1963-11-28 - Aussies and Omelettes
Summary: Terry and Lynette have a conversation with the promise of omelettes.
Related: None
Theme Song: None
silencer lynette 

Terry Walker hasn't been seen for a whole day.

In fact, he had disappeared shortly after the heist at the Federal Reserve (with Raven), and then vanished altogether. Now, sometime the following day he shows up at the Six Alarm Fire building — cigarette in his mouth, and an FBI agent's jacket on his back. Fortunately, it is still quite early and few people are around.

He silently trudges down the hallway — stopping by the bathroom to relieve himself — and ends up in the kitchen. At the fridge.

Grabbing a beer.


It's not long before someone else enters the joint 'house'. With a twist of the door's handle, the girl enters and shuts the passage behind her with a push of her foot; her arms are full of something that appears to be school books. To be exact, baking books. Giving a shiver to shake off the chill from outside, the dark skinned girl with floofy hair crosses over to a table and sets her tomes down, gently, so not to wake anyone (Cain) up.

After taking a seat, she freezes in place and levels up her head, noticing she wasn't alone after all. She offers the man a smile and wiggle of her fingers, just like she had when meeting him the day before. "Mornin'."


Walker 'hehs' at Sola, toasts her with an upraised beer, then pulls out a chair, spins it around and straddles it backwards and grins. He uses the back of the chair to open the bottle-cap before taking a swig.

"Sola," says he after drinking a bit. "'Andled yerself pretty well yesterday… fer a sheila." He smirks a bit wider at that, clearly teasing even if the word 'sheila' proves… dubious.


"T'anks. M'guessin' dat y'n Ms. Mystique made it out alright?" Watching the bottle hiss to life, and him take a drink, she soon returns her attentions to his face. "Dere's dat word 'gain. Was meanin' t'ask y' who dat was." She murmurs, not yet opening her books, or tugging at some notepad stuff inside one. Putting two and two together, thankful for context clues, she then grins. "Oh! Does s'it mean 'girl'?"


Terry is mid-drink again when the question is asked, so he swallows, then rests both his elbows on the back of the chair — bottle in one hand. The man snorts a bit, in wry humour and nods.

"Yeah… 'girl'. Kinda like… huh. Yeah, 'girl'. That'll do. 'Pretty girl' — so you can be flattered."

He drinks more beer then.

"Dunno if Gambit's gonna be so flattered, but it kinda fits 'im too, eh?" Then the Australian's smirk broadens into an all-out grin. "Me 'n 'Ms. Mystique' — now there's a mouthful — yeah, we got 'ome okay. What'd you end up doin' after?"


"T'anks, beau, but y'don' gotta flatta jus' t' flatta." The girl explains, giving him a rueful smirk of her own. The comment about Remy, however, has her giggling. "Y'all 'r funny. S'nice. M', well, s'jus' nice." Slouching in her chair, the waif of a girl glances at her books, then up again. Under the table, her hands rests on her lap, fingers nervously tugging at one another.

"M'glad y'doin' alright. S'crazy. S'loud n'den not'ing? T'ought I was goin' mad. Eh, we drove 'round, came back here. Lix ordered us s'm pizza, n'den Jamie showed up n'it got…awkward." Shrugging, she offers him another sweet smiles. "Y'know. Bein' boys."


"Y'know somethin'," Terry adds after finishing his beer and putting the bottle down. "Yer not far wrong — 'bout the goin' crazy thing. See, you've been 'earing yer own heartbeat all yer life — so then imagine… nothin'. No sound o' yer breaths, no heart, jus'… nothing. People do go bat-shit crazy in pure silence, heh."

He frowns, then 'huhs' to himself with a shrug. "Guess that means I'm gonna drive you lot nuts then…" and he smirks. "Wait, Jamie? Which one's Jamie? Don' think I've met 'im yet. What didja mean 'awkward'?"


