Continued from yesterday:
Sam was reminded of the old jokes. _These mutants walk into a bar…_ He could see people at the restaurant observing them. Waiting for the punchline.
“Two weeks and the first thing I see of you is the back of your head," said Callisto. She was waiting in the foyer with a handful of others.
"See?” said Sara to Ororo. “All the way from court to here and he didn’t even let me trip.” She turned. “Callisto! Don’t *you* look funny in a dress.”
“Daddy-dear told us to look nice,” said the one-eyed mutant. She gave Sara, then Mort a bear-hug. “Just so you know? Yellow was never your colour.”
“I don’t think yellow is *anyone’s* colour,” joked Emilia. She gave Sara a hug. “Open air is so much nicer, yes?”
“Where’s Dianne?” said Mort. “She okay?”
“Had to go see her OBGYN,” said Callisto. “And she said that her family’s glad to have her back.”
Sara smiled. “Nice to know *some* of us have the chance.”
“What am I?” joked Sam. “Chopped liver?”
Which triggered Sara’s Comically Cute mode. “Aw. Is daddy-waddy a diddle upset?”
“Enough…”
Of course, the maitre’d had noticed them and did not want punchlines happening in *his* restaurant. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave… we don’t exactly welcome mutants on these premises.”
“What? You have an objection to people of colour?” said Sara.
“Don’t start,” he warned, surprised at the chorus from both Mort and Callisto. Sam reached into his pocket and produced The Card. “All of these people are my *guests*, m'seur. Please don’t *upset* my guests.”
The Card had him in a spin that resulted in the man pointing due Prestige. “Of course, sir. I’ll find a discrete booth for you and your… party.”
As soon as he was gone, Sara pretended to clean out her ear. “Did anyone else hear that last word as ‘pets’?”
Mort and Callisto put up their hands… then Kurt, with a sly grin.
“I’m starting to like you,” said the German acrobat. “And I definitely hope you decide to join us at Herr Xavier’s school.”
“What other choice could she have?” said Ororo.
“In an infinite universe, all things are possible,” said Sara. “Up to and including going back to the shreds of my former life - where people don’t talk about me as if I’m not in the room.”
“Hackles *down*, darling,” counselled Sam. “Give the nice lady a chance to improve.”
Mort had to work *very* hard to wipe the grin off his face on that one.
*
The maitre’d didn’t want to touch her or Mort, and he was leery of the Other People surrounding them. Kurt found it interesting to watch the ballet play out differently, depending what his impressions were.
He leaned over and whispered in Ororo’s ear, “I’m half-tempted to turn off the inducer and see what he does.”
Ororo smiled politely at the napkin and murmured back, “Don’t. It's already caught far enough.”
He straightened in his seat with a regretful sigh. He was dearly fond of Ororo, but sometimes, she was just no fun at all.
Maybe if he waited until the second course…
“Don’t even think about it,” said Sam. “We’re in enough trouble already.”
Kurt pouted. His desires aside, it probably *was* a bad idea. And it would be bad press.
The menu arrived in French.
“Oh *darn*… everything has alcohol in it,” said Sara.
“It all burns off, madam[1].”
“Ready to defend that statement against a bout of anaphalactic shock?" said Sam. "Not to mention the subsequent lawsuit…”
Mort looked aside at Sara and looked like he was vowing to never touch alcohol ever in the rest of his life.
_Definitely smitten._
“I shall discuss things with the chef,” said the maitre’d.
“Daaa-aaad… it’s *not* anaphalactic shock…”
“No, but they understand 'anaphalactic shock’ and it scares the beans out of them.”
“I know… a lie they can understand… but– I just have trouble with maintaining it.”
Mort was concerned. “So what is it, really?”
“Depending on severity; swelling, weals, blisters, burns and airway cloggage. Not a fun experience.”
“Makes dining out an interesting time,” supplied Sam.
“Something usually reserved for Daddy-daughter day,” Sara grinned. "We’re both far *too* used to arguing with head chefs in their native tongue.“
"And speaking of the devil,” said Kurt. “…so to speak.”
The irate man in the white outfit was storming right up to them, and began haranguing them in broken French.
Sara launched into far better French and told him off in no uncertain terms. And corrected his grammar.
Kurt sniggered behind his hand before adding in perfect French, “[And by the by… it’d be far better if you stopped pretending you were French.]”
