Brigitte, Ginger, and Warren | March 7
Mar. 7th, 2018 04:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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ax_mainWarren walks in on Ginger and Brigitte's movie time and experiences their unique brand of hospitality.
Brigitte's soft smile as she watched Irena's slow but inevitable descent into jealousy and madness matched her relaxed position on the couch. She absentmindedly reached over to grab a handful of popcorn from the bowl they'd brought in, which was resting between her hip and where Ginger's head was resting.
She'd been briefly worried that Cat People might be a little too similar to her and Ginger's situation, that it might trigger some weird drama or angst in Ginger, but... this was one of Brigitte's favorite campy horror movies. It didn't have any of the "powerful woman ends up triumphant" themes that modern flicks tended to have, and went hard core into religious imagery, but that wasn't surprising for something made in the 40s.
Knowing her favorite scene was coming up, Brigitte sat a little more upright while trying not to jostle Ginger any.
Ginger just snorted at Brigitte, muttering "nerd" around a bite of popcorn. Fuck, everything hurt and even the idea of food was turning her stomach, but somehow popcorn didn't count. She did have a little trashcan nearby in case she really did hurl, but usually she didn't. Not at this stage, anyway. She'd done the bit with the seizures and puking down in the medlab, and taken off as soon as they'd let her, leaning heavily on Brigitte to get as far as the rec room. She'd needed a break, and the place was empty...
Since laying down she'd gotten some of her color back, but was still pale and clammy - a fact that was made even more obvious by her wardrobe choices. Black unzipped hoodie over dark blue crop top (and satiny red bra straps, wtf had she been thinking wearing a push up bra to get her monkshood?? The thing fucking hurt!), matched with a black miniskirt and some ripped fishnets, boots discarded on the floor beside her. Her red hair was a mess, but no longer streaked with silver, and she fiddled absently with the silver ring in her pierced her belly button.
Warren had heard the old-timey American accents coming from the TV and paused, because he fucking loved a good old school movie. He stood in the doorway, wings filling it and spilling out into the hall, watching with glee--not realizing who else was in the room, because whatever, he knew most people and everyone was cool. (Okay almost everyone, whatever, there was a creepy guy about to get fucked up, clearly.)
He was not disappointed. Creeper Moustache got hit hard by a panther shadow, and Warren laughed out loud. "Fuck him uppppp!"
Brigitte, already tense with anticipation at the scene, flailed at the outburst from behind them, jostling the popcorn bowl. She turned in her seat and ended up with her head sticking over the back of the couch. Her frizzy brown hair framed her pale face, wide eyes, and gaping mouth as Dr. Judd died violently behind her.
Hooooooly shit. Brigitte was totally frozen at the... impressive sight in front of her. The light from the TV highlighted the angles of, Jesus, Warren Worthington's face while the back lighting from the hallway almost made it look like he had an aura.
"The fuck, B?!" Ginger demanded as popcorn spilled on her face, wincing and then wincing again from the surge of pain in her muscles. One hand weakly knocking popcorn off her face, she glared up at her sister.
Warren barely managed to maintain his enthusiasm when he realized who he’d interrupted. The wolf girls. The one had bitten Scott.
Scott was right though. It wasn’t like they shouldn’t be here. As long as the biting was just a fluke and not really them trying to eat everyone in their paths...
His smile barely slipped and he was all charm again. “Right, sorry, couldn’t help myself. I’m Warren, by the way.” He tucked his wings so they’d fit through the door and came forward, hand outstretched.”
"Yeah," Brigitte blurted, gaze zipping down to his hand, then to her normal staring spot right over someone's shoulders which, right, meant staring at his wings, which were fucking awesome, she'd wanted to know how they worked so bad from the first interview she'd seen him do, but it probably wasn't cool to stare at them. She should probably shake his hand or something, except... she looked down at her own hands, fingers covered by the sleeves of her overlarge dark blue cable knit sweater. She didn't really like touching people.
Instead, Brigitte reached down to tug Ginger up by her hoodie's loose fabric. "I'm Brigitte, this is Ginger."
"God, B--" Ginger griped, flinching as she was tugged upright, only to be momentarily stunned by the sight of Warren. She blinked heavily, processing, then said, "Oh. Hi."
