Vance and Jean-Paul, backdated 3/22

[om_northstar]

The school's ray of sunshine meets its cynical stormcloud. Waaaaay backdated.




Vance, earbuds in and Pitch Perfect soundtrack on, bopped into the kitchen to grab something to eat. In fact, he was so caughtup in his dancing that he almost didn't realize the other boy in the room before he'd bumped into him. Which would've been sucky, because Vance knew who this guy was. He'd grown up on ESPN, after all.

"You're Jean-Paul!" And that wasn't the right way to introduce himself at all, so he quickly offered the teenager his hand. "I'm Vance. Nice to meet you."

Jean-Paul, who'd been caught in the midst of food-prep again, put down the carrots he was about to sacrifice to the Cuisinart and regarded the beaming tow-head in front of him. "Well," he said finally, giving the younger boy's hand a quick shake, "I suppose we are introduced now. Are you a sports enthusiast, or has my sister been singing my praises again?"

"Sports," Vance clarified, grinning. "Saw you ESPN, and then learned that whatever gift you've got for snowboarding, I don't have it. You make it look real easy."

Jean-Paul smirked, though there was nothing unkind in the expression. If anything, the speedster looked pleased. "Maybe it is that easy for some people."

"Maybe." Vance shrugged, totally unabashed. This was Jean-Paul Martin - or Beaubier now right? - and he was awesome. No shame in admitting that some random kid from Saugerties couldn't out-board him. "Just not for me. I ended up looking like I'd gone swimming."

Or like a drowned rat, according to his dad, but still. Same difference.

"So what do you do? And feel free to take that in any context you like."

"Uh, I go to school? Nothing awesome, like you." He went over to the fridge and grabbed a soda. "You want anything?"

Jean-Paul waved off the offer of soda. "You go to this school. You have to be able to do something fairly awesome, non?" He began ladling the carrot-and-broth mixture on the stove into the food-processor.

Vance popped his soda open, and grabbed a seat at the table. "I'm telekinetic, which I guess is pretty cool." Actually, he thought it was better than that; he thought it was amazingly and fantastically cool. But still, he didn't want to be arrogant about it. After all, everyone here did equally awesome stuff. "What do you do? I mean, for your mutation."

Jean-Paul turned on the food-processor and let it run for a few seconds before answering. "I'm a speedster and I fly. Great power set. Unless you're deeply involved in a sport where speed and hang time are kind of vital."

After swallowing a good-sized amount of coke, Vance shrugged. "Yeah, but that'd be cheating, and you wouldn't cheat."

The speedster laughed and pried the top off of the food processor to examine the contents. The mixture inside was a thick liquid with a subdued orange tint. The steam rising out of the top was earthy and sweet, and carried more than a hint of curry and pepper.

"If everyone were as easy to convince as you, I wouldn't have a worry in the world."

"Well, I mean, it's obvious, right?" Vance was pretty sure it was, anyway. "You're too good to hafta cheat. Besides, cheating's wrong anyway."

"But there would be the school of thought that the reason I am so good is because I was cheating." Jean-Paul poured the mixture back onto the pot on the stove and headed for the fridge. "And if someone wants something bad enough, it's not hard to come up with justifications. Maybe I think I've earned it after all the crap I've been through."

The younger gave Jean-Paul a sly sort of smile. "But if you were like that, you wouldn't've just admitted it."

"It could all be a clever ruse." Jean-Paul grinned and emerged with a half-pint of cream. "Have you eaten?"

Vance shook his head. "Nah. Figure I'll make spaghetti or something later."

Jean-Paul shrugged. "You're welcome to join me, if you like. Trust me, if it's a choice between box pasta or the cafeteria, you want another option."

Experimentally, he sniffed the air. Smelled pretty good. "What're you making?"

"Curried carrot soup. I'm going to put some bread in the oven to warm up in a minute, and then it's chow time."

"I've never had curried things. Or carrot soup." Not that Vance wasn't interested, 'cause he was. But he figured it was only fair to warn Jean-Paul that he'd never had food like that before. Sounded kind of fancy, but then...well, everything at Xavier's had seemed fancy. "But, I mean...happy to try some, if that's okay."

"I did invite you." Jean-Paul unwrapped the artisan loaf he'd picked up the other day and slid it into the oven to warm. "It's good to try new things, non?"

"Definitely." The younger boy agreed. Another large gulp, and he'd basically demolished his soda. Hey, he was a growing boy. And he was thirsty. "And it smells really, really awesome."

Jean-Paul had to laugh. "Are you this enthusiastic about everything?"

Vance blushed lightly but nodded. "Yeah. Pretty much. But, I mean...am I bugging you? I can try and stop."

"It does not bother me, no. It just seems like it must be very hard to maintain, that is all." Jean-Paul turned away from the stove and strode over to the cupboards to get down bowls.