“Kurt…” warned Ororo.
“Just trying to help out,” he smiled.
Sam sighed, “This is why I only go out once a year…” He managed an amiable front. “M'seur… surely you are such a great artist that you don’t need to rely on something as crass as wine in order to infuse flavour into your meals?”
The chef took the lifeline. “Oui. That is more than true. I shall create for you a work of art…” and zoomed off.
“Take a bow,” said Sara. “My dad. Supreme master of the left-handed insult.”
[1] Big Posh Restaurant Lie #3. It doesn’t. And if it *did* - why do they bother putting it in?
~
The conversation relaxed into amiable babble on this or that, primarily with updates on news or TV show trivia.
“And yes, before you ask, *everyone* has been checking in on your goddamn hamster,” Callisto laughed. “Mrs Nesbit has one hell of a social calendar, now. People bringing her groceries…”
“People willing to feed the hamster,” said Emilia. “If it wasn’t for your feeding instructions, I swear you’d have a little hairy sphere.”
“The kids have drawn up a roster,” said Sam. “It’s incredible to watch.”
Sara giggled. “Chuckie’s more famous than I am by now. I wonder if I could sell his story.”
“Oh yeah,” said Mort. “I was a teenaged mutant’s hamster.”
“Sounds like one of my hack jobs,” Sara grinned.
The table laughed its way free of the tensions that had plagued the beginning of things. The appetiser helped more than a little. Sam had always noticed that people were less inclined to be aggressive with a stomach full of good food.
Sara was telling a story behind one of her features. A soap-parody she named _All My Zombies_. It was the sort of anecdote that had listeners in helpless hysterics.
“…so there we all are, flesh hanging off our fake bones, *just* as Maria delivers the immortal line, 'you just love me for my braaaaiiiiinnnnnsss’ - and *mother* walks in…”
“Did she have a coronary?” said Mort, hopefully.
“Please, I need a run-up to do the expression,” Sara took a few deep breaths, mimed holding a glass with one hand… and pulled the expression.
Ororo cackled, tears spilling from her eyes. Kurt was barely holding himself up. The others around the table were in various stages of hysterics.
“And falls over in a dead faint,” Sara said, painting the picture with her expressive hands. “Bam! Down like a sack of suds. Ray did his best to revive her… and then found out that that’s a *bad* thing to do when one’s makeup involves a dangling eyeball…”
The main course arrived. Another work of art without a single trace of alcohol.
“Five fainting spells later, we hit on the idea of breaking for the day, got the prosthetics cleaned off, and finally revived her for good… and *that*, my dears, is how I lost any chance of sick days from school.”
It was funny, true… but like all good comedy, it straddled the line into tragedy.
Sam decided to steer the conversation back to its original purpose. "And speaking of school, darling… perhaps we should negotiate some -ah- fine details.“
"Mort gets a fair chance,” said Sara, instantly. “That’s all I really want.”
“Define 'chance’,” said Ororo.
“The man you knew as the Toad is dead. You killed him… and I think Mr Toynbee is somewhat grateful. I can… make myself forgive the damage you did to his poor body - provided you forgive his sordid past in the spell of a bed decision. He starts with a blank slate.”
“It’s a lot of effort,” said Sam. “My family has a history of intense loyalty and devotion to those we hold dear. That can even hold true for retroactive tallies.”
“It’s only fair, Dad. I can’t hang on to the sins of the past if *they’re* willing to give them up. Blank slates all 'round - though I refuse to start anew at the ABC’s.”
“You don’t *have* sins of the past,” said Sam. “Not significant ones, at any rate.”
~
Ororo looked to Kurt.
“Was? You think I can give you advice?” his voice coming out of that hologram was more than disturbing for her. “I rather like Mort. I’d have let him in without any kind of deal.”
“Bless you!” Sara cheered.
It was all so confusing[1]. If Jean were here…
…if Jean were here…
Was trusting the Toad the sort of gift Jean would appreciate?
And the Professor had *seen* the man defy Magneto.
Was a man who betrayed his master the sort of man who *she* would trust?
He didn’t have the world’s most ideal history…
_Neither did I. Remember Cairo._
If it hadn’t been for the Professor and his own willingness to give the freedom of a blank slate, she may just be where Toad - where *Mort* was, now… dangling by the decision of one person. Dependant on the judgement of one open-minded soul.
