1963-12-20 - Playing Catch Up
Summary: It's almost Christmas. Roommates have some catching up to do.
Related: N/A
Theme Song: Setting Fires - The Chainsmokers
rogue marie-ange 

About two or three days ago, there was a note left on the door to Scarlett's bedroom. Any time Marie felt compelled to leave before of the rise of the roommate, she felt equally compelled to do this; the cards often didn't mind. In flowing French script, it read:

«Dearest Scarlett,

Destiny calls me once again; but please do not follow, as this road is one which must be walked alone. I will return to you in time, you have my word as I have the word of fate itself.


If Scarlett had checked her room, she'd find the majority of Marie's possessions remained; she'd only taken one outfit, as it seemed she did not expect to be gone for long… and, of course, the cards went with her. There was /also/ a little elegantly gift-wrapped box in green foil with a red ribbon attached to it, if one searched under her bed… but days passed, and no Marie.

It was a cold, snowless evening in the city that never slept when that would change, as Marie announced her return with a soft knocking upon the apartment's door. When it's opened? Marie will be standing there, wrapped up in her coat but looking paler than usual and definitely worse for wear. Her eyes are tired, staring single-mindedly at the air where the closed door /was./ Reaction speeds have definitely slowed.


Perhaps it is only fair that Marie went alone, as unhappy as that custom may be on the surface of things. Scarlett has been very little present in those days, a distant creature since their return from the sun-baked shores of Bermuda. Asgard is quiet. Her lover is dead. The world resonates through the terrifying highs and lows of a new age. No doubt she needs some time to process that, vanishing into the midnight abyss and hiring out the task of managing her garden.

Three days: one of them is in Attilan. The other, a remote Grecian island and, soon enough, Rio di Janeiro.

Thus the gift box goes unopened. Thus the perishables are tossed out, and the merriment of Yule is dead, stolen from Hela, swallowed into nothing. At some point or another, the trees in the rooftop garden are decorated. A slim wand covered in runes is jammed into the ground, an oddment known largely in Iceland and few places else.

Marie's return, then, is one of those in between times. A cup of tea rests on the counter. The woman in question is idly drawing and tearing pieces of paper apart, tossing them into the trashcan. An apple half-eaten is forgotten. The door is opened and Scarlett, hair pulled back tight into a ponytail, glances out. She might be ready to catch a falling star — or train — and her gaze widens slightly. "Come in, you will catch your death out there. It's minus ten, surely." French comes easily enough to her lips.


The familiar voice is what seems to snap Marie back to reality a bit, eyes showing that hint of recognition and lips curving up in a hint of a smile, before she takes one, two steps forward — and then starts /falling/ forward towards her roommate.

Fortunately, the majority of her form is covered so she's likely an easy catch — only hands and face serve as exceptions to the rule. When she's either caught or hits the ground, she tilts her head upwards to look towards Scarlett. Vision problems? Entirely possible. She doesn't seem to be able to /focus/ on anything. "No, not death." she corrects, pausing a moment to collect her breath. "I would have told you were it the case. I swear this to you." she tells the other, speaking her own French with some effort.


French: the language of the republique lilts from the taller redhead. She reaches out to hold open the door with her elbow, propping open the portal. Then simply catching Marie with one arm is easy, as is taking a step back to allow for a greeting. "I do hope you have not taken ill. Come, let's get you a proper cup of espresso. Or tea, if you have a need?" Scarlett's words flow soft and conscious of volume possibly inducing headaches, she guides the Frenchwoman to a couch. "Is the light too bright?"

She is not a doctor, this one, but you learn a few things about medicine hanging among the counterculture experts, and it's nothing she is a stranger to now. Lips firm in a line, her expression remains mildly troubled.


"Not… precisely." Marie admits, considering how to best explained what happened. /Can/ she explain it? She's not entirely sure what happened to this day, to be honest. Still, she gladly accepts the help to get to the couch, feeling around for it before she melts down into the comfortable furniture.

"I suppose… poisoned may be the closest word I know to explain what happened? There was a strange gas… it overtook me and then all went dark." she explains, frowning just a bit. "Fortunately, your Professor and others whom I did not know were there to see me safely back." A pause, and she quickly adds, "I hope you were not too worried?"

Honestly, she's less worried about what happened to herself — she knew she'd survive it, she'd accept it either way — than any trouble it might have been for her roommate. That's Marie. "Espresso sounds heavenly — and the light… a little darker might make it easier, yes."


