(no subject)
ICly in John's personal journal and backdated to either Tuesday night (June 14) or Wednesday morning (15th)
I guess Alyssa and I are okay. Honestly, I was just shocked when she kissed me. I guess I knew there was something up, but... didn't know she had it that bad. Someone having the hots for me instead of Bobby. There's a first. Not sure exactly what to do, though. She's nice enough, Definitely pretty. But... I don't know as I really want to get involved with her, being a student here still. I know I'll be around sometimes, but... not that much. Safe, hah.
She was pretty crushed about the whole Leah thing. Maybe it does bother me more than I let on. Hell, I don't even know myself, I don't think. But... it's not really her fault, so... guess all I can do is let it go.
Of a mid-week night. The high of graduation night has now been coloured by recent events. And we find young John in his room, sifting through a variety of items. The area surrounding the trashcan is quite full with things he's collected during his stay that can be disposed of. Old assignments, notes, snack wrappers. He's not exactly packing the room up. But his thoughts are moving in that direction. Well, once he's back and the whole job thing settled. For now, it's bits of nostalgia mixed with anticipation of the trip home, punctuated occasionally by a slight scowl at the past days.
Alyssa stands outside John's door for long enough that her limbs begin to grow stiff, and she shifts uneasily. As it's done many times in the span of time she's stood there, her hand rises to knock, and then falls back down. There's a muffled choking sound, and she turns and flees back down the hall. After a time, though, she creeps back, features schooled into something she's desperately praying doesn't look as scared as she feels, she raises her hand for a final time, fingers curled into a fist as she pounds on the door. "Johnny?"
"It's open," John calls back, not getting up from the desk. He's reading over a paper at the moment, then finally deciding it's not for the keepsakes pile, crumples it up and tosses it across the room to the already full wastebasket. "Oh, hey," he says, seeing the knockee. "Um... and... yeah, it's... just John, if that's okay. Johnny's like... my mom." No, he's not one to bottle things in at all.
"John." The name is imbued with heartbreak, though she tries to keep it from her face as she steps inside the room. "I didn't know you objected to Johnny. You never told me. I'm sorry." Alyssa watches the story get crumpled and discarded, using the wastebasket as a focal point. If she doesn't look at him, this can't possibly hurt. "You probably hate me."
John sighs at that set of comments. "Eh, have a seat," he says, hand spanning the room to offer any available perch. There's another desk chair, an inflatable overstuffed floorchair, the edges of unmade beds. "I did say I needed to talk to you, didn't I? I ignore people I hate. Or burn them to a crisp, so you're not on my blacklist just yet," he says, attempting a bit of a smile.
Alyssa chooses the bed -- it's John's, rather than Bobby's, since she would rather not have to move if they're interrupted. His words ease her anxiety somewhat, though not the gnawing guilt that still remains. "Yeah, you did," is offered softly as she reaches out and tugs a blanket around her. Okay, so it's his bed. But one look at her eyes tells the entire story of just how freaked out she is, right now. At least she's not fumbling around with his lighter, yet. "So, if you don't hate me?" there's an unspoken 'then what' that is conveyed only through her expression, over-bright green eyes finally focusing on his face.
"This whole thing with Leah..." John says, his own eyes roaming the room, "Eh, I guess you couldn't have known it'd happen like it did. Jean said you talked. And yeah, that's why..." He trails off, fingers drumming on the wooden dest. "Hard to know who you can trust."
Alyssa curls the blanket more tightly around her, nodding mutely for a moment before she finds her voice. "Dr. Grey said that she would take care of it. I.. I know that doesn't fix it, but.." She squeezes her eyes shut, and takes a deep breath before blurting out, "I'm sorry, John, if anything happens because of this. I didn't.. all she knows about you is that I like you. That's all I told her." Pause. "About you. I didn't /know/, John.." She withdraws slightly, huddling down under the blanket and dropping her gaze, "I'd never have said anything if I knew it could maybe hurt people. 'Specially you. You're the best friend I've got, here."
