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Meg doesn't often wind up in Milliways in the morning. But she did today, and she ran into Laura, and it seemed high time they called their own bluffs and actually went to see a play, instead of just talking about it for months. Meg's roommates aren't awake yet, so there won't have to be any awkward explanations of how Laura suddenly arrived in their apartment, it's a beautiful fall day . . .

The only slight wrinkle is that it's a weekday, and Meg has classes. But it's easy enough to say that Laura is a prospective student, visiting McGill to see if it's a place she'd like to enroll. People do it all the time -- Meg did it, the year she applied. There are tours with students, and brochures about programs, and admissions couselors who are happy to answer questions, chances to eat in one of the dining halls, and Laura can even sit in on a class, if she likes.

Then there's a very quick not-quite-a-dinner before the play. "Just a snack, really," Meg says. "Alain's going to meet us back at the apartment for dinner after." (He's seen this production somewhere in the neighborhood of a dozen times already, and he has work to finish that evening.)

They have good seats, especially considering Meg only called to reserve them this morning, and the play goes well -- Meg's heard the horror stories about the night the understudy for Goneril forgot half her lines, and the ones about the night the power went out in the middle of the storm scene. There's just time to introduce Laura to Luc afterwards before he has to run, and they have to get back to Meg's apartment to meet Alain.

Meg steps out onto the sidewalk in front of the theatre, pulling her hair free of her jacket. "Do you want to walk? It's not that far, really, and I don't think we'd save much time by taking the Metro."

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"I do not mind."

Beat.

"You do?"

Edited 2010-11-08 01:10 (UTC)

"I'm sorry, X, I don't understand what you're asking."

"Human healing. And scars."

Translating X's speech is an acquired skill. Sometimes even when she is trying.

"Some people also do not like bed rest."

"Ah."

Alain shrugs.

"I cannot honestly say that I liked the healing. It was painful, and boring, and I don't like making people worry, either. I'm glad that it's over.

"The scars . . . eh. They bothered me when they itched, but they've stopped."

"Good," X says.

"I do not like itching, either."

Alain grins, but the door to Olivia's room opens before he can comment.

Meg comes back into the main living area.

"Sorry about that."

She touches Alain's shoulder lightly as she passes his chair, but takes the seat opposite Laura's.

"You didn't have to wait," she says.

"It was not problematic," X offers.

Carefully.

"The food did not get cold."

Sandwiches are good for that.

"And we were talking," Alain says. "How's Olivia?"

"She'll be fine," Meg says. "It was something about a waiter, and the attention he was paying to Olivia, or she was paying to him."

X's head tilts infinitesimally.

"He did not give her his phone number?"

Or vice versa?

People are confusing -- but X tries anyway.

Edited 2010-11-08 01:52 (UTC)

"I don't think so," Meg says. "She didn't say anything about it, if he did."

Meg hestitates, looking for the way to say it.

"Olivia . . . can overreact to things. And she's dated a number of people who can also overreact to things."

"She likes drama," Alain puts, rather more bluntly.

"Oh."

X absorbs that.

"But she will be okay?"

Recovering from drama can be difficult.

"She will, yes.

"They weren't seriously involved."

X does not bother looking toward Olivia's door.

"Oh."

She only looks a little dubious. Right now, anyway.

"Anyway," Meg says, picking up her sandwich.

"What were you talking about?"

"My healing factor," X says.

It's a fairly simple explanation.

"I've confessed to being jealous," Alain says.

"And a little about this bar of yours.

"So, X, you've seen where we live. What is it like where you're from?"

"Warmer. A little."

Her gaze flicks to the middle distance as she looks for the right words to explain with.

"The clothes are different. And I do not think you have Skrull. Or mutants. Or time travel."

Alain blinks. "I don't know that word. Skrull?"

"They're aliens, right, Laura?" Meg asks. "Like, from space, that kind of alien."

"Like . . . E.T.?" Alain asks.

"They are green," X offers. "E.T. was brown."

She is the most helpful of creatures, X.

"And they change their shape."

Beat.

"They tried to conquer the planet. It did not work."

"Laura and her teammates stopped them," Meg says.

"Ah," Alain says, faintly. "That's . . . good?"

"Yes," X says, very firmly.

"We are very good at what we do."

Beat.

"Milliways is useful, too."

Alain looks from Laura to Meg and back.

"How is Milliways useful?"

With Skrull things?

"My friends in Milliways came to help."

Beat.

"Stitch. And Elle. Others, too."

Edited 2010-11-09 02:00 (UTC)

"Not me," Meg says quickly. "I help with dress shopping, not alien invasions."

And, okay, the occasional dragon-napping and attempted usurpation of a quasi-medival kingdom.

But only on occasion.

"And you explain things," X adds quickly.

Meg is very good at it.

Alain should appreciate her capability.