Summary:Old frenemies can forgive and forget. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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Rahne Sinclair is having a lazy Sunday afternoon in her bedroom at Xavier's. She's been busy this week, between that thing with the albino redhead speedster and the other thing with the Native American girl with Storm's powerset. It feels like a good time to just veg out. And so she is flopped on her bed in shorts and a tank top, her door open in case anybody wants her attention, her laptop propped up in front of her so she can watch 'The Spanish Princess.' Period dramas are definitely on the list of the wolfgirl's favorite things.
Since the werewolf is in her human form, she might not pick up on Illyana's approach until the blonde is leaning in her doorway, arms cross and looking amused. And mocking at the same time. It's a gift. "I heard you were back in town, Rahney." Smirking, Illyana purposefully adds the familiar diminutive to the Scottish lasses name.
When Illyana was at the school, she had at least some clothes that were bought or otherwise provided for her, so she wasn't always in the heavy metal attire she seems to favor these days. Limbo, apparently, has a sense of humor.
"I've nae been hidin'," Rahne replies, not looking up from her computer just yet. She hits the space bar to pause her show and then rolls over and lifts herself up on her elbows "An' I heard, not least from Doug Ramsey, that ye're livin' with Doug Ramsey. It doesn' seem the most comfortable choice t' me, 'Yana, but we all must do what we must. How are ye?" A red brow arches over a green eye as she considers the blonde who used to terrify her so. With retrospect she knows that Illyana wanted that reaction. But she's matured, and so has the sorceress. She assumes.
"I never said you were hiding." Illyana points out, inviting herself into the room. Hooking her thumbs in her back pockets she takes a moment to look around the room as she speaks. "I said you were back in town."
When her living accommodations are mentioned, the blonde looks back over and chuckles. "People are way too interested in where I sleep." She remarks dryly, and then shrugs. "I'm not a student. I'm not a teacher. I wanted somewhere to stay that wasn't in Limbo. Doug had space and he tends to give me what I want." Certainly, when she and Rahne went to school together, Illyana only spent the required time in Limbo needed to teleport from one area to another. That's what happens when the ruler of the place is still looking to drag you back to his side.
"I'm neither student nor teacher either," Rahne points out. "I'm an X-Man. Woman. Whate'er. We get t' live here too. An' here's the thing, 'Yana: I dinna care where ye sleep, really, an' I certainly dinna care where Doug sleeps, but the boy's decided he's in love with ye, an' tha'…" She hesitates here. Finally she says, "T'were it me, I'd try not t' encourage that." A shrug. She isn't Illyana, Illyana isn't her. "An' if ye dinna want t' talk about it, I won't bring it up again."
"I figured X-Man-ing was more a part-time gig. Didn't realize it rated room and board." Illyana remarks dryly. She's about to comment on her take that Rahne does seem to care where she sleeps when she says Doug's in love with her. That gets an blink, and for a change there's not her usual smirk on her lips. A brow arches upwards. "I know he's attracted to me. And I buy that he loves me. But *in* love? That seems a bit much." Her expression dips into a frown. "We're friends."
"When I visited his silly whatever he calls it in Mutant Town he asked me for advice in tellin' ye, lass. Probably get pretty angry if he knew I'd told ye." She rolls forward, bare feet hitting the floor and elbows resting on her knees. "Quite happy t' tell me ye'd made out a time or two as well. Whatever tha' means these days." And before Illyana can get huffy about Doug implying things that are inaccurate she notes, "He said that ye haven't slept t'gether. T'were almost a month ago, but I'm quite sure tha's not changed."
The redhead sighs heavily. "We weren't exactly close when I was a student here — I wasn't close to anybody then, and ye scared the dickens from me. But we have history. An' ye should know these things. I wouldnae lie t' ye."