She eyed his outstretched hand, then raised an eyebrow at him. "...this a business meeting?"
Warren barked out a laugh, caught off guard. He let his hand drop to his side. "No. Sorry, it's a habit. Nice to meet you, Brigitte," he nodded to the one sister, "and Ginger," then the other. "What's the movie? It's awesome."
"Cat People," Brigitte stared down at where her hands rested on the back of the couch. "Um. The 1942 version. Obviously. The one from the 80s is really gross."
Ginger’s eyes had narrowed in obvious suspicion. Guys like this had always made fun of them, so this nice guy act was definitely crap.
And big fucking surprise, Brigitte was totally swallowing it. Christ, how naive could you be? “Can we help you?” she asked pointedly, glaring half-heartedly as she picked popcorn out of her hair.
The matching birdskull necklaces caught his attention... but he was even more concerned by the weird vibes. Ginger did not seem happy to see him. Brigitte seemed a little too happy. He had no idea what was going on, so he figured he'd just rely on his read-the-room skills to get him through it. And hope he didn't get eaten.
Seriously, were they safe to be out? Okay, no, no thinking like that, Jesus...
"I mean, you already did by telling me about the movie, I guess. I didn't even know there was an 80s version. Why do they remake good movies?" He had to wonder. Seemed like a safe-ish topic, anyhow. Maybe. Hopefully.
Brigitte shrugged, "The 80s director had a total hard-on for incest. And probably bestiality." Ugh.
Men, Ginger thought but didn’t say, turning to watch Brigitte with distaste.
Warren was making an appalled face. "Gross. How do people like that get to make movies? Nevermind, Harvey Weinstein already answered that question."
"They just call it exotic and artsy," Brigitte sneered. She should know, she'd watched a lot of bad supernatural movies while trying to figure out what was up with Ginger, and the independent ones were as terrible as the mainstream ones. "Soon we'll be the new fetish," she said, meaning mutantkind as a whole, and spared an involuntary passing glance at her sister's outfit.
"What, like it's my fault?" Ginger griped at Brigitte.
"It's already happening," Warren said with a grimace. "And sometimes I think it's my fault. The number of weirdos who ask to touch my wings when I'm in public is... scary, honestly." To say nothing of the fanfiction....
Brigitte bit her lip but stayed silent. She felt guilty, because even though she didn't want to touch his wings, the degree to which she wanted to understand them probably came from the same place. It was just... she hadn't cared about mutants before she figured that that's what Ginger was. When she'd started looking into it, well, Warren's wings were the first physical mutation she'd seen that wasn't horrifying.
Ginger was giving Warren her best dead-eyed stare, unaware that she still had some popcorn in her hair. "What a nightmare," she deadpanned at him. "That must be so hard for you."
Ooookay. Warren screwed up his face, looked Ginger in her dead little doll eyes, and said, "It's gross."
Brigitte shot Ginger a slightly confused look. It wasn't like Ginger hadn't made comments about pervy guys thinking they could touch people - particularly Brigitte - just because she existed. Maybe it was just because Warren was a guy? "It is," she said, half questioning, then looked back at him. They probably wouldn't have a problem telling people to fuck off, but he seemed to want to appear friendly, at least in the couple of interviews she'd seen. "Do you let them?"
Ginger was pretty sure Warren’s definition of ‘gross’ needed some serious readjustment. Poor little pretty, rich angel boy. Dropping herself gracelessly back down on the couch, she swallowed a groan at the wave of pain and nausea and just glared up at them, face paling.
Warren winced, now completely ignoring Ginger in favor of her more engaging sister. "I did at first. Kind of embarrassing now." He ran a hand through his hair, and ruffled his feathers slightly.
Brigitte frowned down at Ginger, funneling her concern into picking the stray kernels of popcorn out of her hair. "I guess it's better than them wanting to hurt you," she directed at Warren.
Ginger swatted Brigitte's hand away. "Didn't you hear him, B? He was embarrassed. that's way worse..."
"Ooookay..." Warren shot Ginger a look of concern before returning his attention to Brigitte. Time to bail before this got even weirder. "Yeah, that's true, though. The ones interested in hurting us have kept it online or at a distance so far. But you guys are obviously busy right now, so I'm just gonna..." He chucked a thumb over his shoulder, which ended up pointing at a wing.
