pass. "I must get my companion first. She's waiting in the car."

Monet paused, unsure what to say. "My companion has . . . . special needs." She stood straighter and took a deep, quiet breath. "She has some severe physical mutations. Her skin is untouchable and tends to destroy whatever it touches."

[i]Please[/i] let them understand. Penance needed-- Monet's jaw tightened. "Will that be a problem?"

All of the sudden, Bobby was reminded of the stream of social workers he had seen when his mom and dad had been trying to adopt him. She had the same sound in her voice that they had when she spoke of her 'companion'. He couldn't help the unpleasant crawl that worked its way up his spine.

Despite it, he smiled, "Well, I think I might have something. Cut through anything you say? What does her skin destroy? I have one room, it's not the most hospitable as it was originally not intended to be a room to be lived in... It can be made to be habitable though."

Bobby brushed a hand over his chin and the slightest rasp of stubble could be heard as it scratched against his palm. He was so blond that when he didn't shave, the stubble was invisible to the naked eye and then being perhaps the most hairless man he knew... he only had to shave perhaps once a month at the most and it had been about three weeks.

"Does your companion have any other special needs that we need to take into account? Or you perhaps?"

Monet just stood there, spine stiffening like an over-starched petticoat. "Keeping us close together would be appropriate."

She took a step back to give Mr. Drake room to pass. "If you would be so kind as to show me the accommodation, I will deal with Penance later."

She gave a brief thought to how utterly cruel she sounded, but dismissed it from her mind. She somehow resisted the urge to stomp her foot and demand service. That seemed a little. . . . childish.
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