Poisoned by a gas: that is enough to stop Scarlett in her tracks, her eyes widening slightly. "I think you need to see the doctor." That may be she only knows of one doctor able to manage this. Her steps carry her first to the couch to put down Marie and then off into the kitchen to fetch up some water to boil. Making espresso the old fashioned way is not easy, though at least the beans are already ground for her. "What sort of symptoms are you having?" Rather than put words in Marie's mouth, best let her speak for herself.

Pulling down a smaller cup, she leaves it upon her saucer and then returns to the living room to start adjusting the window shades, pulling a curtain shut and following up by another.


"I was with doctors," Marie replies, explaining part of her absence. She thinks they were doctors, anyways. "I couldn't leave the city at first; I could barely move, I couldn't see beyond shadows, I had lost the majority of my voice… apparently the…" she pauses to search her memory, "…the Mists, one call it, were not meant to be used on 'outsiders', but the man who was ruling the kingdom… Maximus? Attempted to use it as a weapon along with hulking man-beasts." And snow leopards. Can't forget them. But Marie was out of the fight by that point.

"Right now… I still have some trouble walking, I see in blurs and colors, and I have a little difficulty with putting my thoughts together." she admits, trying to follow Scarlett as best she can. "How have /you/ been, darling? I did not wish to leave you in your time of distress, but…" …the cards demanded it.


Explanations and apologies fall into the same general category for Scarlett. She accepts what Marie mentions without a deeper probing yet, in part because her fluttering around the kitchen purposefully delivers a host of smaller tasks to fulfill. Get a spoon, prepare some milk, start that on the stove too so it's properly foaming and heated. She's not going to allow that to scald, so a whisk is next in hand. Drawers checked, she goes about the business. "How long ago were you affected by these mists? It sounds rather like chlorine gas or something, a… weapon?" In this, her gaze flickers sharply sidelong at Marie. "It makes me even more worried. It could be something that a regular physician will not see. I'd at least encourage you to see Doctor Strange."

But she isn't running off to call him from the closet, so they are quite safe.

Her shoulders lift and fall at the question, and she says, "I get by. This is a test like everything else. Too good to be true, perhaps, and yet I am reminded simply that the divine doesn't die so easily."


Marie-Ange draws 1 Magician.


"A few hours after I'd originally left. I… did not fare very well in the battle, but hopefully I provided good insight to Professor Xavier." she replies; she'll have to follow up with the man at some point. But that was less important to her than coming back home, else she would have likely still been over there.

As for the suggestion to see the Doctor? Well, it's checked against the cards. /She/ feels like she's improving, but Scarlett's advice matters. The Magician is drawn and fingers splay across the card for the telltale signs that will show her which card it is, "It would seem that my deck agrees with you. I will see the Doctor at his convenience… if you would be willing to take me there?" Getting home was one thing. She was /determined./ This is another. And she doesn't know the way quite as well.

To the last, her face takes on a befuddled expression. Brows knitting together as the card is put away. "Too… good… to be true?" she echoes, blinking a couple times. "…I would have thought that would be your reaction if your Prince had been found to still live?" Pause. "…Has he? Was I away longer than I knew?" …she's not sure. She /does/ know that she likely would've missed news if it happened while she was away, but…


Who is the diviner, the deck or the redhead? Some days it pays to wonder whether the enchanted cards have a sentience of their own, similar to a certain cloak of levitation. However, that will not apply until Scarlett has prepared the espresso and finally brings over the foamy cup to the table. She seems to be handling the business of that kind of preparation well; beware of the herbs, though, for she's just as capable of mixing something up from her stores and offering that for all that ails. Unless it's the byproduct of a mysterious gas.

"I think he will look forward to hearing from you. Me," she murmurs, thoughtfully gazing out the window, "I am more complicated. I bring such news I ought to start calling myself the Harbinger. I hate that fact, but such miseries, no? I will gladly take you. It's not a long walk."

The High Priestess might show up as often as the Star for her in a reading, but they might as well be inverted under a gloom cloud. Her vibrancy is still somewhat struck, even as she pillages the cupboard for a regular mug and makes the rest of the espresso for herself. She much be insane given the amount of caffeine.

Marie's response is simple enough: "The Prince is dead. The news has spoken of it, and I hear nothing else. This may well be a great ruse, for he is a trickster. Certainly I would descend to Hel if I thought it would make a difference, and yet, I am fairly sure that my path is at an end. One can hold faith, of course. Whatever comes will come. I've fair resigned myself to that."


