butterflyfactor | (no subject)

Entry tags:

home plot,
jamie

(no subject)

The early years of her life aside, Layla hadn't spent much time wrapped up in luxury. She'd gone from orphanage to what was effectively the team's Bowery barracks to run-down, borderline post-apocalyptic ruins. The island wasn't bad, although real mattresses, couches, pretty much anything from Pottery Barn would have been nice. As much as she enjoyed her living situation, particularly that time spent in bed- at least since she and Jamie had gotten their acts together- she was immediately aware that whatever situation she was waking up to was better. She shifted a little as she woke up, groggily recognizing the feel of soft, airy cotton sheets dragging against her skin, tangentially aware of a soft pliant mattress beneath her that didn't sag or give any hint as to what was holding it up. Real luxury.

The air didn't smell like the island air. To begin with, it was crisp, void of humidity, vaguely pine-scented. She cracked one eye open toward the nearest source of light, which was coming in a broad balcony window that framed the forested mountains beyond. It was breathtaking. Also, highly unexpected.

I know this view, but not because I've seen it before. Not exactly. I know I'm looking out at Latveria from the exquisite stone framing of my room's balcony the same way I know what kind of crap Rahne tries to pull after she gets all preggers- because my future self told me so. Kinda sorta. Anyway, I know for sure I don't arrive in Latveria by just waking up- wearing the clothes I went to sleep in, or lack thereof, on the island- in a guest suite. Which means this is... All wrong.

I also know that I don't turn up with anyone else in tow.

Layla pushed herself up onto her elbows, looking around the room from behind a messy fall of blond hair before her gaze landed on the sleeping Jamie Madrox beside her.

He was probably gonna freak out. She sort of wanted to let him sleep and just.... avoid that, for a while. Maybe get up, take the tour, figure out what the what was happening, and then come back. If he woke up while she was gone, though, he'd probably freak out more.

She reached over and shook his shoulder gently.

"Jamie." She tapped him, realizing what the result would be if they were, indeed, in Latveria and, therefore, home (or somewhere like it).

"Jamies. Wake up."

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Things had changed, it was true. Layla had four ready-made quips and a few barbs resting on the tip of her tongue, but instead of letting them fly, she reached out a hand to slide it along his jaw until her fingertips were curled by the hair behind his ear.

"I know you are. But he needs me just as much as I need- what I need- from him. This is a cordial visit. As long as you don't get, you know." All you-like.

"...Mouthy, it'll go without incident. But in case you hadn't noticed, what with the third person and all, the guy's got his pride."

"I don't like this," he said, resting his hand over hers only to pry it away from his head, and sit back, out of her reach. Cordial visit or not, being in Latveria was not exactly an ideal situation, even if this wasn't real. Doom wasn't someone he ever wanted to turn to unless there was really no other choice. "We should be trying to get the hell out of here, not... Entertaining our host! What does he need from you, anyway?"

She sat back, back straight, and watched Jamie with an unnervingly calm expression. It wasn't flat or blank, but whatever was written in her features was unreadable.

"The same thing everyone needs from me," she said, sliding off the bed and starting for the grand oak door across the room.

"The only thing. Information."

"Except this isn't even real!" Jamie countered, and torn between getting dressed and going after her, he hit the flat of his hand against the ground, a dupe materializing out of thin air who seemed far more interested in the clothes than Layla, which Prime took as his cue to get to his feet. He cut her off before she could reach the door, resting his bare back against the cold, solid oak.

"We're in your head, Layla. You're effectively just telling yourself what you already know... There's no point."

"The cylinder contains my memories," she told him, not looking particularly moved by his argument.

"You and I were standing together in Atlantic City on top of a Doomlock, which is sort of a mini-time machine. I had just told you what my powers actually were. It activated and you got sent home, and I got sent to the island. Only that's not where I was supposed to end up.

"I was going to make a pit stop at the orphanage and download all of my memories into myself. That's why I had blind spots- Nicole, Quicksilver. Not because they were chaotic elements, but because a human brain can only handle so much. At fifteen, I had a limit. I may not know all that I know, and so even if that's what this is, I still have go to find out."

It was a lot of information to process, but if what she was saying was true -- and he still had his doubts, a fact that he hated -- then he really had no right to complain. At least he'd just had the courtesy of simply being told what was happening; she'd had the information downloaded. He tried to meet her gaze, his own scrutinizing, and after a long beat, he nodded, slowly.

The dupe was still muttering to himself ("Make it work."), his hands splayed over his chest as he turned on the spot, the green cloak he'd since pulled on sweeping across the floor; he looked more or less like Prime had predicted he would -- a tall Hobbit -- but he was dressed, which was more than Prime could say about himself. Reaching out with one hand, Prime reabsorbed the dupe, concentrating hard on keeping the clothing separate; he hadn't done this particular trick in a good, long while, though, and it sure as hell wasn't like riding a bicycle. When he finished -- wearing the same clothes the dupe had moments prior -- he was a touch breathless, if vaguely pleased looking with himself.

"Fine."

"Great," she said and pushed the door open, moving past him and out into the corridor. She didn't bother to take in their surroundings- decor wasn't anywhere close to being on her radar. There was a grand staircase that swept toward a great room that was, in fact, only a foyer. She didn't so much as glance back to make sure Jamie was keeping up.