He chuckled. "My dad says that I'm like some kinda chimp on cocaine sometimes. Want any help? I can set the table or something."

"Sure. Spoons and glasses, si'l te plait. And a knife and the goat's cheese out of the fridge." Jean-Paul nudged the cabinet closed. "Your dad sounds like a bit of an ass, if you don't mind me saying."

Vance hopped off his chair, and headed over to the cabinets to grab glasses before making his way towards the silverware drawer. "He's okay, just got a weird sense of humor."

That's what his mom kept insisting, anyway.

As he set the glasses and silverware down so that he could go grab the requested items from the fridge, he wondered, "where'd you learn to cook? My grandma taught me, but this sounds a whole lot fancier than that."

"I lived with a man who owned a restaurant for a while. And there was definite incentive to learn how to cook when my powers started to kick in."

"Do your powers make you hungry too?" Vance asked, sounding excited. He'd figured he was just imaging stuff or something, but he was always hungry, and it was usually worse after he'd used his TK a bunch. Which was weird, right? Because shouldn't the headache and blood make things less appetizing?

Jean-Paul nodded. "Oui. We burn a lot of energy powering our abilities, and I suppose that we do not all ignore the laws of physics completely. A lot of the students here seem to be in the same boat."

"I'm gonna use that as my excuse for how Vic and I ate two whole pizzas and milk shakes," the younger boy declared. He plucked what he was pretty sure was goat cheese out of the fridge, and set it next to the knife he'd gotten. The spoons and glasses he set out for each of them.

"You and Vic both said you can fly," it was a non-sequitur sorta, and not. "So you kinda defy the laws of physics, right?"

"Defy them, but do not ignore them entirely. Perpetual motion is still beyond my grasp, alas."

Vance grinned. "Next time, maybe. Keep trying 'til you succeed, and all that stuff."

"Careful! If I ever did manage it, there would be a line around the school in favor of having me sedated." Jean-Paul opened the oven, then decided the bread was warm enough. "So what do you think of this whole mutant business so far?"

"Which part? 'Cause, I mean, the being a mutant part is kinda awesome. Y'know, superpowers and stuff. The outside world's reaction, less awesome so far."

"So no traumatic manifestations on your end?"

Well, he'd sent something across the room and broken it, and then he'd gotten his butt kicked. But Vance didn't think they really counted as 'traumatic'. Wasn't like he'd, y'know, knocked his house down or anything. "Nah, not really. Been pretty lucky, I think."

"That is something, anyway." Jean-Paul sliced into the crusty loaf, slightly impatient at the care he had to take, but he'd found that speed in the kitchen was usually detrimental to the food. He piled the slices in one of the bowls, then ladled the steaming soup into two others. "I wonder if Xavier didn't give a few people a telepathic nudge or two to forget that they'd seen anything odd."

"For me?" Vance asked. "Or for you?"

He wasn't real sure it would be okay for him to ask about how Jean-Paul'd manifested, though now he was definitely curious. Especially with all this talk of trauma and manipulation. But hopefully the Xavier thing would seem less invasive. "Do you really think he'd do that?"

"I don't know," Jean-Paul admitted. "Maybe..." And he stressed the word. "...I am not giving the parents involved enough credit. But it still seems like too much good luck."

Vance shrugged. "My parents seemed okay with it, mostly. The school, I mean. Were yours not?"

"I don't have any parents." Jean-Paul shrugged; that was pretty much common knowledge. "I thought the man I was living with was too OK with me coming here." He spread a couple of slices of bread with the soft, white cheese and passed them to Vance. "He thought it was for the best. I didn't agree."

"Do you still not agree?" Vance wondered. He thought it was awesome here. And he'd been really, really excited when the headmasters had managed to convince his parents. This place was the best.

"Some good things have definitely come of it." Jean-Paul was forced to admit that much. "But I think most of them would have happened without me pulling up my roots and coming here."

"Did you like it there a lot?"
"I liked what I had there," Jean-Paul admitted. "Independence and more control over what I was doing with my life. Here I have way too many people watching over my shoulder."

"Oh." Vance wondered what that would've been like; what his house would've felt like if he'd had that kind of freedom there. He couldn't really imagine it, though. But maybe, if he could, maybe he wouldn't have wanted to come here either.

He probably still would've, though. House full of superpowers!

"It was kinda the opposite for me. I have way more freedom here than I did at home."

"I imagine you weren't pursuing a career." Jean-Paul smiled faintly. "But your folks were strict?"

Vance shook his head, smiling. "Nope. No career here. I'm just average; regular 14 year-old doofus. But I don't know that they were strict or anything. Just, y'know...they had plenty of rules, I guess. Stuff I wasn't s'posed to do. But that's probably pretty average, too."

Except that his dad still sounded like a jackass. But Jean-Paul admitted, he didn't have the most charitable view of parent-child relationships.

"Either way, I suppose we are done with average. Here's hoping it's a trade up."