No more nervous breakdown! Yay!
Jean, you are an absolute life-saver and I adore you. The end. I haven't just been able to sit down and talk to someone in GOD only knows how long.
Whew. Now I can actually sleep.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
<< XS >> Jean's Room - Lv3(#837RA)
Large and airy this end of the hall room; the door from the hallway bisects one wall. To the right, an office area complete with overstuffed bookshelves and a desk with computer, docking stations for peripherals, and piles of papers both research and student. To the left, privacy screens in black lacquered wood and white rice paper enclose a sleeping area containing a bedside table and lamp, and a double futon with many pillows and an addictively comfortable duvet. The outer wall features two bay windows with cushioned window seats on either side of a small fieldstone fireplace. An oriental rug stands in front of the hearth, with a small cream coloured sofa perfectly placed for a quiet evening in. There are two additional rugs in the sleeping and office areas, otherwise the parquet floor is bare. Walls hung with gray-blue wallpaper and with acccents in black and white, the simple empty space allows for both visual and mental tranquility, aided and abetted by candles scattered about on black worked-metal stands. A door on the left wall leads to a fairly nice bathroom, and a matching one on the right opens into a large walk-in closet.
[Exits : [O]ut ]
[Players : Jean ]
Jean is once again in her room, and once again playing with 'her' cat (It's the property of the Mansion, but she's the one who feeds it. ) but is this time settled in the middle of her rug, ignoring a pile of biology reports in favour of teasing the kitty with a piece of string. Her door is ajar, signalling that The Doctor Is In, and she's got Sheryl Crow on the computer speakers.
A certain other doctor is apparently very thankful that The Doctor Is In. It seems that Elisabeth debated coming over for a while, because she's dressed in PJ's and a robe when she approaches Jean's door, her hair pulled back loosely with a twistie and her glasses ever-present. She stands outside the door, almost still debating before realizing it's silly because Jean probably knows she's there anyway. So she knocks softly, clearing her throat with hesitation and offering a quiet, "Jean?"
"C'mon in, Elisabeth," calls Jean, looking up from her attempts to come up with a completely random pattern of string waving as the calico rolls over on her back to bat at the Wriggly White Thing Of Doooooom. "Take a seat, pull up a throw pillow, and should I get the margarita mix out?" she wonders, flopping backwards against one of the indicated cushions liberated from over by the couch.
"I haven't had a margarita since high school. That would be wonderful." The Frenchwoman grabs a pillow and flops down. "I honestly zink I'm going to have a nervous breakdown. Jean, I haven't gone on a date for /years/ and here I am and I have /no/ idea what I'm doing."
Jean doesn't need to be told twice, and gravely hands the length of string over to Elisabeth as she absents herself to the other side of the room to broach her little mini-bar hidden in the window seat. "Well then, I won't mix it as strong as the Girls Night margaritas." she assures, getting busy with tequila and lime and some pre-crushed ice from her little fridge. "And what are you nervous about in particular? You're already friends with Jareth, yes?"
Elisabeth flicks the string for the cat unconsciously. "I said I haven't had a /margarita/ since high school, not strong alcohol," she replies, chuckling a bit in a nervous way. "Well, yes, but... I just haven't been out in so /long/. And I've certainly never been successful in the dating department." She straightens abruptly. "My God, what am I supposed to wear?" Somebody shoot her, please.
"Tequila is a sneaky poison." Jean opines over her shoulder, before returning to mixing precise shots of this componant and that with a chemist's flair. She returns and hands over a glass to Elisa, retaining one for herself, and settles cross-legged on her pillow, striving to project an amused calm for the empath's benefit. "Elisabeth, first of all, relax." she counsels with a shake of her head and a grin. "Dates are not methods of torture, just go out and have fun, and when in doubt, just fall back on friendship. As for what to wear... where are you going? My closet is your closet."
Hmm. "I can't really remember what happened the last time I had it." Pause. "Maybe zat's a bad sign." But she sips at the drink easily enough. "Mon Dieu, I can't even remember how to go out and have fun." She holds her head in a helpless gesture. "And I have no idea where we're going. I just said drinks, we didn't discuss it."