"I'm sorry," John says, his face twisting slightly with the words. "Leah will... get over it or I'll find someone else or just make my own way to meet an editor. You'll...get to know people. Have friends here. It'll all be great." No, there's not any irony in /that/ statement.
"Sorry for what, John?" There's the barest hint of an added sylable to the name before she remembers herself, and drops her gaze once again. Oh, look. She has hands. They're nice, these hands of hers, and a perfectly decent thing to focus on. "You have no reason to apologize to me. I'm the one who fucked up." Her eyes open wide, and her head snaps back up, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to.. " Well, we all know that she /thinks/ those kids of words, just generally doesn't say them. Time to move the conversation along. "It'll be great. Will we still be friends? /Are/ we still friends?" She shakes her head, heart caught in her throat as she adds, "Even if friends is all I get, you're still the best one I've ever had."
"I'm sorry, if I'm the best friend you've got," John says, scowling at that. "I'm... not that great of a friend lately. Just... too much on my mind. Graduation. Going home, stories, you know?" he says, maybe just a bit too quick on that explanation.
Alyssa would like nothing more than to soothe out that scowl. But she doesn't. She stays huddled in the blanket, and nods slowly. "It's not your fault. That's why I kissed you. I just wanted you to know.. before you leave.. that you mean something." There's a pause as she tries to gather her thoughts, teeth worrying at her bottom lip for a while. "I wish I knew what to do." Abruptly, she switches topic to, "Why don't you like being called Johnny?" Or, more specifically, why can't she be the one doing the calling.
Ah, that's a topic that's safe for discussion, and on that John latches onto immediately with a noncommittal shrug. "Eh, it's... just a kid's name. Something you'd call your four-year-old. John's just... nice and plain and adult-like."
"I think it's nice," Alyssa counters, "Something you'd call your friend." There's a pause while she considers pulling the lighter out for support, and settles for fumbling around in her pocket for a minute, palming it, and curling her hand back up in the blanket.
John finally shrugs again. "Don't mind me. I'm just a grump anymore, it seems. That's what Jubes says, anyways. But man, it's good to be done." His eyes stray to the top desk drawer where the diplomma currently rests. Although any fly on the wall would note that it's spent as much time in John's hands these past couple days as actually sety away. Not that he'd do that with anyone in the room.
"Johnny it is, then," Alyssa states with the surety of youth, though she does wriggle around in the bed until she's slightly more even with him, and reaches out to jab at his shoulder. This is all assuming that the desk is close enough to the bed that she doesn't fall on her face and look like an idiot, of course. "I like the grump. Just not when he runs away from me." Nodding to the drawer upon which he focuses, she asks, "So how does it feel? John Allerdyce, high school graduate." She savors the taste of the words in her mouth for a moment, then switches topic once again. "So what /is/ your full name, anyway?"
John eyes her a moment. "St. John Allerdyce," he replies. Though when spoken in full Aussie tongue as it is, it comes across a blurred 'sinjinalerdice.' "And if you /ever/ bring that back up, I'll... burn you in your sleep. I swear I will. Taken me two years to finally get people to drop that." Okay, so maybe the tension has eased up a bit.
Alyssa can't help the laughter at the threat, though she does parrot back, "St. John," with the suitable blurring firmly in place. "You'd have to end up in my room while I was asleep to do the burning, for one. For two, /that/ is entriely too adorable, and for three.." She wrinkles up her nose and sticks out her tongue, "There is /no way/ you're getting me to drop Johnny, after that. I'll totally call you 'Sinjin' if you do." It's the lesser of two evils, after all. "For what it's worth, mine's Alyssa Elizabeth Carter, but I think you already knew that."