"Uh, I don' t'ink I wanna go crazy jus' yet. T'anks, dough." Chewing at her lower lip, she at least continues to pay attention to Terry when he moves or speaks; anything really. "Jamie? Ah, he's Multiple Man 'r s'mt'ing. He c'n split 'mself up int' copies." Comes her explaination, plain and simple. When asked about 'awkward', however, she clams up and lowers her eyes, her cheeks taking on a fresh warmth. "Not'ing. Jus' boy talk, n'girls, n'bein' wit girls, n'…so many puns." The girl rattles off coyly.


Terry snorts, reaches for his beer — then realises it's empty — so he floats it over to the bin and starts bashing on the table-top with the flat of his hand (mutely, of course).

He opens the fridge and floats another beer over, then mouths the words: You want one? to Sola. When the background noise returns, the Aussie smirks and starts drinking all over again.

"One fella can make 'imself lots o' fellas? Blimey… yeah lotsa puns come ta mind. None of 'em good ones."

Then he motions to Sola with the beer bottle. "So 'ow did Raven find you?"


The sudden uneasy of no noise has the girl sitting up right now. Back straight, she flits her vision about before coming back to Terry. To his question, she shakes her head, her brows are already furrowing. When that 'hold' on normality is lifted, she sighs and keeps her stern expression. "Don' go 'round doin' dat all willy-nilly. I don' like it."

Another shake of her head, she finally opens up her books, and takes out her notes thus far. It seems to be a collection of recipes, and the books have stickers in them, along with card sleeves; they had been checked out from the local library no doubt. "Suppose so." She shrugs. "Who's Raven? I knew Remy n'Dom b'fore. Got int' a scrap 'gainst s'm people wit dem. Got hurt, n'dey brought me here. Den Lix healed me up, n'I met Mystique n'dat big fella, Juggernaut. Lix talked me int' joinin'."


"It's a pet name," replies Terry evasively, drinking more beer. "I mean Mystique — or 'Ms. Mystique'. …Gonna try that on 'er sometime, heh…" At the girl's request regarding his… little trick with sonic energy, Terry shrugs.

"Fair enough, luv. No one really likes it — 'specially when I steal some poor yappin' woman's voice in the shopping centre — oh, you call 'em 'malls'. Her husband loved it though… Bloody moron fer marryin' 'er. Shoulda heard that voice…"

He drinks more beer and motions to Sola with the half-full bottle. "I try'n not affect my mates, so…you should be fine, most o' the time. Yeah, I knew a couple of us before — but mainly Mystique. History there. Reckon we can make somethin' of all this now… gonna get tougher though…"


Lynette scribbles on her notepad and glances up toward the Aussie now and then. she doesn't comment on his story about the woman, but her voice returns once he speaks about their group. "I t'ink we pretty strong already. Jus' cause we didn' use it all t'day, I t'ink we on de right track." Another scribble. "Don' know what ev'ry body c'n do, dough. Guess dat'll c'm in time." Filling out the sheet of paper, she flips it over and starts again, this time copying over something new. "So, why y'doin' dis?"


Terry raises both his eyebrows, and then shrugs.

"Huh. Been the whole 'dog on a leash' thing before… got sick o' the leash. Know what I mean?" Down goes more beer. "That, an' me 'n Mystique go way back. Ish. An' it pays… hey, what're you readin'? Homework?"


"M'sorry. C'n' say I undastand, dough. Not c'mpletely." She replies, her expression apologetic. "I was jus'…gettin' tired of t'ings out dere. All de hate n'injustice. S'wrong. N'I wanna do s'mt'ing t'help de one's dat're diff'rent." Glancing around, she tries to see if someone, anyone, might be in the room with them. Her eyes move up, even checking to see if Raven were perching on the ceiling as she had when first meeting her. "Hmm? Oh, self-study. Dey don' have bakin' classes where I go t'school now. So…t'ought I'd start studyin' m'self." A pause. "Hey, how much y'know 'bout all dis? Or Elixir f'dat matta?"


