butterflyfactor | (no subject)

Entry tags:

jamie,
mardi gras

(no subject)

It was the first time since her arrival that Layla had been in a crowded place and not had anyone ask about or comment on her tattoo. The lace and feather butterfly mask she wore covered it completely. It added to her general feeling of well being- not the anonymity, because no one there knew or cared who she was regardless of her garb- because she did, she felt good. A pleasant buzz ran through her. She hadn't been drinking. She didn't dare, because she wasn't prepared for the sort of lack of control that came with booze, but not just observing the crowd but being part of it was pleasantly novel.

Potentially overwhelming, as well. She slipped out of it and down the hall, finding a few strands of silver and blue beads pushed into her hands by other party goers, and absently wound them around her fingers as she stepped outside the compound doors. The party had already spilled outside- Mardi Gras wasn't the sort of even that contained itself easily or well- and she watched the dancing and drinking from her place leaning against the wall, a little farther out of the light than anyone else.

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Layla was great at faking it. Lying, or all-but-lying, was a skill she'd developed early. So moving in time with Jamie was easy enough, and made easier by the fact that he was flawless at it, and knew how to lead her through it.

She'd have to see if he could do it sober.

"Too bad they don't value this kind of skill more highly in super hero circles."

"I don't know, do you really want to see Wolverine and Magneto face off West Side Story style?" he asked, eyebrows raised. The mental image alone was ridiculous in its own right, seeing it live would be something else entirely.

He spun her. "I mean, that much hair in spandex is bad enough. I'm not sure I could handle seeing him pirouette, too."

She kept her balance as he spun her out, although a few strands of her hair curled around the edges of the mask, falling out of where they'd been so loosely swept back.

"Don't ruin this moment, Jamie."

Jamie grinned, pulling her in a little closer than she'd been before, the hold dropping to something a touch more casual. He resisted tucking her hair back behind her mask, but how long that would last remained a mystery.

"We're having a moment?"

She didn't stumble, exactly, but she didn't bother trying to stop herself from being tugged in close. The arm that had been resting along his was now and slightly curled around his shoulder.

"Not if you keep talking about Wolverine doing ballet, we're not."

"Then I'm not talking about Wolverine doing ballet," he replied lightly, his grin twisting into a knowing sort of smile. There were times -- times that were, unfortunately, few and far between -- when Jamie Madrox was the perfect illusion of confidence. That those times usually required him to be inebriated likely didn't speak well to his character, but he supposed no one had it completely together, least of all people from their corner of the universe.

She let out a huff of breath that was close enough to a laugh for government work, and tilted her face up a little.

"Then what are we talking about."

"We're talking about how gorgeous you look in that dress," he said, and then he did reach out, withdrawing his hand from hers long enough to sweep her hair back behind the mask. "Or that's what I'm talking about, at least."

""If that's the subject you're going to pick," she said, eyes fluttering shut, briefly, behind her mask, "then feel free to wax as loquacious as you like."

She didn't really think he would, which was probably for the best. Compliments of that nature weren't ones she had a lot of experience with or time for. Or at least she hadn't. Another island snag was the daunting amount of time there seemed to be for everything.

"I'll just quietly enjoy my view from here."

"Yeah? I don't usually do gray," he noted, glancing down briefly at his own suit. More importantly, he didn't usually get drunk to the point where he could so openly flirt with someone -- least of all Layla Miller -- but of all the obvious statements he could've gone with, that one seemed the better choice.

"Really? Funny," she said, "anyone who knows you might argue you live in shades of gray."

"True, but I don't feel the need to wear it on my sleeve," he replied.

She smiled back at him.

"The smart choice." Wearing anything on your sleeve was generally a bad idea. It sure as hell wasn't something she practiced.

"Contrary to popular belief," he said, "I'm not an idiot."

No, I'm just really good at acting like one.

"I never went in for what was popular," Layla said, ducking under his arm in a neat little spin.

There's a quote you see sometimes -- what's popular isn't always right and what's right isn't always popular. Whether this -- whatever it is between us that's got me acting on every impulse I've been trying to ignore since she showed up -- is right is very much up in the air, but its popularity, or lack thereof, isn't. I was the only one who ever really liked Layla.

"I went for it all," he replied, pulling her back in close. "Maybe that was my mistake."

"I think most people would," she said quietly, looking up at him, "given the opportunity."

"Most people are idiots," he said with a grim little smile.

"There's something appealing to people about the road not taken," she countered, not smiling, dancing closer to him than she had been, and knowing it.

"Or having the option to take it, at least. Everyone who isn't you doesn't know what that's like. But the grass is always greener, right?"

"The grass is always greener," he agreed, one eyebrow arched. At some point they'd slipped into a serious conversation, and though he took a moment's pause to run over their past few exchanges, he was unsure as to when that had happened, or whether or not he even minded.

Uncertainty isn't anything new. It's something I fight against every day, not knowing whether another option would've been better when I could have easily found out back home. Of course, I say easy like it wouldn't have cost me anything, but that's not the case -- no, it's just the explanation for why most people are idiots. Something's always gotta give, but without the experience to know that firsthand, a life like mine seems like a godsend when, in reality, it's anything but.

"Does it appeal to you?"

"No," she answered simply. If she looked for a moment like she was going to elaborate, maybe it was just the light from the tiki torches flickering. She glanced off, casually, easily, somewhere over his shoulder.

"No point."

"Why not?" he asked, trying to catch her gaze. "Even though you're obviously not most people, you must've wondered what it was like. Everyone does."

"No, Jamie," she said, looking back at him evenly, letting him catch her gaze, steady as it was.

"I never wondered. Not once since I was thirteen. Not for a second."

"Right, because you know stuff," he said, though there was an obvious tone of disbelief to his voice. It wasn't a satisfactory answer, but that -- just like uncertainty -- was nothing new to him. They'd tread this territory long before, and while he was normally willing to shrug it off, he wanted something different that night.

"What about now?"

"What about now?" she asked, eyebrows lifting slightly.