Ian Malcolm had come into the Great Hall, not for the Christmas tree (being Jewish, he had a menorah going in his room) but for a very late supper. He'd stopped short at the sight of a man in a suit who was in fact a dead ringer for his friend Dr. Grant during Grant's youthening-potion experiment - except that Ian had never seen Grant's face filled with such hatred or malevolence.
He stood and listened to the last bit of the man's exchange with the girl, under the guise of staring at the tree, then took a deep breath and stepped forward.
"Hi, guys! Always nice to see a happy couple under the mistletoe!" He pointed up, to the bough hanging above their heads.
Ian didn't even blink at the glare, and his grin stayed wide and amiable.
"Awww. C'mon, pal, it's a public hall. And it's Christmas! You gotta kiss under the mistletoe!" He leaned forward and whispered to both of them, "You'll get a lump of coal in your stockings if you don't."
Carrie glared at Thorn, then turned and stood on tiptoe to kiss Ian's cheek.
"Be careful. I won't be far," she whispered in his ear before dropping down again. Then she threw Thorn a look of disgust and headed to the kitchen to find some coffee.
Damien looked Ian up and down. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm afraid that you'd have to be showing a lot more leg before I would consider kissing you. Now, are you going to continue to waste my time, or are you going to say something worth listening to?" It was clear that if Ian had his best intentions in mind, he would do well to leave.
"Whoaah. You're a mean one, Mister Grinch." He smiled, showing all his teeth. "You know, you were awfully hard on that poor kid before. Couldn't you cut her just a little bit of slack? After all, it's Christmas."
"Exactly," Damien said. "The day when the Redeemer was born, to save humanity's worthless soul. I'm only doing my part by polishing her imperfections."
Ian's eyebrows went up. "Oh my. I'm afraid you're well beyond Grinchdom and into the Scrooge stage. And I didn't notice any particular deformities on the young lady; what on earth can you be referring to?"
"Clearly you haven't spent enough time with the young lady to know," he said. "The black mark on her soul. No matter how hard she tries to be clean, my Father's mark will always be there."
"It's nothing," Damien said, waving his hand. The gash on his thumb was mostly healed, leaving only a scab behind. "Something for me to know, and the rest of humanity to find out."
"Uh-huh." Ian grinned. "Excuse me; I'll just be backing away slowly before I run off to look for a qualified psychiatrist for you. I understand therapy for these kinds of issues has come a long long way lately."
He stood and listened to the last bit of the man's exchange with the girl, under the guise of staring at the tree, then took a deep breath and stepped forward.
"Hi, guys! Always nice to see a happy couple under the mistletoe!" He pointed up, to the bough hanging above their heads.
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"What fantastic powers of observation you posses," he said, shooting the man a look that would melt lead. "Perhaps you could employ them elsewhere."
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"Awww. C'mon, pal, it's a public hall. And it's Christmas! You gotta kiss under the mistletoe!" He leaned forward and whispered to both of them, "You'll get a lump of coal in your stockings if you don't."
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"Be careful. I won't be far," she whispered in his ear before dropping down again. Then she threw Thorn a look of disgust and headed to the kitchen to find some coffee.
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"Exactly," Damien said. "The day when the Redeemer was born, to save humanity's worthless soul. I'm only doing my part by polishing her imperfections."
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