This is Halloween
Title: Halloween Pt. 1
Characters: Tristan Mores, Valentine Thaddeus
Prompt: 42. Work
Summary: Halloween is discussed, among other things.
Notes: When writing form someone else's POV, I tend to refer to Valentine as Machina, since that's what he wants people to call him. When I write from Valentine's, I use Valentine, since its himself and all. Also, wrote this last year before I got sick and stopped writing. Now that I am healthy and out of writers block, I will be writing more FV and finishing the Halloween saga.
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Four in the morning, and the school is mostly quiet. Students asleep, wanting as much rest as possible before getting a start on their days, the few early rising faculty members up doing last minute lesson plans for the day not making much noise in the vastness of the large building. The cafeteria on the ground floor would be opening in an hour for staff and the first of the students to wake, but until then the silence was likely to reign freely over the school and dorms proper. On weekends, it would be different, as younger students woke themselves early for Saturday cartoons and to have as much free time as possible.
It was different below the surface of the school, where machines and computers and florescent lighting made the metal halls hum all day long. Sound proofing in most of the basement and subbasement kept it to a low thrum, but it was always there nonetheless. It was a reminder of the fact that the school never slept, someone or thing was always on, up, working and watching, at least in the bowels of the Institute.
Nearly ten years living at the school-two as a student and almost eight as a member of the elite team of X Men, Tristan Mores knew the ins and outs of the school like the back of his hand, and found comfort in the fact that things never changed even if the faces of the students (and the occasional change in teachers) did. He knew where almost anyone could be found at anytime, and what they were likely to be doing, at least on the average day. This knowledge was what had lead him to wandering down the halls of the subbasement an hour before he usually bothered crawling out of bed on a Thursday morning. He had to talk to Machina. Barring some kind of mechanical emergency elsewhere on the grounds, the super genius was best approachable in the early morning when he was running general maintenance in his computer lab. Any other day of the week or any later in the day, and he would be to busy with more serious projects or his training squad to talk to Tristan.
He was not disappointed when he finally reached the sliding doors leading into the mansions main computer hub, the doors sweeping open to reveal the silver skinned blond moving about rows of machines. Machina was muttering to himself, something Tristan had always found mildly amusing, but did sweep a hand over his shoulder in Tristan's direction in a vague resemblance of a wave. As attuned to the schools electronic infrastructure as Machina was, it was pretty much impossible to sneak up on him.
Stepping fully into the room and letting the doors slid closed behind him, Tristan made his way over to a chair near where Machina was working. Turning it around so the back wouldn't be in the way of his wings, he sat down and gave the other man a return wave. “How's everything on the techno-front this morning, Mac?”
Machina grunted, one shoulder rising and falling slightly in a shrug. “Fine. Unusual power surge in the Danger Room an hour ago, but I believe it may have been Wolverine. Dr. Sloane wants me to look at her medical scanner later, apparently it is malfunctioning again.”
“See that, malfunctioning hospital equipment, is why I don't like doctors.” Tristan shivered, wings buzzing for a second. “How many times have you had to repair something of hers now?”
Machina tilted his head to one side, either to see something on the screen in front of him better or because he was contemplating Tristan's question-or maybe he was calculating pi to another million points, it was hard to tell. “Just this year, four times. It's usually human error that breaks them, not fault in the machines themselves. They are of my design, after all.”
Tristan laughed. Machina was egotistical at times, though being a walking brain and living computer rolled into one did give him room to boast. “I'm sure your designs are perfect, Mac.”
“I'm not sure if I should be insulted or smug with your comment.” Machina finally turned away from his screens to eye Tristan face to face. “You don't come by to chat, not without reason. You don't like being stuck underground. What is it you want?”
“Your words, they sting me Mac. I can visit a fellow Xmen for casual talk.”
“You can, but you aren't. You have a busy schedule, I saw it on your computer when the virus scan ran last night.” The blond grinned.
Tristan shook his head. “Okay, so I'm not just hear to chit chat. I'm here on a mission from a higher power.”
“Mrs Darkholme wants something from me? Why didn't she come down herself?”
“Good guess, but I'm actually on a mission from Emrys. Good old Mr Summers was checking the details for the school dance on Saturday, and apparently someone forgot to put in a replacement for Anna as a escort for the party. She's helping X Factor with an issue in L.A., and won't be back until Monday.” Tristan explained. “He asked me to try and find someone to fill in for her, but everyone I asked last night was otherwise engaged.”
