Layla woke up with her arms around Jamie's waist and her cheek pressed to his shoulder, but it didn't feel particularly sexy. She squinched up her face a little before she opened her eyes and looked at the boy in her arms. Definitely a boy. Definitely not a man by any definition. But she could also feel the way her weight was settled, against the bed and against him and to be fair, she wasn't exactly the womanliest she'd ever been.

Oh, boy. Island weekend fun times, I presume.

She sat up a little, looking around, then looked down at Jamie's sleeping face and felt a certain softening of her expression. She reached out to sift her fingers through his hair, then dropped to mattress again and scooted a hand under his arm so her own was looped over his side. She tucked her face against the back of his neck and snuck closer.

Yeah, this is happening. First time for everything right? Okay.

Layla Miller will be bringing Jamie along on her homeplot to sunny LATVERIA. As ever, I am going to try to delve into her cannon and psyche without getting the shit Jossed out of me by the end of it. So far I have done remarkably well, but this luck cannot last forever. Also, Layla needs to make friends. She has ONE FRIEND that isn't Jamie and it's Cable. She also needs LADY friends. She has never shown any particular propensity for making lady friends, but she and Ruby were.... something... so this shouldn't be completely impossible. I dont think it'll necessarily be easy, though.

Rogue is crazy. But less so than she was a little while ago. Sadly, her crazy timeline is all screwed up from what it was originally supposed to be due to various circumstance, but we're getting back on track now. In an ideal universe, her crazy would be solved by an Inception plot using Eames' dream machine and featuring a team of Emma, Wolverine, McCoy and maybe Jean, but apparently Bones is renowned for doing crazy lazer brain grafts, which is like the Star Trek equivalent of telepathic walls? Whatever, we're gonna fix this shit right up with some epic scifi crazy-away. She is also going to the wild card verse in the second session of homeplot with Des, and I am so fucking excited for that I can hardly speak. Going to a place where she's qualified as an 'ace', as someone to be admired and possibly adored because of her powers (and how effin' hot she is) is going to make her immensely uncomfortable and kind of pissed off. She relates much more to joker culture and they probably won't have her. She'll be acting as Des unsolicited body guard, as well, and is going to get the chance to beat up lots of people, so that's exciting.

Chase just got his fistigons and exrayspecs and is about to get a very rude wakeup call in his thread with Jessica Drew about how fucking young 16 year olds are and that he's like 21. He misses Gert like it's his fucking job. But he's going to get played a lot more. Speaking of play.

Rupert is getting louder, which makes me happy, because I missed him. He's about to get the shit played out of him. I'm down to 6 pups for the first time since I apped my 6th pup, and I refuse to give up either of my boys, by far the quietest and least played of the six, until I've given them a good proper turn. Plus he's hung up on a girl, which- for like, since forever, and I need to let him grow enough to understand Grown Up Feelings. He also dabbled in the gay, but because Jason's his besty, he doesn't think of it that way necessarily. Good for you, Rupert. Good for you.

Maladicta has a one year old. A ONE YEAR OLD. And will soon be finding out that Angua, the last of her Discworld compatriots, is gone, and that will be devastating. She needs a play or some kind of outlet, badly, because Olivia's too young to teach swordplay to.

Natalya and Sam are a thing now, which is potentially awesome. She just joined the ITF and will have to see how it feels to be back in anyone's ranks. She's doing it for the organized calisthenics and the island right to carry a gun with some kind of authority during a crisis, not the sense of camaraderie, so it'll be interesting to see how it takes. She respects Bucky, though. She also is being stalked by Ahimsa, the direwolf-lipwigzer mix that once belonged to Quatre, who has decided to adopt her. Because Ahimsa is a big white wolf, this amuses me because I will slowly turn Natalya into Sniper Wolf from metal gear solid.

Layla couldn't say she was worried by the sound of Jamie having a conversation with Richards. Everyone needed a sounding board. This sounded particularly purposeful, though, and not the usual 'I can't believe you chewed up/peed on/hid that' exchange. She walked into the hut, ponytail swinging where it was tied low between her shoulder blades- she was due for a trim, she figured; it was starting to get to conventional super-heroine lengths- and went to lean in the doorway to his room, absently sliding her hands into the pockets of her khaki shorts.

"Don't you make the conspiratorial pair."

Layla had found herself suddenly grateful for her excess of time on the island. It allowed her, two days before the fact, to pull together a fairly elaborate mystery starting with an unsigned missive in a mail box in the morning. It lead the protagonist on a lengthy trail across the island's various locals, forced said protagonist to interact with the island's various locals, and finally planted the protagonist at the foot of a bonfire piled high and burning brightly on the beach only to be faced with their closest friends and a modest array of food and drink. There was also Scrabble.

The sky was just starting to purple on the horizon as the sun set, which meant Madrox would be arriving imminently. Unless, of course, Layla's planning hadn't been perfect.

If there's one thing knowing the future would have been really goddamn handy for, it's planning a surprise party. Even with the attention I've paid this thing, there's no guarantee he'll come walking out of trees right on target. Because without knowing, you're just guessing. As if I'm not a poor enough candidate to host a gathering of superheroes, I hate the fact that I don't know how it's going to go, not for sure. But when Jamie does show up, I'm at least going to succeed in not letting all that uncertainty show.

She felt relief when she saw him, instead of the smug pride she would have preferred, but smiled with everyone else and said, "Surprise."

Even with how long the walk back to the house is, I'm still tipsy when we get there. Not drunk- I can walk a straight line and recite the alphabet backward, but I would probably find it way more amusing than under normal circumstances. I'm at least glad I wore sneakers instead of real heels. It probably made things easier than I realize. But again- tipsy. Not drunk. Jamie isn't the only one harboring concerns over things he might do under the influence that he's otherwise resolved not to. At least, not just yet.

Layla pushed the door to the house open and knelt to catch Richards before he could run out, part of her dress still gathered in one hand as it had been for most of the walk.

"Hey, there, champ. No wild parties while we were out?"

It's strange how good the sleep is when you get there by crying yourself into exhaustion. It's something I've done more than once. Even as a kid, I didn't like crying in front of people. I guess it became habit, saving it all up. I'm sure some people would argue it's not healthy, but if it spares me from insomnia, I'll take that trade off. Remembering the conversation I had with Jamie last night is surreal- the first time he'd spoken to me in a week and it had to be while I was disoriented and drained. Waking up this morning, much better rested than I probably should be, I've got it in my mind to try again, or at least get a straight answer out of him. He doesn't do the other thing as well as I do.

Except he's not here.

"Son of a bitch," Layla murmured, pulling on her denim capris and a tanktop different than the one she'd slept in. She toed on her flip flops and pushed the front door open, frowning to herself, ready to make a pretty rapid beeline for the compound, and stopped short.

"...Good morning."

There he was. She stood corrected.

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.