(no subject)
"Ye. Are /never/. Drivin'. Again." Kelsey still looks a bit rattled as they're shown to a comfortable table, her glare mild in Percy's direction. She gets enough life-threatening situations in the line of duty. She offers a quick "Thanks" to the hostess as she hands them menus, opening hers and starting to take a look.
Percy drapes himself casually into the seat across from hers, one arm slung over the back of the chair while his cleanly manicured fingernails slide down the length of the menu laid before him. His mouth twitched up at a corner, his eyes gleam beneath the dark veil of his lashes as he peruses the page. "I don't know why you are making such a fuss," he says with blithe good humor, his play at innocence mildly thwarted by the amber glitter behind thick lashes. It may be noted that he does not bother to thank anyone for showing him to a table. "/I/ thought we made pretty good /time/. You wore your seat-belt, didn't you?"
"Just like my mum taught me," Kelsey grumbles at the menu. "I still dinnae like riskin' my life that much when I'm /not/ on a mission." She's fancied up just a little for their friend date, curls tamed of frizz and a cute sun dress on. Her finger traces down the menu as she considers her order.
Percy is wearing a dress shirt of collared russet, open at the collar with its sleeves rolled up, and a pair of dark jeans. He looks casual. Especially in the way that he is lounging in the seat. "Oh, please," he dismisses, at his crispest and most English. "We were completely not going to die. Although people really do slam on their brakes around here, don't you find? I was surprised. Especially that little import we passed. If you're going to drive a car that sporty, you should have more balls."
Kelsey can only imagine Percy is like that in most places. "I think ye'd be a bit more nervous if /I/ drove like that," she comments, cocking an eyebrow as she looks up from the menu for a moment. "I'm more surprised by how /nobody honks/. I mean, considering the way they drive."
"What, really?" Percy lifts his eyebrows as he raises his glance to her face, grin a crooked flash that does not linger long. "I am not usually very nervous," he observes. His nostrils flare with his next intake of breath as he glances around the medium-crowded cafe, and he scratches beside his nose with his thumbnail. "Perhaps honking is rude."
"Aye, but it's always worse when ye're in the passenger seat an' not in control." Kelsey seems quite convinced that he would /not/ be happy in her position. "Aye, cause Americans are usually so worried about bein' rude." Apparently she's made a selection, because she closes the menu and sets it to the side.
Glancing up from the menu to curl his fingers inward so that he may study his nails, Percy does not say anything for a moment. "Mm," he says at length. "I am pretty used to being driven round, honestly. Don't pay much attention to it. Of course, usually I am not in the /passenger/ seat. And it does get rather awkward if you want to fuck in the car."
Kelsey smirks, but apparently she's grown used to him enough to be unfazed. "Never tried that one," is her only comment. At this wonderful point, their waiter comes over, a handsome college-aged sort with a great smile. It's on full display when he asks for their orders. Kelsey smiles back, ordering a pasta dish.
Percy does not really pay the waiter very much attention, following his usual habit of treating waitstaff like furniture -- often recalcitrant furniture in need of discipline, but for the moment, furniture only. He orders a chicken sandwich on, apparently, specialty bread and hands off his menu, and carries breezily onward, "It's a bit cramped, and you never know when the driver's going to notice what's going on and do something uncomfortable. I don't really recommend it."
Kelsey is extra smiley and thanky as she gives the waiter her menu, perhaps to make up for Percy's indifference. "Well, I think if I tried, it would be when the car was parked. And no one else was in it." Maybe that's too normal-sex-life for Percy to understand. "It does seem like one o' those things I should've done in college."
"What, never even in a /parked/ car?" Percy affects puzzlement, his skanky bewilderment being the best way he can think of to tease Kelsey for her relative purity. "My word. I don't suppose you're missing that much," he adds, magnanimously.
"I'm sorry, I spent most o' college /not/ havin' sex." Kelsey is grumpy. This is her grumpy face. "Dinnae ruin the fantasy for me!" She sets her napkin on her lap and reaches for her water.
"Well, we both know how /I/ spent college," Percy says. He drums his fingertips lightly against the surface of the table and then shifts in place, leaning the crook of his elbow there so that he can drop his chin on his fist. "And graduate school. And most of my twenties. So perhaps we should move on."