Illyana Rasputina can't help but roll her eyes ceilingward, as though imploring a higher power for help. Of course, she's not likely to get any from up there. That's followed with a sigh. "I *told* him I don't… get the whole romantic attraction thing." She doesn't bother to elaborate on what exactly constitutes 'making out' either. Illyana's always been rather close-mouthed on details and she doesn't seem to think this need elaborated on. She can't help a bit of a smirk at Rahne's surety. "And why's that? I don't lean towards the fire and brimstone you've always been so fond of." Which usually comes with the idea of chastity. At least for women.
There's a slow nod as Rahne explains why she's bothering to get into all of this. "I know. Even though you hated me, I never thought you'd lie to me. Not about something like this." Maybe about something that involved Rahne's Faith.
"I didn't hate ye. I hated myself too much t' hate much of anybody else. But ye scared me. Ye are what ye are, 'Yana, an ye make no apologies for it, even if what ye are, in the eyes of a scared Scot teen raised by an abusive pastor was a damned thing." Rahne's mouth twists into a wry grimace. "I'm nae the girl I was. I dinna put such creed in the words o' a man who thought me damned for somethin' I couldn't control. An' I'm sorry if I ever made ye feel bad then.
"As for why I'm sure…" Here she pauses, studying Illyana for a moment, then shakes her head. "It's none o' my business, ultimately, o' course, but… I mean… it's Doug Ramsey." A vague gesture, as if to suggest that this, on its own, means something. "Maybe he just doesnae seem yer type? Or perhaps, after seeing him again, I just don't…" She stops again. "Is it just me? Or does the boy seem t' be a hipster who doesnae know what he's doin'?"
Illyana Rasputina's laughter is an acidic, bitter thing. "I *am* a damned thing, Rahne. I get the rash on holy ground to prove it." The blonde takes the seat at Rahne's desk, leaning forward to rest her forearms on her knees with her fingers tangled loosely together. "You never made me feel worse about myself that I already did." Despite the words, her tone isn't dismissive, accepting Rahne's apology.
The smile that Illyana gives Rahne is grim. "That's just it, I don't *have* a type, Rahney. He blushes and squirms and gets tongue-tied and that's amusing. And he said he's OK with me poking at him." There's a pause from the sorceress. "At least he knows what I am, and that I actually care about him, and that I'll be honest with him." Needling people is how she lets off pressure, to keep from doing more awful things. Things she can't take back.
Illyana gives a shrug to Doug's lifestyle. "He's got a job, a weird obsession with a lizard, gets his bills paid… If he likes his life, what does anything else matter?"
"I know what ye are, Illyana, but being a damned thing and being a bad person arenae the same — somethin' I've learned at eighteen that I didn't have a clue about at fourteen. Ye didn't owe me any apologies for it. There was nothing to apologize for anyway." Rahne appreciates that her apology is taken as it is, certainly.
"It doesn't matter, I s'pose," she concludes, regarding Doug. "I don't like the way he reads me. Like a telepath, but more clinical, and wi'out understanding how it can make a person uncomfortable. But it doesn't matter. What he does, what you do, not my business. Just sae long as ye're happy as ye can be."
Illyana Rasputina certainly didn't give any apologies. Sometimes she'll imply it but, much like saying 'please' and 'thank you', tends not to be words that are part of her vocabulary. Apologizing implies a debt being owed, and demons aren't keen on handing those out. The sorceress can't help but chuckle a bit, even if it doesn't have much humor to it. "Rahne Sinclair saying I'm not a bad person? I should go home and see if it's frozen over." She jokes.
The blonde's head tilts over to the side a bit, thoughtful over Doug's ability to 'read' someone. "I guess since I don't have to worry about telepaths, I've never been that paranoid about them. It doesn't make me that uncomfortable, honestly. I mean, if you want to know what I'm thinking you can just ask." She smirks again. "I can warn you that you probably won't like it. That's why I don't say the things that go through my head."