She owed it to the man who took in so many waifs and strays to follow his example. “All right… just - don’t expect us to trust you at first.”
“Taken as given,” said Mort. “I’ll do me best to be trustworthy.”
“I hear you need teaching staff,” said Emilia. “There happen to be more than a few of us who need jobs… those of us who never minded being around mutants.”
“We’re just old softies, really,” said Sara. She was smirking when she said it, so it had to be a joke.
Ororo didn’t find it that funny.
“Which reminds me,” said Callisto. “Remember that jerk Arnold[2]? The guy who told all of the very-obviously-muties they should hang themselves?”
“Oh *him*,” said Sara. “Our day and age’s answer to Heston. 'Getcher stinking paws off me you damned dirty mutie’…”
“That’s still damned scary, luv.”
“What’s happened to him?” she continued without missing a beat. "Something kharmic?“
"Kharmic and scandellous,” said Callisto. “Turns out our beloved (cough) Arnie was incarcerated for posessing the X-gene. His place of ex-employment registered him as a latent mutant. He’s getting his own racism thrown back in his face, his wife divorced him, and his family's threatening to sue him for 'introducing the mutant taint’ into their precious bloodlines.”
“Not that I have much faith in higher powers,” said Sara, “but I pray that *that* lovely little case gets thrown the heck out of court.”
“Amen,” said Emilia.
Kurt’s face fell. Ororo knew exactly how much faith meant to him. This was going to devolve into theology in nothing flat.
“You don’t believe?” he said.
“Organized religion makes my skin crawl,” said Sara. “I’m sorry, but it does. Say *these* words, do *these* things… and some higher force will give you lots and lots of good things when you’re dead. I think the system would work much better if the good things happened a tad earlier.” She sipped her juice. “And don’t get me started on punishing evil…”
“The eternal question,” said Kurt. “Why does God let bad things happen?”
_This isn’t what I thought he’d do…_ mused Ororo.
“And a very good why it is,” said Sara. “Along with, 'why does He let them *continue* to happen?’ and queries of a similar vein. I’ve posited that if there *is* a higher power in charge, they’re a lot less involved in things than the churches would have one think.”
Kurt actually *laughed*. “I know the feeling,” he said. “But that is the essence of faith… to hold true to the idea that there *is* a higher force, watching over you. Something that will care for you when you need it the most. Someone who loves you no matter what.”
Oh yeah. This was the very core of him laid bare. His reason for faith. She could believe in *that*, if not the tenets of a church.
Sara looked extremely wistful. “I *want* to believe in that, but… not while the wounds are fresh. I have extreme trouble with a kind and loving God who lets little girls get fractured minds… who allows Dragons and Gorgons to prey wherever they whist… and who lets it all - *perpetuate*.”
Kurt bowed his head to her. “I understand. Some of us walk through the fire earlier than others.” And he reached across to touch her hand in reassurance. Even though he knew what would happen.
Again, Sara matched his true colours.
“Twice in one day,” said the girl. She admired the colour, even as it faded. “I know touching Mort makes me literally green around the gills, but turning blue? I didn’t even do that when I was in the Terrible Twos…”
“No, you disassembled the televisions and put bike chains on the liquor cabinets,” said Sam.
“It would’ve worked if they had handles…” muttered Sara.
“I’m sure the solution will be made clear,” said Kurt. “In good time.”
Ororo felt it was high time she spoke, “And attendance at Xavier's will help you learn to control reactions like that, amongst other things.”
“I just want to know one thing - how big is the library?”
“Liebchen, the whole *estate* is a library,” said Kurt. “Everywhere, there are bookshelves.”
“Bliss…” Sara grinned. “I might even encounter a few volumes I haven’t read yet…”
“That’s two muties hooked,” smirked Callisto. “How are you guys for security measures? It used to be my field of speciality before things imploded. I can think nastier than the other guy…”
Kurt nudged her. “If nothing else, she’d give Logan someone to play with…”
Ororo could just picture the two of them in a battle sim. Callisto constantly gave off vibes that she’d rather be in combat fatigues, belting several colours of shit out of the bad guy. They’d get along like a house on fire.
_…flames, screaming, and people running for safety…[3]_ “I’m sure you’d be a welcome addition to the team,” she said.
[1] Halle’s one emote [/meow]
[2] He’s Arnold, Arnold, Arnold Rimmer…
[3] Terry Pratchett.
~