Kelsey chuckles a bit after she puts her water back down, leaning the other forearm on the table. "So Andrew's sisters managed tae sneak a note tae me. He was just up in Seattle visitin' them." She chews on a hangnail, unsure of whether she should be embarrassed. "I e-mailed them a few times."
Brows swept up, Percy tips his head slightly, still balanced on the prop of his fist. "An exchange of dirt, madam?"
"Well, I didnae give them anythin' more valuable than my name an' the fact that I met Andrew at work." One finger traces scratches behind her ear. "An' I got them tae say they'd keep a lid on any weddin' plans, which is really why Andrew hadn't told them anythin' about us himself."
Percy gives her a slightly startled look. "/Wedding/ plans," he repeats, these syllables rendered somewhat cuttingly. He drops his hands to lace his fingers together at the table's edge. "Are you expecting the arrival of a picket fence by mail order?"
"Oh God!" Kelsey immediately looks aghast the idea that /she/ might have wedding plans. "I have /no/ weddin' plans. /We/ have no weddin' plans. There are no plans goin' on." She settles back down in her chair, frowning. "His sisters are just a little overeager. I dinnae ken, I dinnae have siblings."
"You're not--" Percy starts to say, and then stops and smiles a little and scrubs his hands both over his face. "Christ. I am reasonably certain my brother would never do /that/." In pursuit of candor, he does admit after a moment, the twist of a suffering expression on his face, "Although he does persist on referring to Bahir as an in-law. I am pretty sure he does it to be a prat."
"I think it's diff'rent with sisters an' their older brothers." Not that she can say for sure, but just from observation, perhaps. "No plans of any sort," Kelsey repeats just for emphasis. So he understands. "When's the last time ye saw him?" NEW SUBJECT.
"Oliver?" Percy's brow creases, and he leans back in the seat again, brushing the curl of his forefinger along his lower lip. "Six months or so, I suppose." Mildly, he understates, "He was not very pleased when I left New York."
"Was he there too, then?" Kelsey asks, setting both forearms on the table and leaning forward companionably.
"Except when he is in Greece," Percy says, with a dismissive flicker of his fingers, "or visits the family home in Connecticut." Gaze turning distant, he lets it skew out of one of the cafe's windows, out over the bright sunlit street outside. Musingly he goes on, "He had just finished his PHD when I dumped the company right back in his lap and ran off to California with my boyfriend." Dry humor infusing his tone, he adds, "He did not want it back."
Wow, personal information on Percy! "What company is that?" Kelsey asks, brushing back a stray curl. Their waiter reappears at their table, food in hand, and it's set down with another smile, which the redhead returns with another few words of thanks.
Percy looks surprised all over again. "Oh," he says, blinking back at her. He glances up at the waiter as his plate is set before him, and doesn't say anything else until the young man has gone away again. "Geotal Aeronautics. I was CEO of it, you know, before I came here." His tone is bland on the subject. He does not immediately pick up his sandwich.
"Ye keep lookin' awfully surprised about stuff I dinnae ken about ye, considerin' how private ye are." It's said with affection though, Kelsey flashing a smile before twirling her fork in her pasta and taking a bite. It is approved of.
"I thought everybody knew that," Percy says testily. He picks up the top slice of bread of his sandwich and examines its contents. Then he picks up his napkin from his lap and wipes the mayonnaise right off the bread onto the napkin. It's very dignified and elegant. "Common knowledge. I'm bisexual, I have a British accent, I used to run an aeronautics manufacturing company."
"Classy," Kelsey comments, watching him transfer mayo from sandwich to napkin. "The first two are pretty damn obvious compared to the last. It's not like ye ken ev'rythin' about /me/."
Eyeing the bread with only a smear of white residue on it, Percy puts it back on top of the chicken. "Not at all," he says. "I just thought everyone knew that one." Modestly, he explains, "I was somewhat well known in New York." Mostly, as Emma Frost's lapdog, but never mind about that.
"When I left Westchester tae go back home for college, I was happy enough bein' somewhere less anti-mutants," Kelsey says, scratching at a temple. "I didnae need tae keep up on the New York City scene tae see what great new legislation I was missin'."