“You think I am not busy Saturday? I have a hundred things to do, any given day. My team has the day off for Halloween, but I don't.” Machina swiveled around to his computers once more, and while Tristan would take it as dismissal from anyone else it was probably just Machina multitasking. When the genius wanted you gone, he told you outright.
“The dance is from nine until midnight. Three hours. The school can last days without you when you work in the field. It can last three hours with you actually still in the building. It might be fun, you know. Music, punch, candy.”
Machina let out a noise Tristan could only describe as electronic.
“I've known you five years now, Mac. I can't recall you ever attending a school dance or even one of the parties thrown by all those government types trying to suck up to the X Forces. Don't you think it was far time for you to have some fun. For once?” Tristan nettled. He still had two people left to ask to fill Anna's spot as an escort for the dance, but now he was determined to get Machina to do it. The younger man was way to uptight and self contained.
“It's a high school dance, where I'll be watching over kids and probably get tossed up on or around when someone inevitably spikes the punch. Why put myself through that?” Machina pointed over his shoulder at the door. “Go bother someone else.”
“Come on, please? If you come help out, I'll do anything you ask. Owe you a huge favour.” Tristan pleaded. “Otherwise I will keep annoying you until Saturday. I'll show you exactly why my codename is Pest.”
“You have dragonfly wings and can control insects. Pest was an obvious choice, especially since most insect type mutants have used the decent names decades ago.”
Tristan rolled his eyes. “Yes, well...If you don't go, I will have those insects I control come down here and eat up your computer wiring.”
The sound Machina made was clearly distressed this time, high pitched and drawn out. “You wouldn't.”
Tristan knew he had him now. “Oh yes I would. All those sensitive little electronics of yours, gone and eaten by wasps and ants and hornets. It would be a pity.”
“Fine, you win. I'll escort the stupid party. Now please, buzz off Pest.” Machina snapped, voice sharp.
“Of course, whatever you want Mac.” Tristan made his way out of the hub as fast as he could, before the blond techie could change his mind about the whole affair. He'd have to thank Emrys later for letting him pick who was going to help escort the party. He briefly wondered if it would be possibly to get Sherman Cho to let him co escort. Cho had mentioned being tired lately, and could use an extra day off. Tristan didn't want to miss watching Machina be awkward at the party.
Characters: Tristan Mores, Valentine Thaddeus
Prompt: 42. Work
Summary: Halloween is discussed, among other things.
Notes: When writing form someone else's POV, I tend to refer to Valentine as Machina, since that's what he wants people to call him. When I write from Valentine's, I use Valentine, since its himself and all. Also, wrote this last year before I got sick and stopped writing. Now that I am healthy and out of writers block, I will be writing more FV and finishing the Halloween saga.
_________----------------------------------------________________--------------------------------------
Four in the morning, and the school is mostly quiet. Students asleep, wanting as much rest as possible before getting a start on their days, the few early rising faculty members up doing last minute lesson plans for the day not making much noise in the vastness of the large building. The cafeteria on the ground floor would be opening in an hour for staff and the first of the students to wake, but until then the silence was likely to reign freely over the school and dorms proper. On weekends, it would be different, as younger students woke themselves early for Saturday cartoons and to have as much free time as possible.
It was different below the surface of the school, where machines and computers and florescent lighting made the metal halls hum all day long. Sound proofing in most of the basement and subbasement kept it to a low thrum, but it was always there nonetheless. It was a reminder of the fact that the school never slept, someone or thing was always on, up, working and watching, at least in the bowels of the Institute.
Nearly ten years living at the school-two as a student and almost eight as a member of the elite team of X Men, Tristan Mores knew the ins and outs of the school like the back of his hand, and found comfort in the fact that things never changed even if the faces of the students (and the occasional change in teachers) did. He knew where almost anyone could be found at anytime, and what they were likely to be doing, at least on the average day. This knowledge was what had lead him to wandering down the halls of the subbasement an hour before he usually bothered crawling out of bed on a Thursday morning. He had to talk to Machina. Barring some kind of mechanical emergency elsewhere on the grounds, the super genius was best approachable in the early morning when he was running general maintenance in his computer lab. Any other day of the week or any later in the day, and he would be to busy with more serious projects or his training squad to talk to Tristan.
He was not disappointed when he finally reached the sliding doors leading into the mansions main computer hub, the doors sweeping open to reveal the silver skinned blond moving about rows of machines. Machina was muttering to himself, something Tristan had always found mildly amusing, but did sweep a hand over his shoulder in Tristan's direction in a vague resemblance of a wave. As attuned to the schools electronic infrastructure as Machina was, it was pretty much impossible to sneak up on him.