Jean flashes a grin. "Or an even better one." is her suggestion as she raises a toast and then lazily tickles the cat, who looks affronted at such treatment. "And just... be yourself." is her advice. "Talk, laugh, and perhaps find a bar that offers things like pool tables or dart boards, so that you can have a distraction? Harry's isn't too bad, and I'd -hope- you'd have at least been inside it by now, young lady." Cue a playful finger-waggle.
Gulp. "...I can't say zat I have." Is she going to be beaten now? She crosses her legs nervously, brushing back some stray locks of dark hair. "Okay. Right." She digests the advice, trying to calm her nerves. "God, I can't believe I'm so nervous about zis..."
Jean blinks once, and then takes a steadying sip of her Margarita, lifting her eyes heavenwards to ask "Lord, give me strength," somewhat facetiously. "Elisabeth, Elisabeth, Elisabeth, that settles it. You're coming out the next Faculty bar trip and that's that." A firm nod, and she leans back against her pillow, propped on her elbows. "And it's natural to be nervous about leaving your comfort zone... just don't let it stop you from doing it."
Elisabeth smiles a bit sheepishly, tracing a finger around the margarita glass before taking another sip. "Ze truth is..." She looks a bit uncomfortable gathering up the willpower to talk about it. "Ze last time I was...involved...wiz someone...I got hurt. And...it wasn't a very good experience, and I never quite let it go enough to try again. And zat was..." She chews on her lips, counting off. "...four...five years ago, maybe? It's been a while."
Jean's joie de vivre softens a little as she gives an understanding "Mmmm..." and reaches over to pat Elisa's shoulder once. "There are no scars so lingering as those on the heart. But you know that you can't let one relationship ruin you for the rest of them. Do you trust Jareth?" she wonders, lifting an eyebrow.
"Of course, I know," Liza murmurs. At Jean's last question, she pauses for a moment before answering. "Yes," she finally says, almost surprised at her response. "I do." Huh. Go figure. "And...I /do/ like him." In case it wasn't already understood.
Jean allows herself a return of the amusement, if more subtly, as she smiles over the rim of her drink and notes that "Well, one generally doesn't ask someone out when one -doesn't- like them." in a bit of a drawl. "And if you like him and you trust him, then just keep telling your nerves that whenever they start flaring up. Now... where to go." the doctor ruthlessly drags the topic back to girl talk. "Do you want to talk, dance, or just hang out?"
Elisabeth relaxes in shared amusement, even grinning a bit and sipping at her drink. "I suppose zat's true." Girl talk! The Frenchwoman blanches. "No dancing. I've never done anyzing past ballroom." Pause. "...what's the difference between talking and hanging out?"
"Well, talking involves sitting in a booth, drinking, and not going anywhere but said booth." Jean explains, one hand idly patting the kitty who'se gotten over their offence and has now sought a warm lap. "Hanging out involves that too, but also involves pool, darts, a drive, a horseback ride, or just general activity in addition to talking."
Elisabeth nods in understanding. "I...don't know. I guess...hanging out?" It's such a weird American expression. "It sounds less scary zen being trapped in a booth for an hour." Or longer. Yeesh. "Better to have an excuse to stand up. What if the conversation dies? What if neither of us suddenly have anything to say?"
America is full of wierd expressions. And when you live in a house with about forty kids, they only grow wierder. "Well," Jean advises, looking solemn. "If you both can't think of anything to say, there's always making funny faces." And, still grave, she promptly demonstrates.
Elisabeth stares at her like she's crazy for a moment, before abrupty bursting out laughing. Hey! Maybe alcohol loosens her up! "Okay, okay..." She's still laughing a bit. "What kind of stuff do I wear for...hanging out?" Giggle. Stifle.
Jean half-bows from her seat with her throw pillow, the gesture elabourate and more than a bit clowning, although she's careful not to spill the remains of her drink on the rug. "Thank you, thank you... and wear something comfortable and low-key, but also something that's a little fun. Jeans and a semi-sexy blouse, maybe. And you -have- to have cute shoes. Because even though men never notice shoes and think we look fine in anything, it makes -us- feel good to have cute shoes."
"Comfortable. Low-key. Fun." Elisabeth recites the words, trying to visualize her closet in her mind. "...cute shoes?" She giggles a little, but nervously as she tries very desperately to pick out a pair of "cute shoes" in the visual image of her shoe supply.
"Cute shoes." Jean confirms, lifting an eyebrow. "And what size are you? I'm dragging you out shopping tomorrow after classes if I must, you -do- realize this."