"But New York is the mutant capital of the world," Percy says with a gleam of humor at her through his narrowed eyes. He picks up his sandwich delicately in both hands, and takes a bite from one corner.
"Aye, so much so that the government wants tae get ev'rybody's name down," Kelsey replies, blandly enthused. Her left hand makes a vague gesture to flick away the subject. "I liked bein' back home. I didnae feel the need tae keep up with ev'rythin' goin' on over here." She takes another bite of pasta.
"They missed a few spots," Percy says gravely, after swallowing sandwich. He sets it back down and roofs his fingers loosely over it. "We sold a lot in international markets. But, you know, if you're not Boeing, most people have no idea who you are."
"Sorry I didnae ken about your airplane business." Her tone is lightly amused. "How criminal o' me tae have not heard of ye beforehand."
"That's all right," comes the magnanimous reply as he once again lifts his sandwich. "I was never very interested in it."
"So why'd ye do it?" she wonders, fork poised between plate and mouth before finishing its journey after her words.
"/That/," Percy says decisively, "is a long story." He munches on sandwich, frown creasing his forehead and lingering in his expression as he glances away to study a random point on the floor a few feet from her.
"As in, it's a long story cause ye dinnae want tae tell it, or it's /actually/ a long story tae tell?" There's a big difference. And the former generally seems to be more common.
"A little of both," Percy says, and takes another bite. Chewing and swallowing, he sets the sandwich down again. His mouth twitches at one corner. "To summarize it as much as possible, the ownership interest was ... bequeathed to me."
"Family company?" Kelsey guesses, lifting her glass to take a drink of water.
"Yes," Percy says after a breath's hesitation. "But my predecessor was, ah, not related to me. That's partly why it's a long story. In any event, it's Oliver's problem now. Out of sight, out of mind." He lifts his own glass of water to take a long gulp, ice crashing together in a tinkling rush as he drinks from it.
Kelsey nods, clearly accepting the limited explanation he wants to offer. "Hence why your brother was not thrilled, I take it."
"He thought he was rid of it," Percy says with a slight smile, and then gestures dismissively with a pass of his hand, having set down the glass again. "It's all right. He's speaking to me again, at least."
"That's good. Tae be on speakin' terms with your family, I mean." Kelsey grins, setting her fork down so she can lift her napkin and wipe sauce from her lips.
Leaning back in his chair again, to leave aside sandwich and drink for a moment, Percy spreads his hands in a broad, open gesture. "So they say. I think he resumed contact just because he needed to bitch to someone about how pregnant his wife is."
"Well, that's better than sittin' around bein' mad at each other." Kelsey believes in family contact with the vehemence and naivete of one who doesn't have the opportunity anymore.
"I suppose," Percy says, slanting his gaze back across at her with a slight arch to his eyebrows. He tears a little piece off his slice of bread, and pops it into his mouth. "No siblings for you, huh?"
Kelsey chuckles, shakes her head. "No. Just an' aunt an' uncle around nowadays, but we're not verra close." She watches her pasta with a bit more attention than necessary as she twirls a bite-sized amount onto her fork.
"I have a lot of family," Percy says, dropping his hands to his lap. He scrubs his palm along the side of his jeans. "Although my parents are both dead," he shares.
Kelsey looks back up, fork remaining on her plate. Perhaps his admission ennobles her, because she responds, "Aye, mine too." Yay for dead parents!
Arching his eyebrows at her, Percy asks in a tone less flip than his usual, "Did you know them?"
There's a moment of clear confusion before she realizes the obvious implication of the question. "/Oh/. No, aye, I knew them. I was fifteen." Kelsey shrugs, that sort of forced lack of feeling that comes when you feel you should be over something that happened a long time ago. "Car crash."
"Hah," Percy says softly, despite the fact that there are very few things less funny than one's parents dying in a car crash. He sits up, and leans forward. "That's how my mother died. Car crash. While I was at Eton. I was fifteen or -- maybe just sixteen."
Kelsey can't help a smile at the dark humor of the conversation, some sort of comfort existing with their similar histories. "We were in Paris. I'd just found out that I could speak perfect French." Her grin twitches, is tucked away. "What about your dad?"