While Jamie could understand a certain amount of haste if they were trying to escape, but given that they were apparently just heading downstairs, he wasn't expecting Layla to take off like a bat out of hell, an image made all the more vivid by her cloak sweeping behind her. After a moment of simply staring at her back, an exercise that was getting him nowhere, he started after her.

"That's it?"

"That's what," she replied, sweeping effortlessly down the stairs, looking for all the world like she belonged in it, in that moment. She certainly looked at home, at least.

"We're just going to go down to meet Dr. Doom," he said, falling into step beside her on the stairs. While he didn't lack her grace, too sure-footed for that to ever be the case, he didn't exactly look at home in the environment, either, his eyes darting every which way like the tourist he most obviously was. "And the only plan you gave me was, more or less, to keep my mouth shut. "

"A plan you're not really sticking to so well," she pointed out.

"Can you blame me?" he replied.

"I can try," she said, taking a long step off the last two and starting in a curve around the banister for the interior of the huge anteroom.

"I'm just saying, this will go a lot easier, and faster, if you can not freak out."

"Where's the fun in that?" he asked, and it wasn't entirely clear whether or not he was being sincere in the sentiment. All things considered, he wasn't much of a brawler -- which wasn't to say he was no good at it, because he was, skilled in several different forms of combat at that, but he was an easy target to underestimate. He didn't have the same itch for violence that other people in their line of work suffered from; his homesickness was generally born of feeling of uselessness, of being unable to help out in any significant way. Helping Doom after so long of helping no one didn't strike him as something particularly ideal.

"For you, or for me?" she mumbled as she strode for the double doors at the end of the hall, which began to swing open. She stopped.

"Miss Miller," the voice boomed, reverberating out of an iron mouth and off the slate and masonry walls.

"You need not have brought an escort in tow."

"He's tenacious," Layla said with an easy shrug.

"Thank you for the hospitality, Doctor," Layla said with what almost could have been a kind of curtsy, and at least showed off the dress.

"It suits you," Doom replied.

"She's engaged," said Jamie, folding his arms over his chest. It was hard to look particularly intimidating in the getup his dupe had picked out -- he really did look like an overgrown Hobbit -- but he wasn't about to sit back while Doom ogled his girlfriend, even if this was a dream (which in itself brought a few worrying implications, but that wasn't all that important, given the matter at hand).

"No ring, no promises," Layla said blithely.

"Doctor, you have some questions for me."

"That I surprisingly do," Doom replied, and made a grand sweeping gesture which Layla took as a sign to start walking. The despot didn't wait for Jamie before he turned and did the same.

"And I believe you possess several for me."

"That," Layla said, "surprisingly, I do."

Does no one wait around here?

"Sorry, I wasn't aware we were speaking in cryptic today, should I have brought my decoder ring?" Jamie asked, following suit. Whatever requests Layla had made earlier were, apparently, going to go distinctly forgotten. He had a mouth, he was going to use it. "I've got a few questions of my own, not that anyone is going to answer them."

"And if anything were to befall your associate-"

"I would be significantly less forthcoming, yes," Layla said. She glanced over her shoulder at Jamie.

I can't tell if he thinks this is cute or not. It's not.

Jamie merely flashed Layla a smile that belied the fact that he was, of course, purposefully disregarding any and all of her instructions. Were any of this actually real, he might have begrudgingly forced himself to abide by her warning, but as it was, he felt no need to; they were performing with a net. There was no real concern.

She didn't really respond, just looked back ahead with the barest rolling of her eyes.

"There's some technology, I believe, that you have for me."

"Doomtech is not something many are permitted to wield," Doom countered.

"That is ambitious of you, Miss Miller."

"I've been accused of worse," Layla said.

"If your concerns lie in technology, aiding you will be a trifling matter, to be sure."

"Great. Then we'll be able to move on to the mysticism pretty quickly." Doom stopped walking as they reached another door, to regard Layla, who had also stopped to look up at him with her hands clasped innocuously behind her back. He didn't speak for a moment.

"Very well," he said. Layla looked at Jamie.

"I'll be back soon."

"...you're joking, right?" said Jamie, flatly. He hadn't actually expected, of course, that he'd be permitted to watch whatever it was Layla needed to learn from Doom (and vice versa), but he was no less impressed for the confirmation than he was for the hunch. He frowned at Layla, not bothering to hide his contempt for the situation they'd found themselves in.

"You really want me to keep the door company while you two go off and do God only knows?"

"You're the funny one, Jamie," Layla countered, arching an eyebrow.

"I'm as serious as mutant uprising."

"Miss Miller's honor is hardly at risk," Doctor Doom said with what Layla had to assume was a glower in Jamie's direction.

"Since there wasn't much of it to begin with," she added.

"Do not touch anything," Doom commanded, and started into the next room. Layla stepped up to Jamie, her gaze suddenly sharp.

"I told you, I need to do this. So I'm doing it."

"And I'm not technically stopping you," Jamie replied, holding up his hands in what was, decidedly, mock surrender. "But if you think I'm going to stand here without comment, then I'm afraid you'll have to be disappointed."

"Disappointment," Layla said, "Right. Because that's a foreign concept to me." She turned and started through the door.

"Try not to get lost."

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