"Shoe size?" She pauses. "Hold on, I have to zink about zat..." She searches through her memory. "...7 1/2. I'm used to European sizes, sorry." Her eyebrows raise and she finally just smiles sheepishly. "I guess I don't have much choice in the matter." And, abruptly, she leans forward to hug Jean tightly. "MercimerciMERCI."
"Awesome. I take a seven to an eight, so if we don't see anything in the stores that suits, I can play dress up with you." Jean replies with a grin and a tipping back of her head as she drains the last of her drink before wheezing as she's hugged without warning, eyes bulging at more than just the bit of the liquor although she recovers and hugs back. "De rien, de rien, de rien?" she offers with a laugh and a back pat. "And I think I must've mixed your drink a little stiff... but thank me by joining Storm and I, and Madelyne when we get her back, the next Girls' Night, hmm?"
Elisabeth giggles, making an offhand, "Tu parles le bien francais," comment, downing the last of her drink as well. At Jean's invitation, she flushes a little, but smiles. "...I'd like zat," she accepts, surprisingly. She stands, a move to begin good-byes. "Honestly, Jean, zank you so much... I haven't had a good female friend I could talk to in...a while." Here she smiles ruefully. "I'd better get going to get in some sleep."
Jean chuckles and shakes her head dismissively. "Un -tres- petit peut, alas... mostly what I picked up from others who are more fluent, and a couple trips to Montreal in med school. I should sit in on one or two of your classes." Quips made, she gives Elisabeth a steady nod and gets to her feet to see her out, smiling peacefully. "Everyone needs friends, and I'm just glad you chose to let me be one for you. And sleep is indeed good... for tomorrow, we shop."
"You're certainly welcome to anytime you wish," Liza invites with a smile. "Well...zank you for being available to be a friend." She chuckles lightly. "I'll be ready." She leans over to kiss Jean's cheeks in a very French gesture. "Bonsoir," she offers last as she leaves.
Jean is fairly versed in cultural traditions, and turns her cheeks in proper time for the embrace, although hers is more WASPish sort of air-kiss like she might be caught exchanging at parties. "Rest well, Elisabeth... and I think it's Bonne nuit for me!"
Whew. Now I can actually sleep.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
<< XS >> Jean's Room - Lv3(#837RA)
Large and airy this end of the hall room; the door from the hallway bisects one wall. To the right, an office area complete with overstuffed bookshelves and a desk with computer, docking stations for peripherals, and piles of papers both research and student. To the left, privacy screens in black lacquered wood and white rice paper enclose a sleeping area containing a bedside table and lamp, and a double futon with many pillows and an addictively comfortable duvet. The outer wall features two bay windows with cushioned window seats on either side of a small fieldstone fireplace. An oriental rug stands in front of the hearth, with a small cream coloured sofa perfectly placed for a quiet evening in. There are two additional rugs in the sleeping and office areas, otherwise the parquet floor is bare. Walls hung with gray-blue wallpaper and with acccents in black and white, the simple empty space allows for both visual and mental tranquility, aided and abetted by candles scattered about on black worked-metal stands. A door on the left wall leads to a fairly nice bathroom, and a matching one on the right opens into a large walk-in closet.
[Exits : [O]ut ]
[Players : Jean ]
Jean is once again in her room, and once again playing with 'her' cat (It's the property of the Mansion, but she's the one who feeds it. ) but is this time settled in the middle of her rug, ignoring a pile of biology reports in favour of teasing the kitty with a piece of string. Her door is ajar, signalling that The Doctor Is In, and she's got Sheryl Crow on the computer speakers.
A certain other doctor is apparently very thankful that The Doctor Is In. It seems that Elisabeth debated coming over for a while, because she's dressed in PJ's and a robe when she approaches Jean's door, her hair pulled back loosely with a twistie and her glasses ever-present. She stands outside the door, almost still debating before realizing it's silly because Jean probably knows she's there anyway. So she knocks softly, clearing her throat with hesitation and offering a quiet, "Jean?"
"C'mon in, Elisabeth," calls Jean, looking up from her attempts to come up with a completely random pattern of string waving as the calico rolls over on her back to bat at the Wriggly White Thing Of Doooooom. "Take a seat, pull up a throw pillow, and should I get the margarita mix out?" she wonders, flopping backwards against one of the indicated cushions liberated from over by the couch.