"William," Percy replies, with a delicate precision of enunciation, "passed nine years later. Hmm, lung cancer," he adds, tapping two fingertips lightly over his chest. "He was not a very nice man. We did not like each other very well."
That is something definitely not to touch. Kelsey raises eyebrows, but just goes ahead and nods. "Ahh." Daddy issues are dangerous, dangerous things. HEY LOOK FOOD.
Actually relatively at peace with the looming ghost of his disapproving father at this point in his life, Percy gestures with the flick of his wrist. "Funnily enough," he tells Kelsey blandly, "I spoke perfect French when I was fifteen, too."
The grin flickers back to life as she straightens up in her seat. "I imagine I didnae study quite as hard as ye did."
"I also had a lot more sex than you did," he tells her helpfully. "Imagine that."
"Ew, at fifteen?" Kelsey gives him an exaggeratedly disapproving look, shaking her head at his morally deficient past. "Had you already manifested by then?"
"Actually, I lost my virginity at thirteen," Percy says, drawing his thumbnail along the curve of his lower lip with a contemplative expression on his face. He flicks his gaze around, checking to see if anyone around is listening to them before he goes on. Nobody seems to be, so he goes on, "Which is about when I manifested. What a strange coincidence."
"Aye, /crazy/ coincidence." The eyeroll is probably an indication of how much Kelsey is convinced by that coincidence. "I cannae even fathom the amount of sex ye had before I even hit puberty." Her nose wrinkles. "Not tae mention all the sex ye had before I had sex /once/. Even if we were the same age."
"Well, my first /orgy/ was at fifteen," Percy replies, as though this is something he is being /modest/ about. He leans back in the seat again, apparently having lost interest in his sandwich.
"Well, of course." Kelsey peers at him, a tad bit incredulous. "An' how many STDs have ye gotten?"
In answer to that, Percy lifts a hand and taps his fingertip lightly at the side of his nose.
Kelsey's eyebrows raise as she leans back in her chair, vaguely impressed. "Ye can sniff that out? Really?"
"Most physical ailments, at any rate. The rest, perhaps just dumb luck." Percy scratches his nose and then picks up the glass of water for another swallow of its contents. Mournfully, he says, "Bahir made me get tested anyway."
"Gosh darn it. What a horrible boyfriend." Kelsey smirks as she returns to her plate of pasta. "How is your charming man?" she adds before taking a bite.
"Charming," Percy replies cheerfully. He tears off a thin shred of chicken from his partly demolished sandwich and slips it past his lips. "I think I'm supposed to stop at the library and find a book about enzymes while we're out here, come to think of it."
His charming man is charming. Har har. "Enzymes?" This is perhaps a confusing goal.
"I am supposed to read about enzymes," Percy says solemnly. With a bright gleam of humor in his gold-amber eyes, he explains, "Sometimes living with a biochemist means I get homework."
"Ew." She's been saying that a lot lately. But Kelsey's not a science person, she can't help it. "Does he ever get homework on linguistics?"
Percy scratches his head thoughtfully, silver glints sparking in the midst of his dark hair. "I think he really has enough to do," he says, "although if I wanted to be really obnoxious and we had anything in Arabic or Farsi--"
Kelsey exhales a huffy breath. "He should get homework if he gives it," she says good-naturedly. "I'm sure ye could dig up somethin'."
"He doesn't /really/ give it," Percy feels pressed to explain. "That's why I have to find a book about enzymes. It's /funny/."
"So ye're takin' a passin' comment and rollin' with it tae be obnoxious?" Sounds more like Percy than accepting homework from a boyfriend.
"I would never do that," Percy tells her, looking affronted.
"Ye would never /not/ do that, given the chance," Kelsey corrects, her tone matter-of-fact.
With a sniff, Percy says, "I think you are grossly oversimplifying."
Kelsey grins, finishing up her pasta and setting her fork down on the empty plate. "I think ye dinnae like when I'm right about ye."
"He told me to read up," Percy says, soul of wounded innocence. "You're oversimplifying because you are only taking me into account."
"Ye are /so/ full of it," Kelsey replies, full of laughter. "Ye should be an actor."