Brigitte rolled her eyes at Ginger and resolved not to tell her about the remaining popcorn in her hair. Glancing up at Warren, she nodded, not surprised to have run someone else off. She jerked her chin at the screen as Irena tried to escape her crime and added, "It really is a good movie, if you like that kind of thing."
Ginger, on the other hand, was more than happy for him to fuck off. Too tired to really give it to him, she just gave him a weak wave, an entirely fake smile, and a pointed, "Bye, Chickenwings."
"I been called worse by nicer people," Warren said cheerfully, because he couldn't help his mouth sometimes. "Later. I'll check out the movie from the beginning and hit you up."
Brigitte winced, but that was actually one of the better reactions he could have had, so she just half heartedly waved and sat back down, muttering an exasperated, "Really, Ginge?"
"Fuck, don't tell me you're into that perv," Ginger shot back.
"Gross!" Brigitte recoiled, disgusted. "Why do you always think I want to fuck guys just because I speak to them?"
"Oh please, like I haven't seen the way you stare at his wings." Ginger rolled her eyes before glaring at her sister. "He's gay, stupid, he's not into you."
Brigitte gaped at Ginger, shocked into silence before she was filled with a long-burning fury. This was just like Sam, and even the fucking janitor. Brigitte wasn't interested in anyone. But Ginger, the gigantic hormone on speed, couldn't even contemplate that. "That's disgusting," she spat. "His wings are cool, from a scientific standpoint, okay? Jesus."
“Great, B, fuck him for science,” Ginger sang back at her with all the dry sarcasm she could muster at the moment. “Does your physics book get you going too, or does it need feathers?”
"Oh yeah," Brigitte snarled, aiming to hurt, "Almost as much as blood and fur get you going."
Ginger’s eyes narrowed. “I ate the dogs, I didn’t fuck them - not like you would’ve done any different.”
"Whatever," Brigitte looked away, not denying it. "Just stop saying I want to fuck everyone. I don't."
"Keep telling yourself that," Ginger snarked back, but clearly letting it go as she settled deeper into the couch.
Brigitte sighed and grabbed the remote to skip them back to when Dr. Judd moved to kiss Irena. She could use a good murder right now.
Brigitte's soft smile as she watched Irena's slow but inevitable descent into jealousy and madness matched her relaxed position on the couch. She absentmindedly reached over to grab a handful of popcorn from the bowl they'd brought in, which was resting between her hip and where Ginger's head was resting.
She'd been briefly worried that Cat People might be a little too similar to her and Ginger's situation, that it might trigger some weird drama or angst in Ginger, but... this was one of Brigitte's favorite campy horror movies. It didn't have any of the "powerful woman ends up triumphant" themes that modern flicks tended to have, and went hard core into religious imagery, but that wasn't surprising for something made in the 40s.
Knowing her favorite scene was coming up, Brigitte sat a little more upright while trying not to jostle Ginger any.
Ginger just snorted at Brigitte, muttering "nerd" around a bite of popcorn. Fuck, everything hurt and even the idea of food was turning her stomach, but somehow popcorn didn't count. She did have a little trashcan nearby in case she really did hurl, but usually she didn't. Not at this stage, anyway. She'd done the bit with the seizures and puking down in the medlab, and taken off as soon as they'd let her, leaning heavily on Brigitte to get as far as the rec room. She'd needed a break, and the place was empty...
Since laying down she'd gotten some of her color back, but was still pale and clammy - a fact that was made even more obvious by her wardrobe choices. Black unzipped hoodie over dark blue crop top (and satiny red bra straps, wtf had she been thinking wearing a push up bra to get her monkshood?? The thing fucking hurt!), matched with a black miniskirt and some ripped fishnets, boots discarded on the floor beside her. Her red hair was a mess, but no longer streaked with silver, and she fiddled absently with the silver ring in her pierced her belly button.
Warren had heard the old-timey American accents coming from the TV and paused, because he fucking loved a good old school movie. He stood in the doorway, wings filling it and spilling out into the hall, watching with glee--not realizing who else was in the room, because whatever, he knew most people and everyone was cool. (Okay almost everyone, whatever, there was a creepy guy about to get fucked up, clearly.)