"Out! Out!" John points to the door, though there's a snicker quickly following the words. "Y'know, I guess... this whole thing with Leah. I was thinking, even if she... decided she wanted to tell everyone. Write something... or whatever. I guess I just realized, I don't care if people know. If they've got a problem with it. Well, that's their problem. Let them deal with it." Which is, somehow, just a slightly twisted version of Jean's philosophy. Kids these days...
Alyssa throws her hands into the air in mock surrender, letting the blanket slip for a moment and revealing the lighter in her left hand. "I give, I give. You had to know it was coming, though!" The teasing tone and light in her eyes stays steady for a moment, though it slowly fades in the light of his words. She considers hers for a moment, and then slowly adds, "It shouldn't matter what we are. You and I are no less who we are for being mutants. My parents always told me to be proud of who I am, John.. and that's what got me in trouble, I guess." Her nose wrinkles just slightly before she adds, "So who cares if they know. Fuck 'em. You're St. John Allerdyce," she holds up a hand to ward off any retribution, "And that's damned special. Mutant or not. You're a good writer, and I'm /not/ just saying that 'cause I'm willing to kiss you in front of half the school. I'll tell you if your writing stinks, if you keep letting me work with you." Not that they're really working together right now, exactly. But editting stories can't be dangerous, can it?
"Yeah, I am," John finally replies, tipping his chair back against the desk. "But I guess we'll see how good a writer the pros think I am. I... I'm glad I'm going away for a bit, though. Least I'll not be thinking about them all the time. And, man, do you kiss your mom with that mouth?" he concludes with a smirk.
Alyssa tucks her (his?) blanket back around her, and smirks back. "You must be rubbing off on it, then. Terrible influence, Johnny." She lets this hang in the air between them for a moment, then smirks again, click-clacking the lighter open and closed in a semi-practiced motion. "Like I said, the offer still stands. Always will, too... and just because I don't /use/ the language that often doesn't mean I don't know how to." She studies the lighter for a moment, then palms it, and grins. "I've even been known to flip people off, on occasion. Shocking!"
John's gaze trails down to the lighter, watching its hypnotic motion. Then he glances up, blinking several times before a matching smirk appears. "Bad influence. Well, /that/ I could believe." THen back toward the lighter. "Keep it up and you'll be better than me soon."
"I practice," is admitted with a little bit of a blush, "I like the sound it makes. And fire is cool, even if you can't do anything more than this." In a swift motion, the lighter is back out and lit, and Alyssa passes her fingers through the flame, not low enough that it'll burn her, but enough that her fingers come away warm. The lighter is just as quickly extinguished, and tucked back into her pocket for safekeeping. "You should send me a postcard," is stated with one of those mercurial shifts of focus, followed by, "And the pictures from my prom came, so you can have your set. We didn't look half bad together."
No, it's not a trance, really! that John appears to be in watching her play with the flame. "Oh?" John asks, coming back to reality with the mention of the pictures.. "Cool. Well, I'll bring back pictures of home to show around. Not sure if I'll have anything interesting or not, but I've been sworn to do so. But I can look around for postcards too."
Alyssa wishes John would look at /her/ like that, mind you. But since he won't, she'll simply be entertained by the way he watches the flames. "Mm, yeah. You can even give one to your parents, if you'd like. It's never a bad thing to be able to say, 'Look, Ma! I have friends. And some of them are even girls. Yes, Ma. That's really me. I got dressed up for something. No, Ma. There isn't something I'd like to tell you. Ma!'" Eyes twinkling as she carries on her little mock-conversation, she snuggles down into the blankets just a little bit more. "I've got a thing for postcards. Besides, I need more things for my walls."
John smirks at Aly's dialog. "Yeah, that'd be about it. And sure, bring them by, or I'll stop and get them. I'll see what I can do about the cards. Sure there will be places around." He glances up at his own walls, strewn with miscellaneous pictures and posters. "Eh, most of this stuff is Bobby's," he comments.