"I /was/ an actor," Percy returns, with his hand over his heart. "And a singer. And a violist. -- It's /not/ simply obnoxiousness," he adds, although he does not claim not to be full of it. "It is mutual. That makes it a show of affection and love."
Kelsey's smile softens, though her humor hasn't lacked affection throughout. "Och, I ken, sassenach. Ye two are adorable."
"We are not," Percy replies immediately, sitting up straight. "That sounds very undignified."
"That's because it is. Ye've got that thing that plenty o' people are lookin' for. Ye might as well admit it." Kelsey hitches a shoulder, flicking a stray curl from her face. "Love isnae dignified."
"Having what people are looking for makes me /smug/," Percy corrects, with a lifted finger of admonishment.
She snorts, leaning her elbow on the table so she can set chin in hand and look at him admonishingly. "An' ye're never smug otherwise?"
"Did I say that?" he demands. He tears off another chunk of bread, and then does not eat it, leaving it abandoned on his plate.
"I cannae really imagine ye ever sayin' that," Kelsey admits with a small smile. "Ye're not really the modest type."
"Candor, madam, candor. I know myself well." Percy gives her a wider, if slightly sharper, smile of his own, and then glances around. "And where on earth is that grinning ninny of a waiter, I'd like to know?"
"Maybe ye scared him off with your pointed indifference," Kelsey suggests, looking a bit sad. "It's too bad. He was nice tae look at." She glances lazily around the restaurant to spot him charming a more easily-charmed table.
Percy slants a sidelong look after him, and makes a face. "I am much prettier than he is," he says with a serene certainty, returning his gaze to their table and to the study of his fingernails. Percy is much prettier than EVERYONE. "Anyway, what does he want, to be invited to dance? He's a waiter."
"Aye, but I cannae sit an' admire /ye/. Be weird." Kelsey gives him a weird look as is, trying to catch their waiter's attention. "Maybe he just wants tae be addressed politely. Like most people in the world."
"What, I wasn't /rude/," Percy says, giving her a puzzled look. "I could /show/ you rude, if you like."
"There is such a /huge/ gulf between rudeness and polite acknowledgment of existence," Kelsey says, tone suggesting that he should know as much at his age. "An' no, I'd prefer it if ye didnae, especially cause I'm gettin' him over here for ye." She's finally successful in her task, and their smiley Tom Cruise look-a-like makes his way over. "How is everything? Anything I can get you folks?"
"Two of those pear tarts in a to-go box. And the check, if you please," Percy says mildly, roofing his fingers over his plate as he arches his glance back at Kelsey again. "Whenever you're ready." He doesn't look at his watch, but there is that smidgen of a suggestion from his tone and expression that shows he is really working at suppressing the urge to do so.
Kelsey offers a little golf clap when the waiter scoots off to fulfill Percy's order. "Lookit ye! Bein' all nice an' polite." She knows better than to ask if it doesn't feel better to be nice.
Percy gives her a particularly skeptical glance anyway. "Hmph."
"Ye're such a snob, Talhurst." Their waiter returns in record time with the ordered desserts and the check. With a quick look for confirmation, he moves to take away their plates. "Ever get tired o' that stick up your ass?"
Why Percy asked for the check is not immediately clear, because he doesn't appear to pay very much attention to the price written on it as he pulls out his wallet to throw cash onto the table. He is rude, but he overtips. "Are you saying that I need to loosen up?"
Kelsey looks from Percy to the wad of cash and shrugs. He wants to pay, o ahead. "I might be," she says, the corner of her mouth quirking. "Sometimes."
"Because I think that I am pretty loose," Percy says, arching his hips to slide his wallet back into his back pocket. "Elitest, arrogant, sure.'"
"Sure, /sexually/. But ye dinnae think ye could loosen up in the whole...total disdain for ev'rybody thing?" Maybe? Someday? Kelsey doesn't /really/ seem that bothered by it, though.
Percy gives her a studied frown. "I don't disdain /everybody/."
"But that's your default," Kelsey points out, tone humorous but not without a certain amount of pointedness. "Why're ye so determined not tae like people?"