"I haven't had a margarita since high school. That would be wonderful." The Frenchwoman grabs a pillow and flops down. "I honestly zink I'm going to have a nervous breakdown. Jean, I haven't gone on a date for /years/ and here I am and I have /no/ idea what I'm doing."
Jean doesn't need to be told twice, and gravely hands the length of string over to Elisabeth as she absents herself to the other side of the room to broach her little mini-bar hidden in the window seat. "Well then, I won't mix it as strong as the Girls Night margaritas." she assures, getting busy with tequila and lime and some pre-crushed ice from her little fridge. "And what are you nervous about in particular? You're already friends with Jareth, yes?"
Elisabeth flicks the string for the cat unconsciously. "I said I haven't had a /margarita/ since high school, not strong alcohol," she replies, chuckling a bit in a nervous way. "Well, yes, but... I just haven't been out in so /long/. And I've certainly never been successful in the dating department." She straightens abruptly. "My God, what am I supposed to wear?" Somebody shoot her, please.
"Tequila is a sneaky poison." Jean opines over her shoulder, before returning to mixing precise shots of this componant and that with a chemist's flair. She returns and hands over a glass to Elisa, retaining one for herself, and settles cross-legged on her pillow, striving to project an amused calm for the empath's benefit. "Elisabeth, first of all, relax." she counsels with a shake of her head and a grin. "Dates are not methods of torture, just go out and have fun, and when in doubt, just fall back on friendship. As for what to wear... where are you going? My closet is your closet."
Hmm. "I can't really remember what happened the last time I had it." Pause. "Maybe zat's a bad sign." But she sips at the drink easily enough. "Mon Dieu, I can't even remember how to go out and have fun." She holds her head in a helpless gesture. "And I have no idea where we're going. I just said drinks, we didn't discuss it."
Jean flashes a grin. "Or an even better one." is her suggestion as she raises a toast and then lazily tickles the cat, who looks affronted at such treatment. "And just... be yourself." is her advice. "Talk, laugh, and perhaps find a bar that offers things like pool tables or dart boards, so that you can have a distraction? Harry's isn't too bad, and I'd -hope- you'd have at least been inside it by now, young lady." Cue a playful finger-waggle.
Gulp. "...I can't say zat I have." Is she going to be beaten now? She crosses her legs nervously, brushing back some stray locks of dark hair. "Okay. Right." She digests the advice, trying to calm her nerves. "God, I can't believe I'm so nervous about zis..."
Jean blinks once, and then takes a steadying sip of her Margarita, lifting her eyes heavenwards to ask "Lord, give me strength," somewhat facetiously. "Elisabeth, Elisabeth, Elisabeth, that settles it. You're coming out the next Faculty bar trip and that's that." A firm nod, and she leans back against her pillow, propped on her elbows. "And it's natural to be nervous about leaving your comfort zone... just don't let it stop you from doing it."
Elisabeth smiles a bit sheepishly, tracing a finger around the margarita glass before taking another sip. "Ze truth is..." She looks a bit uncomfortable gathering up the willpower to talk about it. "Ze last time I was...involved...wiz someone...I got hurt. And...it wasn't a very good experience, and I never quite let it go enough to try again. And zat was..." She chews on her lips, counting off. "...four...five years ago, maybe? It's been a while."
Jean's joie de vivre softens a little as she gives an understanding "Mmmm..." and reaches over to pat Elisa's shoulder once. "There are no scars so lingering as those on the heart. But you know that you can't let one relationship ruin you for the rest of them. Do you trust Jareth?" she wonders, lifting an eyebrow.
"Of course, I know," Liza murmurs. At Jean's last question, she pauses for a moment before answering. "Yes," she finally says, almost surprised at her response. "I do." Huh. Go figure. "And...I /do/ like him." In case it wasn't already understood.
Jean allows herself a return of the amusement, if more subtly, as she smiles over the rim of her drink and notes that "Well, one generally doesn't ask someone out when one -doesn't- like them." in a bit of a drawl. "And if you like him and you trust him, then just keep telling your nerves that whenever they start flaring up. Now... where to go." the doctor ruthlessly drags the topic back to girl talk. "Do you want to talk, dance, or just hang out?"