Stepping fully into the room and letting the doors slid closed behind him, Tristan made his way over to a chair near where Machina was working. Turning it around so the back wouldn't be in the way of his wings, he sat down and gave the other man a return wave. “How's everything on the techno-front this morning, Mac?”
Machina grunted, one shoulder rising and falling slightly in a shrug. “Fine. Unusual power surge in the Danger Room an hour ago, but I believe it may have been Wolverine. Dr. Sloane wants me to look at her medical scanner later, apparently it is malfunctioning again.”
“See that, malfunctioning hospital equipment, is why I don't like doctors.” Tristan shivered, wings buzzing for a second. “How many times have you had to repair something of hers now?”
Machina tilted his head to one side, either to see something on the screen in front of him better or because he was contemplating Tristan's question-or maybe he was calculating pi to another million points, it was hard to tell. “Just this year, four times. It's usually human error that breaks them, not fault in the machines themselves. They are of my design, after all.”
Tristan laughed. Machina was egotistical at times, though being a walking brain and living computer rolled into one did give him room to boast. “I'm sure your designs are perfect, Mac.”
“I'm not sure if I should be insulted or smug with your comment.” Machina finally turned away from his screens to eye Tristan face to face. “You don't come by to chat, not without reason. You don't like being stuck underground. What is it you want?”
“Your words, they sting me Mac. I can visit a fellow Xmen for casual talk.”
“You can, but you aren't. You have a busy schedule, I saw it on your computer when the virus scan ran last night.” The blond grinned.
Tristan shook his head. “Okay, so I'm not just hear to chit chat. I'm here on a mission from a higher power.”
“Mrs Darkholme wants something from me? Why didn't she come down herself?”
“Good guess, but I'm actually on a mission from Emrys. Good old Mr Summers was checking the details for the school dance on Saturday, and apparently someone forgot to put in a replacement for Anna as a escort for the party. She's helping X Factor with an issue in L.A., and won't be back until Monday.” Tristan explained. “He asked me to try and find someone to fill in for her, but everyone I asked last night was otherwise engaged.”
“You think I am not busy Saturday? I have a hundred things to do, any given day. My team has the day off for Halloween, but I don't.” Machina swiveled around to his computers once more, and while Tristan would take it as dismissal from anyone else it was probably just Machina multitasking. When the genius wanted you gone, he told you outright.
“The dance is from nine until midnight. Three hours. The school can last days without you when you work in the field. It can last three hours with you actually still in the building. It might be fun, you know. Music, punch, candy.”
Machina let out a noise Tristan could only describe as electronic.
“I've known you five years now, Mac. I can't recall you ever attending a school dance or even one of the parties thrown by all those government types trying to suck up to the X Forces. Don't you think it was far time for you to have some fun. For once?” Tristan nettled. He still had two people left to ask to fill Anna's spot as an escort for the dance, but now he was determined to get Machina to do it. The younger man was way to uptight and self contained.
“It's a high school dance, where I'll be watching over kids and probably get tossed up on or around when someone inevitably spikes the punch. Why put myself through that?” Machina pointed over his shoulder at the door. “Go bother someone else.”
“Come on, please? If you come help out, I'll do anything you ask. Owe you a huge favour.” Tristan pleaded. “Otherwise I will keep annoying you until Saturday. I'll show you exactly why my codename is Pest.”
“You have dragonfly wings and can control insects. Pest was an obvious choice, especially since most insect type mutants have used the decent names decades ago.”
Tristan rolled his eyes. “Yes, well...If you don't go, I will have those insects I control come down here and eat up your computer wiring.”
The sound Machina made was clearly distressed this time, high pitched and drawn out. “You wouldn't.”
Tristan knew he had him now. “Oh yes I would. All those sensitive little electronics of yours, gone and eaten by wasps and ants and hornets. It would be a pity.”
“Fine, you win. I'll escort the stupid party. Now please, buzz off Pest.” Machina snapped, voice sharp.
“Of course, whatever you want Mac.” Tristan made his way out of the hub as fast as he could, before the blond techie could change his mind about the whole affair. He'd have to thank Emrys later for letting him pick who was going to help escort the party. He briefly wondered if it would be possibly to get Sherman Cho to let him co escort. Cho had mentioned being tired lately, and could use an extra day off. Tristan didn't want to miss watching Machina be awkward at the party.