noteful | Birthday Party for Laura/X-23

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Birthday Party for Laura/X-23

It's a pretty low-key party, all things considered, and not significantly different than the one Parker or Meg would have thrown in a dorm room for a friend at home, not-exactly-traditional menu not withstanding.

There's music, low enough to talk over (and maybe with a little more folk in the mix than one expects to find a party). Balloons and streamers in purple and blue and red. A place to leave presents. People to meet or catch up with.

And, most importantly, a chance to wish X-23 (or Laura) a very happy birthday.

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"Yeah. What have we got to eat?" He's okay with eating at parties. It's drinking and meaningless chitchat that he grew to hate in his TV Newsman days.

"Spaghetti," X says promptly.

"And salad."

Beat.

"There are root beer floats, too."

X knows what she likes. Many of her friends do, too. She is not very subtle.

"Salad is always good. Assuming you don't use iceberg lettuce. It's unhealthy and has a bad history." He's occasionally politically correct.

X's expression is blank.

"I do not know."

Beat.

"You can look. Or ask. Meg is here. And Parker."

X has no actual idea what iceberg lettuce is. Someday. Maybe today, even.

"Well, we can get the salad and see." He looks around and realizes he's among the older people here, and feels a little more self conscious. "I'm sure it will have some things I like to eat."

X flicks a sideways glance at him.

"You can get something else. If you do not like it."

Surely there's a waitrat wandering around upstairs. Er.

"It's not that important, but I appreciate that you are trying." Some people, after all, think their birthdays mean the world waits on them.

"Okay," she says.

And, after a few moments of silence--

"It is distracting. To be hungry."

Hang out with Santo long enough and you will learn that it's distracting when other people are hungry, too.

"At a party, yes. So we should get food." In a more serious situation, Charlie is okay with hunger.

She flicks another quick look at him.

"Okay."

X hasn't had any yet, either. Which means it does not take her long to fill up a plate. A small one.

There are meatballs, too. Salad happens to other people. Clearly.

Charlie finds that the iceberg lettuce is easily avoided. He finds a Caeser salad and some multigrain bread, and takes a few meatballs.

"So how old are you?"

She's quiet for a second, frowning.

Then--

"Eighteen. Now."

Or as near as makes no difference.

Probably.

"I would have thought you were a bit older." Her soul, some might say, is older than her face. "But that's still a good age. You have the same rights as anyone else now, except in regard to drinking."

"I do not like alcohol," X says, very clearly.

"But it is okay."

This pause is longer.

"I do not know when I was born."

"So how did you choose today as your birthday? Or decide about your age, for that matter?" He relates, since he marks his birthday from the day he was found at the orphanage.

"My mother said. In her letter."

She shrugs, one-shouldered and quick.

"How old I was. When things happened."

She just--does not have the exact dates. Not even close.

"I used the postmark. From the letter she sent. To Logan."

X's own letter was pretty bloody. She could not read it.

"I think there is something you haven't told me about your past. I would be interested in hearing it. Though it might not be the day for it." It's her party, she can tell her secrets if she wants to?

X tilts her head a little, studying him.

"You can ask."

Beat.

"I do not mind."

Specific questions are easier. X is not loquacious by nature. Not that Charlie didn't know that already.

"Who's your mother? And why did she send a note to Logan?" He seems to recall something about her being a clone. Which means he might end up a bit confused.

"Dr. Kinney was my mother. She wanted him to help me."

Beat.

"She made me."

Explanations are still not X's greatest skill, apparently.

"As in she cloned you, right?" One step at a time should work.

"Yes. She was responsible for fixing the damaged genome."

Beat.

"Dr. Rice made her carry me. As a surrogate. I do not know why."

"But once you were born, you grew at an accelerated rate, or are you really around 18?" He's starting to find this fascinating.

"I am eighteen."

Beat.

"I was trained. At the Facility."

Sometimes Dr. Kinney read her Pinocchio. Mostly it was other things. Like The Art of War.

"Sorry if I misunderstood." It would make more sense if she weren't really 18 for her to be this way. But he now does recall some of the details of her rather poor upbringing by science.

"Do you like being 18, Laura?"

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