"You looked good at graduation," is noted with a slightly softer smile, before Alyssa qualifies the statement with, "I hope those pictures are ready before you leave, too. If not, I'll make sure I email you a few copies of yours to show off, providing you've got 'net access now and then." Her eyes follow his to the walls, and there's just a trace of sadness in her voice, and a slight frown marring her expression when she says, "Makes it easier to leave."
"I guess," John shrugs. "I'll have to find stuff to use when I get a place of my own. Unless I just want the bare walls." He looks around the room again, and at the door to the hallway. "Yeah, will be strange not to be living in the dorms anymore. Get used to it pretty quick."
Alyssa can help there, at least. "I can paint for you, if you like. It's summer, anyway -- pick a theme, and I'll ply my brush and see if I can come up with something you're not ashamed to hang on your walls. Or at least tack up on them until you can buy something better." The mention of not living in the dorms results in a slight shake of her head, "I'm still trying to get used to being in them. It's easier now that Rahne's on vacation." Because what's the easiest thing to do with an idle roomate? Ship her off for the summer.
I guess Alyssa and I are okay. Honestly, I was just shocked when she kissed me. I guess I knew there was something up, but... didn't know she had it that bad. Someone having the hots for me instead of Bobby. There's a first. Not sure exactly what to do, though. She's nice enough, Definitely pretty. But... I don't know as I really want to get involved with her, being a student here still. I know I'll be around sometimes, but... not that much. Safe, hah.
She was pretty crushed about the whole Leah thing. Maybe it does bother me more than I let on. Hell, I don't even know myself, I don't think. But... it's not really her fault, so... guess all I can do is let it go.
Of a mid-week night. The high of graduation night has now been coloured by recent events. And we find young John in his room, sifting through a variety of items. The area surrounding the trashcan is quite full with things he's collected during his stay that can be disposed of. Old assignments, notes, snack wrappers. He's not exactly packing the room up. But his thoughts are moving in that direction. Well, once he's back and the whole job thing settled. For now, it's bits of nostalgia mixed with anticipation of the trip home, punctuated occasionally by a slight scowl at the past days.
Alyssa stands outside John's door for long enough that her limbs begin to grow stiff, and she shifts uneasily. As it's done many times in the span of time she's stood there, her hand rises to knock, and then falls back down. There's a muffled choking sound, and she turns and flees back down the hall. After a time, though, she creeps back, features schooled into something she's desperately praying doesn't look as scared as she feels, she raises her hand for a final time, fingers curled into a fist as she pounds on the door. "Johnny?"
"It's open," John calls back, not getting up from the desk. He's reading over a paper at the moment, then finally deciding it's not for the keepsakes pile, crumples it up and tosses it across the room to the already full wastebasket. "Oh, hey," he says, seeing the knockee. "Um... and... yeah, it's... just John, if that's okay. Johnny's like... my mom." No, he's not one to bottle things in at all.
"John." The name is imbued with heartbreak, though she tries to keep it from her face as she steps inside the room. "I didn't know you objected to Johnny. You never told me. I'm sorry." Alyssa watches the story get crumpled and discarded, using the wastebasket as a focal point. If she doesn't look at him, this can't possibly hurt. "You probably hate me."
John sighs at that set of comments. "Eh, have a seat," he says, hand spanning the room to offer any available perch. There's another desk chair, an inflatable overstuffed floorchair, the edges of unmade beds. "I did say I needed to talk to you, didn't I? I ignore people I hate. Or burn them to a crisp, so you're not on my blacklist just yet," he says, attempting a bit of a smile.
Alyssa chooses the bed -- it's John's, rather than Bobby's, since she would rather not have to move if they're interrupted. His words ease her anxiety somewhat, though not the gnawing guilt that still remains. "Yeah, you did," is offered softly as she reaches out and tugs a blanket around her. Okay, so it's his bed. But one look at her eyes tells the entire story of just how freaked out she is, right now. At least she's not fumbling around with his lighter, yet. "So, if you don't hate me?" there's an unspoken 'then what' that is conveyed only through her expression, over-bright green eyes finally focusing on his face.
