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Sunday, 1 May 1988, Montreal
Spring in Montreal is short, mild, less than terribly predictable, and welcomed with open arms. 1 May 1988 dawns slightly overcast, but the clouds burn off, and it hits a quite comfortable (by Montreal standards) 12°C.
No one really takes any notice of the three girls who cut across the McGill campus and spend a couple hours rambling around the park on Mont Royal. There's nothing all that remarkable about them . . . except, of course, that one of them is, on some version of Earth or another, being born 1800 miles away today, and one has metal claws in her hands and recovers from injuries almost before she receives them.
They stop for a quick lunch and then ride the Metro down to Old Montreal. They wander down cobblestoned streets and in and out of little shops, past churches and museums and the city hall.
When shadows start getting long and the temperature starts to drop, they turn down a side street.
"I know the best place for dinner," Meg says. "It was in one of those off-the-beaten-path guide books last year, so of course the path beats right to the door now, but I don't think we'll have any trouble getting a table."
There's a small crowd in and around the doorway, but Meg goes past them and waves to a tall man in a white chef's jacket. "Bon soir, Sylvain," she calls.
The man comes over, smiling. "Meg. Bon soir. Trois?"
"Oui, si tu--," Meg starts, but he cuts her off with a wave of his hand.
"Pour toi, bien sûr," he says, and lead them over to a comfortable table in the corner of the restaurant.
"Sylvain, these are my friends, Parker and Laura. They're visiting from the States and I couldn't let them leave without bringing them for the best food in Montréal. Parker, Laura, this Sylvain Gagné."
Sylvain bows slightly. "Bienvenue à Montréal, mesdemoiselles. I hope you will enjoy your visit, and your meal. Alice will be right with you."
"Merci, Sylvain," Meg says, and turns back to Parker and Laura. "Sometimes, it helps to be dating the owner's favorite nephew."
No one really takes any notice of the three girls who cut across the McGill campus and spend a couple hours rambling around the park on Mont Royal. There's nothing all that remarkable about them . . . except, of course, that one of them is, on some version of Earth or another, being born 1800 miles away today, and one has metal claws in her hands and recovers from injuries almost before she receives them.
They stop for a quick lunch and then ride the Metro down to Old Montreal. They wander down cobblestoned streets and in and out of little shops, past churches and museums and the city hall.
When shadows start getting long and the temperature starts to drop, they turn down a side street.
"I know the best place for dinner," Meg says. "It was in one of those off-the-beaten-path guide books last year, so of course the path beats right to the door now, but I don't think we'll have any trouble getting a table."
There's a small crowd in and around the doorway, but Meg goes past them and waves to a tall man in a white chef's jacket. "Bon soir, Sylvain," she calls.
The man comes over, smiling. "Meg. Bon soir. Trois?"
"Oui, si tu--," Meg starts, but he cuts her off with a wave of his hand.
"Pour toi, bien sûr," he says, and lead them over to a comfortable table in the corner of the restaurant.
"Sylvain, these are my friends, Parker and Laura. They're visiting from the States and I couldn't let them leave without bringing them for the best food in Montréal. Parker, Laura, this Sylvain Gagné."
Sylvain bows slightly. "Bienvenue à Montréal, mesdemoiselles. I hope you will enjoy your visit, and your meal. Alice will be right with you."
"Merci, Sylvain," Meg says, and turns back to Parker and Laura. "Sometimes, it helps to be dating the owner's favorite nephew."
no subject
"I do not have a dress."
Beat.
"I am supposed to?"
This is one mission that X will apparently need to do reconnaissance for.
no subject
Miss Ford. We're needed.
"Yeah. Prom is a formal dance. The dresses are usually a pretty big deal."
If they were in Milliways, Parker would just ask Bar for the most recent Prom issue of Seventeen to serve as Exhibit A.
"But they're certainly not hard to find. Especially if it's prom season at home for you. What kind of dresses do you like? Long? Short? Strapless? I think you might look really nice in a halter top."
no subject
(You can see the whites of her eyes.)
"Short is not as effective for weapon concealment."
It's -- it is relevant. Right?
no subject
"Really, Laura, it's kind of about what you're comfortable in and what you like. If it's anything like here, you'll have a lot of options, and stores tend to have prom dresses on hand this time of year.
"My friends and I had a lot of fun shopping for dance dresses, last year."
no subject
"Meg's absolutely right. The main thing is to find a dress that you're comfortable in and feel great in."
And if that means a dress that will allow Laura to drop the first jock who tries to play grab-ass, they'll run with that.
"So, long for formality and weapon's concealment. That's a good starting point."
Parker cocks her head and studies Laura.
"As for color....well, there's always black, but it's done a lot. I can see you in some sort of nice, rich jewel tone. Midnight blue. Purple. Green. Red. Lots of possibilities."
no subject
"And black."
These are things she can understand.
And then she gets quiet again. Thinking.
"You can help me? I do not -- "
Beat.
"It is important to be prepared."
no subject
They're friends, right?
Laura need only ask.
(And she did.)
no subject
"And we'll make sure you go in prepared."
Parker grins.
"This is going to be so much fun."
no subject
She really does appreciate it.
And even if mission prep is not intended to be fun --
There is a first time for everything, right?