"I know as well as ye do, Limbo's just A hell, not THE hell," says Rahne with a shrug. "An' from what I hear, one of 'em's always frozen over anyway. That ol' chestnut was ne'er accurate." Her mouth twists. "There's the thing, 'Yana, I ne'er minded telepaths so much. Not Jean. Not Betsy. I dinna like the idea of Doug Ramsey knowin' what I think, what I feel. I can't say just why. It makes me uncomfortable. But maybe that's one reason ye get along better with him than I'd expect — you dinna have t' try to hide what you are when he can see through you in a way nobody else can."
"Eh, Limbo was frozen over for at least a year at one point. Well, the part of it I was stuck in." Illyana says, her tone mostly jesting, if rather darkly. Part of her time with Belasco these past (for her) seven years was being stuck in a blizzard and unable to die from exposure. But all Illyana gives are the facts of the awful experience.
Illyana gives a thoughtful nod as Rahne hypothesizes. "Maybe people think I'm more secretive than I actually am. What I hide, I hide for them as much as anything." No one likes to be faced with uncomfortable truths.
Rahne makes a noise, not quite sympathy, not quite horror. She isn't truly scared by much these days, and rather suspects that Illyana eschews sympathy like cats avoid swimming. Stil, being stuck in a frozen wasteland… a frozen hell… there's nothing comforting about that. "I dinna know that I think ye're secretive, per se," she says. "I dinna know ye that well. I think… I think if ye avoid tellin' people things, though, that it might be nice t' have somebody who knows already without bein' told." She shrugs. "Just m' own theory, o' course."
Illyana Rasputina chuckles softly as Rahne makes that odd sound. The Scott is right. The sympathy or worse, pity, that people lean towards when they hear the details of what her life has been are contributing factors to why she doesn't talk about it much.
The blonde gives another of those absent shrugs at Rahne's observations. "He says he likes having me around. Despite everything." Like her making him squirm. "That's… nice." At least for her. Some might consider Doug to be in an abusive relationship, even if it's not a romantic one.
Rahne doesn't know the details of the situation with any… detail. Just the vague outline. She wouldn't say Illyana was abusive, though. Doug might be something of a masochist, on the other hand. Whatever the case, the important thing is that they're happy, one way or the other. "I've judged enough," she says with a shrug. "I have more trouble understandin' ye stayin' with him than the other way 'round. Whate'er the case, I can't know what's in yer head 'less ye say, but I will tell ye, 'Yana, I am happy t' be yer friend now. Now that I'm able."
"I'm the one getting free rent." Illyana points out with her trademark smirk and mocking tone.
Pushing herself up to her feet, Illyana closes the short distance over to Rahne and offers the other woman her hand. "Ditto, Rahne. If you need me, I'm always there. Complete with cutting commentary." That last bit comes with a wink.
"By the way, being a full-time X-Man means you're like, always on-call, right? So I can just yank you in if I happen to need you?" The blonde grins down at Rahne, that predatory, feral showing of teeth that's so-very-not-a-smile.
"Rent is beside the point. So am I, an' I'm nae the one makin' out with Doug," Rahne teases. And the tilts her head at that smile that's not a smile. After a moment she shrugs. "I think that's more t' do with bein' friends than X-Men," she concludes, "but if ye need me, yoink me like Shaggy grabbin' the bacon."
"It's more *him* making out with *me*." Illyana says mock-defensively, chuckling again. "And before you get any ideas in your head, that is *not* how I pay for rent."
The agreement has that feral grin sliding into something smaller, but more real. "Excellent. I'm sure I'll be seeing you soon. Scooby." Raising her hand, Illyana summons a stepping disk to get her the heck outta dodge before Rahne can retaliate for the teasing. The blonde always was fond of the last word.
"I didn't think it was," Rahne observed, "but if ye're not an active participant…" She trails off, shakes her head. "Ye don't care. He gets to smooch a hot blonde. Ne'er mind." She'll take the tease — it worked with her comment about Shaggy, after all. Though she has a sneaking suspicion that nickname will come back to haunt her.