"Cookin'? I can cook — mostly. You kinda learn to take care o' yerself out in the field — survival trainin', you know. As fer… Elixir, I don' know him all that well. Still pretty new far as the rest o' the band goes."

He goes quiet after that for a bit, finishes off his beer and floats the empty bottle to the trash. "I used to be special forces — super-secret government stuff. They liked usin' folks with gifts, so… then I switched to merc stuff, met Mystique, Domino too — apparently. Long story. So when I say 'leash' I'm talkin' about the government 'aving you by the balls, makin' you do whatever they say."

He pauses.

"Were you… askin' me about baking? Or about 'all this', as in… the Brotherhood?" He grins a bit after that.


Lynette sits back, closing up her book on its current page, after sandwiching her notepad inside it. She attentive, those obsidian orbs locking onto his face while he speaks. She watches the bottle move and waits for his 'silence' to fall again. When it doesn't, she relaxes noticably. "Oh, 'bout de Brothahood." The baby mambo then clarifies. "We don'…we don' t'ink we betta den people, right? Like, we doin' dis stuff t'protect people? 'ren't we?"


Terry fishes out a cigarette and a box of matches, lights up and puffs away on the cig' a bit before answering. "Don't really care about 'who's better than who' 'n stuff like that. Never ends well, luv. Nobody's lookin' out fer our kind — people with 'gifts'. We do what we have to — an' that means sometimes it gets ugly. Depends how good the world is at list'nin'."

He pauses to puff a bit more and taps ash into a nearby tray. "I'm no idealist. Too smart fer that. An' I'm no 'do-gooder' — I jus' don' wanna see any more leashes on my people. An'… if we make a profit out o' that too… well, that ain' nothin' ta sneeze at."

Then he looks directly at Sola.

"Some of us're in it fer some payback too. How'dya feel about that?"


Lynette shrugs, looking down at her lap again, and her hands that fidget now and then. "I don' got no livin' enemies, so…I c'n' judge y'f dat. I don' hurt in'cent people, dough. If dey fightin', I fight back." She explains, her eyes rolling up to peek out toward Terry from under her brows. "Guess y'do what y'feel y'gotta do in d'end, non?"


More smoke fills the room.

"True-blue, sweet'eart," Terry replies in agreement. He smiles a moment later, then stands up just to take off the FBI jacket. Holding it up, keeping the cig' between his lips, he looks at Lynette and says, "Souvenir. Might frame it 'n put it on a wall somewhere — or on a mannequin with its back to the door — 'n scare the livin' shit out of everyone who comes in 'ere, heheheh!"


"So what do you do, Sola?" he asks as he sits down, draping the jacket over the chair-back. "Gift-power-thing, that stuff. I've got some of the others figured, not you though."


That finally breaks the girl's nerves, allowing her to giggle at the very idea of making people freak out upon entry. "Well, m'tryin' t'figure all dat out. I c'n do s'mt'ing like you." She offers first, moving her fingers gently and causing her light weight pencil to move about in the air before dropping it. "I c'n play wit shadows n'stuff. But, ah, m'otha 'gift' 's ratha sp'cific?" It was always a choice of words with her, when trying to explain what she can do, exactly. "'m like a livin' voodoo doll, if dat makes sense. If I got a'piece of y', 'n are near by? I c'n focus n'hurt m'self, but y'de one gettin' hurt."


Terry blinks.

"No kiddin, huh? Fair-dinkum!" He says those in the same tone of voice one might use for phrases like, 'Alright!' or 'Not bad!' with a hint of incredulity.

"Wouldn' mind seein' that in action sometime…" he goes on to say. "Me, if I stab meself… I've just stabbed meself. No trick there." The man chuckles.

Moments later, he frowns and turns around to look at the cupboards. "Now I'm 'ungry. You want anythin'? I'm in a mood fer omlette."

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