(no subject)

[butterflyfactor]

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."

Comments

[butterflyfactor.livejournal.com]

"Yes," she said, pulling the dress down so the full, draping skirt of it gathered on the floor. It was fitted from the bust to the tops of her thighs where it began to loosen and spread out in wide pleats. She ran her hands down over her ribs, looking it over, then turned her face to Jamie.

"Insert shock and dismay at your rifling through my things here. Just don't touch that cylinder." She went back to the armoire and knelt, pulling out a pair of furred, dark chocolate leather boots that went to mid calf, and started to step into them.

[howmanylives]

It was a nice dress, made all the nicer for being fitted over her body, which he'd already demonstrated a certain fondness for; were he in a better mood, he might have made his appreciation known, but as it was, he was too incensed to do anything of the sort. He exhaled forcefully through his nose, watching her going through the motions of getting dressed while he was left to stand in his underwear, feeling incredibly naked in addition to everything else.

"I'm a detective and you're a mystery," he said in his defense, though she'd likely already sussed out as much on her own; he never expected her to be surprised. It was in his nature to not let any stone go unturned, after all, and that included the contents of her room. "And now the first thing I want to do when we wake up is touch that cylinder, you do realize that, right?"

[butterflyfactor.livejournal.com]

Layla swept across the room- she didn't have much choice in the matter, given the dress- to stop in front of, close to, Jamie.

"Do you love me?" she asked him.

[howmanylives]

The question would've given me pause in the past. It's a testament to how much has changed that it doesn't now. In spite of the less than desirable circumstances... The familiar sense of being kept in the dark... There's only one answer that comes to mind.

Jamie held her gaze, and though his expression didn't get any kinder for the line of inquiry, he nevertheless said, "Yes."

[butterflyfactor.livejournal.com]

"Then don't touch it," she said, and went to scoop the cloak up off its hanger, fastening it around her shoulders and pulling her hair out from under it so it fanned across the green and gathered in the hood.

"Check that chest for clothing," she said, nodding to a large wooden chest at the foot of the bed.

"Unless you just wanna hang out up here for a while while I have an audience with our host."

[howmanylives]

"You're incredibly reassuring," Jamie muttered, turning to dig around in the chest without much more preamble than that. This wouldn't be the last time they'd talk about his, he would ensure that, but they had more pressing priorities at the moment, even if this was nothing but a dream, Layla's expectations of home made manifest. He drew out a cloak similar to the one Layla was wearing, and set it aside for the time being, more intent on finding a pair of pants and a shirt, a pair of boots.

"This all looks like it came from the costume designers on Lord of the Rings."

[butterflyfactor.livejournal.com]

"If it's good enough for Cate Blanchett, it's good enough for you," Layla quipped, perching on the edge of the bed, legs bare wear the skirt had slipped one way or the other, arms tucked over her knees, boots crossed at the ankle.

[howmanylives]

"Very funny," replied Jamie with a frown. It might have been, under different circumstances, but he was too annoyed to manage so much as a chuckle; digging through the chest bore with it the unwelcome reminder of trying to get anything decent out of the clothes box. He pulled out a pair of mud brown pants that looked like they might fit, and set it on top of the cloak.

"I'm going to look like a very tall Hobbit."

[butterflyfactor.livejournal.com]

"We'll get something made, then. I'm sure Doomstadt has a bespoke tailor. I mean, those fetching green capes don't make themselves. While we're on the subject of your good mood, please don't pick a fight with Victor von Doom," she added.

[howmanylives]

"I'm the good guy," Jamie scoffed, distracted from his search long enough to look up with disbelief. "If anyone starts a fight, it'll be him!"

[butterflyfactor.livejournal.com]

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."

[howmanylives]

"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?"

[butterflyfactor.livejournal.com]

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."

[howmanylives]

"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."

[butterflyfactor.livejournal.com]

"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."

[howmanylives]

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."

[butterflyfactor.livejournal.com]

"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.

[howmanylives]

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?"

[butterflyfactor.livejournal.com]

"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.

[howmanylives]

"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. "

[butterflyfactor.livejournal.com]

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

[howmanylives]

"Can you blame me?" he replied.

[butterflyfactor.livejournal.com]

"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."

[howmanylives]

"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.

[butterflyfactor.livejournal.com]

"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.