He was not disappointed. Creeper Moustache got hit hard by a panther shadow, and Warren laughed out loud. "Fuck him uppppp!"
Brigitte, already tense with anticipation at the scene, flailed at the outburst from behind them, jostling the popcorn bowl. She turned in her seat and ended up with her head sticking over the back of the couch. Her frizzy brown hair framed her pale face, wide eyes, and gaping mouth as Dr. Judd died violently behind her.
Hooooooly shit. Brigitte was totally frozen at the... impressive sight in front of her. The light from the TV highlighted the angles of, Jesus, Warren Worthington's face while the back lighting from the hallway almost made it look like he had an aura.
"The fuck, B?!" Ginger demanded as popcorn spilled on her face, wincing and then wincing again from the surge of pain in her muscles. One hand weakly knocking popcorn off her face, she glared up at her sister.
Warren barely managed to maintain his enthusiasm when he realized who he’d interrupted. The wolf girls. The one had bitten Scott.
Scott was right though. It wasn’t like they shouldn’t be here. As long as the biting was just a fluke and not really them trying to eat everyone in their paths...
His smile barely slipped and he was all charm again. “Right, sorry, couldn’t help myself. I’m Warren, by the way.” He tucked his wings so they’d fit through the door and came forward, hand outstretched.”
"Yeah," Brigitte blurted, gaze zipping down to his hand, then to her normal staring spot right over someone's shoulders which, right, meant staring at his wings, which were fucking awesome, she'd wanted to know how they worked so bad from the first interview she'd seen him do, but it probably wasn't cool to stare at them. She should probably shake his hand or something, except... she looked down at her own hands, fingers covered by the sleeves of her overlarge dark blue cable knit sweater. She didn't really like touching people.
Instead, Brigitte reached down to tug Ginger up by her hoodie's loose fabric. "I'm Brigitte, this is Ginger."
"God, B--" Ginger griped, flinching as she was tugged upright, only to be momentarily stunned by the sight of Warren. She blinked heavily, processing, then said, "Oh. Hi."
She eyed his outstretched hand, then raised an eyebrow at him. "...this a business meeting?"
Warren barked out a laugh, caught off guard. He let his hand drop to his side. "No. Sorry, it's a habit. Nice to meet you, Brigitte," he nodded to the one sister, "and Ginger," then the other. "What's the movie? It's awesome."
"Cat People," Brigitte stared down at where her hands rested on the back of the couch. "Um. The 1942 version. Obviously. The one from the 80s is really gross."
Ginger’s eyes had narrowed in obvious suspicion. Guys like this had always made fun of them, so this nice guy act was definitely crap.
And big fucking surprise, Brigitte was totally swallowing it. Christ, how naive could you be? “Can we help you?” she asked pointedly, glaring half-heartedly as she picked popcorn out of her hair.
The matching birdskull necklaces caught his attention... but he was even more concerned by the weird vibes. Ginger did not seem happy to see him. Brigitte seemed a little too happy. He had no idea what was going on, so he figured he'd just rely on his read-the-room skills to get him through it. And hope he didn't get eaten.
Seriously, were they safe to be out? Okay, no, no thinking like that, Jesus...
"I mean, you already did by telling me about the movie, I guess. I didn't even know there was an 80s version. Why do they remake good movies?" He had to wonder. Seemed like a safe-ish topic, anyhow. Maybe. Hopefully.
Brigitte shrugged, "The 80s director had a total hard-on for incest. And probably bestiality." Ugh.
Men, Ginger thought but didn’t say, turning to watch Brigitte with distaste.
Warren was making an appalled face. "Gross. How do people like that get to make movies? Nevermind, Harvey Weinstein already answered that question."
"They just call it exotic and artsy," Brigitte sneered. She should know, she'd watched a lot of bad supernatural movies while trying to figure out what was up with Ginger, and the independent ones were as terrible as the mainstream ones. "Soon we'll be the new fetish," she said, meaning mutantkind as a whole, and spared an involuntary passing glance at her sister's outfit.
"What, like it's my fault?" Ginger griped at Brigitte.
"It's already happening," Warren said with a grimace. "And sometimes I think it's my fault. The number of weirdos who ask to touch my wings when I'm in public is... scary, honestly." To say nothing of the fanfiction....