When the cup is brought, Marie reaches out for it — she might need a little guidance, whether outside or just feeling around until she finds it, ad then raises it to her lips to take a sip. A sip which brings a wide smile to her lips; easily savoring the taste of the delicious beverage as it travels down her throat and serves to warm her up. Tongue slips out between her lips to capture some of the foam that got stuck to them upon said sip.

"Your talents for making drinks is as wonderful as always." Marie replies, turning her head to direct her smile at the taller redhead, as well. "He seems a good man, unlikely to dread hearing from anyone… and accepting of news, good or bad." A pause. "They intend to have a party for Christmas, I understand." Illyana and Merlin talked about it. "So I'm not certain when he would be available for a medical visit when it would not intrude…"

Then the part that reveals that good news had not arrived? It makes her face fall a bit. She's sad for her friend, to be certain, reaching out a hand to comfort. "I… am very, very sorry, Scarlett. I did not know the man, but I hope he made you happy in the time you were able to spend with him… none of us are immortal, and all paths must end in time." She pauses, glancing down to the cup in her hands. "…but even now, remember that you are not alone, yes? I remain with you in any manner you would wish to have me. The cards allow me that much, at least." She's pretty grateful for /that./


"My talents for drinks come from necessity. If I do not make them, no one else will. Considering it is good practice and education, I am happy to earn my keep somehow." Earn her keep from herself no less. Scarlett tips her head back and then takes a seat in the lounge chair, dropping down in a callous assemblage of long legs hanging over the arm and back wedged into the corner, terrible posture as far as anyone can be concerned. She holds the cup in hand, managing not to spill the foam much over the side.

Licking the bubbly froth up like a cat, the redhead's dim smile turns upon Marie. "Thank you. He did. I will have to carry that fire a long way." There is naught more she is willing to broach upon that topic, shutting it down wordlessly while drinking her espresso. Hard not to be a little occupied by making sure none of the drink spills.

"A Christmas party… who means to? The Doctor? Very good. I would check with him if you are feeling less than well. He might have the remedy, and socializing would be good."


Marie smiles serenely, closing her eyes — they're not a /ton/ of use to her right now anyways, so that's not something that stops her from sipping at the espresso at least. Although her movements are particularly slow to likewise ensure a lack of spillage — especially with hands as unsteady as hers are.

"You need not earn your keep… but you do it in more ways than you realize, I suspect." Marie replies. The taller redhead has definitely made a positive change in /her/ life, for starters! Moving on from subject to subject, "I'm not certain if the Doctor knows the party is going to happen, yet.. I only learned of it from Mademoiselle Illyana and Monsieur Merlin… and they seemed to have more than a fair share of mischief and mirth between them on the topic, though that may have simply been because he suggested she bring her girlfriend." Marie admits — there's no hesitation in saying it, unlike when first confronted with the news. If the woman who fought the demons of Hell themselves thinks it's okay? Then that speaks volumes for the morality, at least in the seer's book.


The bigger mug of espresso is going to hit her hard, eventually, but Scarlett really does not mind. Her body tears apart toxins and fails to really allow poisons a good toe hold, at least this type. She can drink quite a bit without a buzz.

"I imagine that Illyana bringing her girlfriend will cause surprise. And… Merlin." Pause. "Yes, it would have to be the real Merlin, wouldn't it? God above, there are days I feel like I'm living in a fantasy land and one day I will wake up. It sounds like quite the party. I do hope that you have fun. I hope the Doctor, too, is aware of it. Surprise parties will not go down well with him. He's not the sort of man." She shakes her head for emphasis, ponytail tugged over the chair and her shoulder. "I would simply say be sure they aren't springing it on him. Tip of knowledge from a poor oracle."


"I… do not know how the community of magic will react to the news. Monsieur Merlin seemed most happy for her, but…" she trails off a bit, then catches herself and forces words out. "…I cannot say that my reaction would have been so positive before I learned of my own… admirations for the female form." Well, she still can't say /that/ without blushing. Feeling the heat to her cheeks, she raises the cup to her lips to hide herself a bit. Trying to swallow it down before talking again; a task that isn't exactly the easiest.

"Me?" she echoes, blinking in surprise, then shaking her head. "I have not been invited, as far as I know… I only know of the existence of the party, and a couple of the guests. I know not even /when/ they intend to have it…" but, going and warning him might be a good idea, especially if she's going to be going over there /anyways./


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