He leans forward again, lifting his gaze to her face with a quiet intentness reflected suddenly in his whiskeyed eyes. He doesn't say anything for a moment. Then he asks, "What do you want to like people for?"
"Seems better than not liking them." Her head tilts thoughtfully. "It's not like I dinnae have any judgment or standards for people tae be my friends. But I'd rather like someone than not, if only for the fact that it makes bein' around them more pleasant."
"I'm not /especially/ bothered by being around the foolish and inane," Percy says mildly, "which is good, because it really does become a large percentage of the time." He lifts his hands, fingers laced together, and rests his chin atop their bridge. "Finding the best in people strikes me as counterintuitive. They are so likely to disappoint."
Kelsey just smiles, setting her chin in both hands, fingers curling beneath her cheekbones. "I think we just have a fundamental diff'rence in how we approach life."
"That much is certain," Percy says, his smile slightly sour as he favors her with a slow blink. "Do you care about everyone you like?"
There's a pause in the conversation when the waiter comes back over to collect the check and his large tip. After assuring that Percy doesn't want change, he retreats with a certain spring in his step. Kelsey looks back, thoughtful. "Not in the same way. But I care about people in the way that I care about the value of human life. Look at our job. Ye have tae care about people ye /dinnae/ like tae do what we do."
Percy dismisses the idea of change with a supercilious pass of his hand. So he is a jerk, but he pays people to put up with it. Or something. "Respecting your duty isn't the same as caring about people," he says. "I read people. That's part of my job. My skillset, if you like. I learn how to handle them. I make it my business to look out for them. It's not the same as caring about people."
"It's not?" Kelsey asks, grinning slightly. "So why protect people at all, if ye dinnae care about their lives?"
"I'm not talking about their /lives/." Percy flicks his fingers again, and gives Kelsey an aggravated look.
"But we're talkin' about whether they live or die, aye?" Kelsey leans forward, totally /not/ aggravated. "We protect people. We stop bad people from doin' bad things, things that often end up with people dead."
Glancing around again to make sure that no one around is listening -- because he has learned many lessons about paranoia in his long years of mutant conspiracy -- Percy shakes his head slightly. "Right," he says. "That's /duty/. Although I have to admit I don't really know what /bad people/ means. People doing bad things, certainly."
"What does duty even mean? Are we talkin' moral duty or just your duty to your job cause ye get paid?" Kelsey asks.
"Money is not important," Percy replies. His smile flashes, briefly and brightly, and he shakes his head again, leaning back.
"So then it's a moral duty. Somewhere ye ken that, if ye have the power to keep innocent people from harm's way, ye should do it." Kelsey leans forward for the kicker. "Because ye /care/ about whether they live or die."
"Yes, I do," Percy says. He shakes his head once more, and taps two fingertips to the curve of his lips. "But that's not the same as caring about /people/. It is caring about commitments I have made. Or perhaps even about what is closest to white in this grey and musty world." Still leaning back, he rests his fingertips against each other and steeples them before his face. "But I am not invested in people, in their nonsense and their heartache and their peculiar personal messes."
"Ye can care about someone livin' instead o' dyin' without carin' much about their personal problems." Kelsey's not a great example of that, but still. "I mean--yes. Fine. Somebody comes tae me with a problem, I got a bleedin' heart, I'll probably want tae help." She holds her hands up in surrender to that point.
"That's why I don't like people, Kelsey," Percy says. He cocks an eyebrow at her, with his fingertips still lightly touched together before his face. "I wish to limit the level and the breadth of my investment."
"Ye're protectin' yourself," Kelsey says in a soft voice, smile slight. "I'm glad I made the cut."
Percy spreads his hands, palms up. For a heartbeat, for two, he says nothing. Then he lets them fall lightly to the table and rises. "Come," he says. "We have to go to the library, and I /believe/, though I might be wrong, that you want to drive."
Kelsey lets the seriousness of the moment melt away, her smile brightening as she stands. "Aye, that is a definite /requirement/." She grabs her purse from the back of her chair, tossing some errant curls behind her shoulder as she heads out with him.
Percy and Kelsey grab a bite. Kelsey discovers what happens when a.) Percy is in restaurants and b.) Percy is behind the wheel of a car.