Brigitte bit her lip but stayed silent. She felt guilty, because even though she didn't want to touch his wings, the degree to which she wanted to understand them probably came from the same place. It was just... she hadn't cared about mutants before she figured that that's what Ginger was. When she'd started looking into it, well, Warren's wings were the first physical mutation she'd seen that wasn't horrifying.
Ginger was giving Warren her best dead-eyed stare, unaware that she still had some popcorn in her hair. "What a nightmare," she deadpanned at him. "That must be so hard for you."
Ooookay. Warren screwed up his face, looked Ginger in her dead little doll eyes, and said, "It's gross."
Brigitte shot Ginger a slightly confused look. It wasn't like Ginger hadn't made comments about pervy guys thinking they could touch people - particularly Brigitte - just because she existed. Maybe it was just because Warren was a guy? "It is," she said, half questioning, then looked back at him. They probably wouldn't have a problem telling people to fuck off, but he seemed to want to appear friendly, at least in the couple of interviews she'd seen. "Do you let them?"
Ginger was pretty sure Warren’s definition of ‘gross’ needed some serious readjustment. Poor little pretty, rich angel boy. Dropping herself gracelessly back down on the couch, she swallowed a groan at the wave of pain and nausea and just glared up at them, face paling.
Warren winced, now completely ignoring Ginger in favor of her more engaging sister. "I did at first. Kind of embarrassing now." He ran a hand through his hair, and ruffled his feathers slightly.
Brigitte frowned down at Ginger, funneling her concern into picking the stray kernels of popcorn out of her hair. "I guess it's better than them wanting to hurt you," she directed at Warren.
Ginger swatted Brigitte's hand away. "Didn't you hear him, B? He was embarrassed. that's way worse..."
"Ooookay..." Warren shot Ginger a look of concern before returning his attention to Brigitte. Time to bail before this got even weirder. "Yeah, that's true, though. The ones interested in hurting us have kept it online or at a distance so far. But you guys are obviously busy right now, so I'm just gonna..." He chucked a thumb over his shoulder, which ended up pointing at a wing.
Brigitte rolled her eyes at Ginger and resolved not to tell her about the remaining popcorn in her hair. Glancing up at Warren, she nodded, not surprised to have run someone else off. She jerked her chin at the screen as Irena tried to escape her crime and added, "It really is a good movie, if you like that kind of thing."
Ginger, on the other hand, was more than happy for him to fuck off. Too tired to really give it to him, she just gave him a weak wave, an entirely fake smile, and a pointed, "Bye, Chickenwings."
"I been called worse by nicer people," Warren said cheerfully, because he couldn't help his mouth sometimes. "Later. I'll check out the movie from the beginning and hit you up."
Brigitte winced, but that was actually one of the better reactions he could have had, so she just half heartedly waved and sat back down, muttering an exasperated, "Really, Ginge?"
"Fuck, don't tell me you're into that perv," Ginger shot back.
"Gross!" Brigitte recoiled, disgusted. "Why do you always think I want to fuck guys just because I speak to them?"
"Oh please, like I haven't seen the way you stare at his wings." Ginger rolled her eyes before glaring at her sister. "He's gay, stupid, he's not into you."
Brigitte gaped at Ginger, shocked into silence before she was filled with a long-burning fury. This was just like Sam, and even the fucking janitor. Brigitte wasn't interested in anyone. But Ginger, the gigantic hormone on speed, couldn't even contemplate that. "That's disgusting," she spat. "His wings are cool, from a scientific standpoint, okay? Jesus."
“Great, B, fuck him for science,” Ginger sang back at her with all the dry sarcasm she could muster at the moment. “Does your physics book get you going too, or does it need feathers?”
"Oh yeah," Brigitte snarled, aiming to hurt, "Almost as much as blood and fur get you going."
Ginger’s eyes narrowed. “I ate the dogs, I didn’t fuck them - not like you would’ve done any different.”
"Whatever," Brigitte looked away, not denying it. "Just stop saying I want to fuck everyone. I don't."
"Keep telling yourself that," Ginger snarked back, but clearly letting it go as she settled deeper into the couch.
Brigitte sighed and grabbed the remote to skip them back to when Dr. Judd moved to kiss Irena. She could use a good murder right now.
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