Mort and Cal

[om_mimic]

Cal finds Mort watching more Alpha Flight footage. And is weirded out by him in no time at all.


Mort wasn't even sure where to start with all the things on the telly. Which made perfect sense, because he was pretty sure he was retarded or something. The old school had said summat like that, hadn't it? Anyway, it meant he was mostly watching the Hot Canadian Action (hey, the purple bird was sexy as hell) for the entertainment value.

Cal still wasn't sure what to make of this new development, and he regularly found himself drawn back to the rec room, to see what new reports were coming in about the Canadian team in their stupid fucking costumes. Seriously, Canada, why do this to yourselves? He made a faint grimace at the sight he was greeted with when he walked in. "That's gotta be the best way ever to make sure nobody's gonna steal your popcorn," he told one of the two resident Jar Jars.

It was only for practice that he prevented himself from mimicking the guy's mutation, though, because he needed to practice with non-maladaptive mutations before he let himself be around the more dangerous kids. But as soon as he'd pulled it off for a little while, he would absolutely do his thing, and get a Jar Jar tongue of his own.

Didn't mean he'd want any of that popcorn.

"Hey mate, I brushed me teeth. Help yourself," Mort protested. He glanced over at the other teen - very blond, all-American looking sort of fellow, wasn't he?

Cal laughed at that answer, coming to stand at the back of the couch and leaning his elbows there. "No offense, dude, but I have no idea where your tongue's been." Of course, he didn't have any idea where anybody's hands might have been, but there was no ick factor there. Probably the lack of bodily fluids on people's hands. He could do without swapping saliva with somebody he wasn't making out with. His gaze went back to the TV screen, which was showing more footage of the rescue operations. "Anything new?"

Unfortunately, Mort couldn't say his tongue had been any place all that interesting. Or, rather, any place fun and interesting. He supposed there might be real boring blighters out there who thought the sidewalk was fascinating or something. "Nothin' much new," Mort admitted. "Lots of re-showings of earlier stuff. I'm hoping for an interview, though."

"Or any new facts," Cal finished, because that would be good, too. Seriously.

And he figured he'd waited long enough, and finally allowed himself to copy the kid's mutation. He hadn't really expected his skin to turn green, not after the lack of pointy ears with Jeanne-Marie, but he still pursed his lips briefly when it remained its usual complexion. His tongue felt weird, though, and he ran it across his teeth thoughtfully. "You're Steve's roommate, right?"

Mort smiled, "You've heard of me?"

"Steve and I hang out," Cal replied easily, then looked back at the other mutant. "And you're pretty easy to describe, you know." There was him, and there was the other kid. Only one of them was English.

"Exotic and good-looking?" Mort asked hopefully. Accents were cool here, right? That's what he'd heard anyway, that Americans liked English accents.

"Something like that," Cal smiled, and turned his gaze back to the screen. "Oh, hey, interview."

Excitedly, he redirected his attention to the screen and... it wasn't the purple bird. Bugger. Mort's face fell slightly in disappointment, which he quickly tried to cover up by tongue-snagging some popcorn. "So you and Stevie are friends then?"

"Yeah. You know," Cal replied, very eloquently, partly because most of his attention was on the guy giving an interview, and partly because he'd only known Steve a few weeks. Sure, he was the dude he hung out most with, but friends... he'd thought he'd had friends, until they'd all turned on him. He wasn't so keen on labelling people friends left and right anymore.

Actually, Mort didn't really. He didn't exactly want to let on, though, so he nodded. "Right, right."

"Oh god," Cal grimaced at the screen. "I was never big on patriotism. You think they actually believe all that stuff?"

"People believe all sorts of things," Mort responded. Not precisely an answer, to be sure, but sometimes answering something real touchy like that ended up with people taking it personal.

"I always thought Canadians were smarter than us," Cal stated, now very skeptical about that, and wondering how much worse things would be here, if that was the Canadian response. He glanced at the other kid. "And by 'us' I mean Americans."

Mort was so surprised not to be included in the group of 'people Canadians are smarter than' that he almost stumbled over himself in responding. "Where're you from in America, then?"

"California," he replied, his eyes back on the screen. "Northern Cali, though. Not LA. What about you?" He could tell he was English, but he couldn't tell more than that.

"NorCal, is it?" Mort asked. He'd looked up the lingo, so he could sound like he knew what he was talking about here in the States. He could not understand their need to give every bitty region of the country its own nickname, but what was there to do? "I'm from London."

Cal shot the guy a surprised look, surprised, but approving; it wasn't every day he met an American that knew to call it NorCal, never mind an English kid. "Huh. You met Alisha yet?" She was the only one from London he'd met so far.

"Not yet." A pause, and then, "is she hot?"

"...yeah," Cal confirmed, but there was something more to his answer, and he glanced at Mort, hoping the seriousness of his look would drive his point home. "But she's one of the don't-touch-'em kids."

Mort looked intrigued, curious, and nervous all at once. "Like she'll beat up on me? 'Cause I could get into that, maybe."

"What? Dude," Cal let out, looking at the other guy disbelievingly. "Like don't touch her, and that's that."

Ah, there was the shame he was used to. Mort looked down at the floor. "R-right, then." Not that his chances of touching a girl had been particularly good regardless.

Cal looked at him for a few more seconds, and then back at the screen, where they were back to showing footage of the rescue. "You realize there's a kid at school with a death touch, right?" Don't-touch-'em kids were don't-touch-'em kids for a fucking reason.

"I don't just go around touching people," Mort defended, though his voice was softer than it had been before. Had to walk a thin line, sometimes, between apologizing and explaining.

"Good," Cal simply replied - especially with the tongue on that kid. On both of them, right now, really. It had still been a fucking weird thing to say.

Not the best first meeting he'd had before, but certainly far from the worst. Still, Mort couldn't help the vague sense of disappointment he felt at already being disliked by the other teen. "I'll just leave you to your telly," he said, hopping up (quite literally) from his seat. He left the popcorn, though. Just in case Cal changed his mind and wanted it.

"Um," Cal frowned, and glanced at the guy's retreat for a second. "Sure."