Elisabeth relaxes in shared amusement, even grinning a bit and sipping at her drink. "I suppose zat's true." Girl talk! The Frenchwoman blanches. "No dancing. I've never done anyzing past ballroom." Pause. "...what's the difference between talking and hanging out?"
"Well, talking involves sitting in a booth, drinking, and not going anywhere but said booth." Jean explains, one hand idly patting the kitty who'se gotten over their offence and has now sought a warm lap. "Hanging out involves that too, but also involves pool, darts, a drive, a horseback ride, or just general activity in addition to talking."
Elisabeth nods in understanding. "I...don't know. I guess...hanging out?" It's such a weird American expression. "It sounds less scary zen being trapped in a booth for an hour." Or longer. Yeesh. "Better to have an excuse to stand up. What if the conversation dies? What if neither of us suddenly have anything to say?"
America is full of wierd expressions. And when you live in a house with about forty kids, they only grow wierder. "Well," Jean advises, looking solemn. "If you both can't think of anything to say, there's always making funny faces." And, still grave, she promptly demonstrates.
Elisabeth stares at her like she's crazy for a moment, before abrupty bursting out laughing. Hey! Maybe alcohol loosens her up! "Okay, okay..." She's still laughing a bit. "What kind of stuff do I wear for...hanging out?" Giggle. Stifle.
Jean half-bows from her seat with her throw pillow, the gesture elabourate and more than a bit clowning, although she's careful not to spill the remains of her drink on the rug. "Thank you, thank you... and wear something comfortable and low-key, but also something that's a little fun. Jeans and a semi-sexy blouse, maybe. And you -have- to have cute shoes. Because even though men never notice shoes and think we look fine in anything, it makes -us- feel good to have cute shoes."
"Comfortable. Low-key. Fun." Elisabeth recites the words, trying to visualize her closet in her mind. "...cute shoes?" She giggles a little, but nervously as she tries very desperately to pick out a pair of "cute shoes" in the visual image of her shoe supply.
"Cute shoes." Jean confirms, lifting an eyebrow. "And what size are you? I'm dragging you out shopping tomorrow after classes if I must, you -do- realize this."
"Shoe size?" She pauses. "Hold on, I have to zink about zat..." She searches through her memory. "...7 1/2. I'm used to European sizes, sorry." Her eyebrows raise and she finally just smiles sheepishly. "I guess I don't have much choice in the matter." And, abruptly, she leans forward to hug Jean tightly. "MercimerciMERCI."
"Awesome. I take a seven to an eight, so if we don't see anything in the stores that suits, I can play dress up with you." Jean replies with a grin and a tipping back of her head as she drains the last of her drink before wheezing as she's hugged without warning, eyes bulging at more than just the bit of the liquor although she recovers and hugs back. "De rien, de rien, de rien?" she offers with a laugh and a back pat. "And I think I must've mixed your drink a little stiff... but thank me by joining Storm and I, and Madelyne when we get her back, the next Girls' Night, hmm?"
Elisabeth giggles, making an offhand, "Tu parles le bien francais," comment, downing the last of her drink as well. At Jean's invitation, she flushes a little, but smiles. "...I'd like zat," she accepts, surprisingly. She stands, a move to begin good-byes. "Honestly, Jean, zank you so much... I haven't had a good female friend I could talk to in...a while." Here she smiles ruefully. "I'd better get going to get in some sleep."
Jean chuckles and shakes her head dismissively. "Un -tres- petit peut, alas... mostly what I picked up from others who are more fluent, and a couple trips to Montreal in med school. I should sit in on one or two of your classes." Quips made, she gives Elisabeth a steady nod and gets to her feet to see her out, smiling peacefully. "Everyone needs friends, and I'm just glad you chose to let me be one for you. And sleep is indeed good... for tomorrow, we shop."
"You're certainly welcome to anytime you wish," Liza invites with a smile. "Well...zank you for being available to be a friend." She chuckles lightly. "I'll be ready." She leans over to kiss Jean's cheeks in a very French gesture. "Bonsoir," she offers last as she leaves.
Jean is fairly versed in cultural traditions, and turns her cheeks in proper time for the embrace, although hers is more WASPish sort of air-kiss like she might be caught exchanging at parties. "Rest well, Elisabeth... and I think it's Bonne nuit for me!"