"This whole thing with Leah..." John says, his own eyes roaming the room, "Eh, I guess you couldn't have known it'd happen like it did. Jean said you talked. And yeah, that's why..." He trails off, fingers drumming on the wooden dest. "Hard to know who you can trust."
Alyssa curls the blanket more tightly around her, nodding mutely for a moment before she finds her voice. "Dr. Grey said that she would take care of it. I.. I know that doesn't fix it, but.." She squeezes her eyes shut, and takes a deep breath before blurting out, "I'm sorry, John, if anything happens because of this. I didn't.. all she knows about you is that I like you. That's all I told her." Pause. "About you. I didn't /know/, John.." She withdraws slightly, huddling down under the blanket and dropping her gaze, "I'd never have said anything if I knew it could maybe hurt people. 'Specially you. You're the best friend I've got, here."
"I'm sorry," John says, his face twisting slightly with the words. "Leah will... get over it or I'll find someone else or just make my own way to meet an editor. You'll...get to know people. Have friends here. It'll all be great." No, there's not any irony in /that/ statement.
"Sorry for what, John?" There's the barest hint of an added sylable to the name before she remembers herself, and drops her gaze once again. Oh, look. She has hands. They're nice, these hands of hers, and a perfectly decent thing to focus on. "You have no reason to apologize to me. I'm the one who fucked up." Her eyes open wide, and her head snaps back up, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to.. " Well, we all know that she /thinks/ those kids of words, just generally doesn't say them. Time to move the conversation along. "It'll be great. Will we still be friends? /Are/ we still friends?" She shakes her head, heart caught in her throat as she adds, "Even if friends is all I get, you're still the best one I've ever had."
"I'm sorry, if I'm the best friend you've got," John says, scowling at that. "I'm... not that great of a friend lately. Just... too much on my mind. Graduation. Going home, stories, you know?" he says, maybe just a bit too quick on that explanation.
Alyssa would like nothing more than to soothe out that scowl. But she doesn't. She stays huddled in the blanket, and nods slowly. "It's not your fault. That's why I kissed you. I just wanted you to know.. before you leave.. that you mean something." There's a pause as she tries to gather her thoughts, teeth worrying at her bottom lip for a while. "I wish I knew what to do." Abruptly, she switches topic to, "Why don't you like being called Johnny?" Or, more specifically, why can't she be the one doing the calling.
Ah, that's a topic that's safe for discussion, and on that John latches onto immediately with a noncommittal shrug. "Eh, it's... just a kid's name. Something you'd call your four-year-old. John's just... nice and plain and adult-like."
"I think it's nice," Alyssa counters, "Something you'd call your friend." There's a pause while she considers pulling the lighter out for support, and settles for fumbling around in her pocket for a minute, palming it, and curling her hand back up in the blanket.
John finally shrugs again. "Don't mind me. I'm just a grump anymore, it seems. That's what Jubes says, anyways. But man, it's good to be done." His eyes stray to the top desk drawer where the diplomma currently rests. Although any fly on the wall would note that it's spent as much time in John's hands these past couple days as actually sety away. Not that he'd do that with anyone in the room.
"Johnny it is, then," Alyssa states with the surety of youth, though she does wriggle around in the bed until she's slightly more even with him, and reaches out to jab at his shoulder. This is all assuming that the desk is close enough to the bed that she doesn't fall on her face and look like an idiot, of course. "I like the grump. Just not when he runs away from me." Nodding to the drawer upon which he focuses, she asks, "So how does it feel? John Allerdyce, high school graduate." She savors the taste of the words in her mouth for a moment, then switches topic once again. "So what /is/ your full name, anyway?"
John eyes her a moment. "St. John Allerdyce," he replies. Though when spoken in full Aussie tongue as it is, it comes across a blurred 'sinjinalerdice.' "And if you /ever/ bring that back up, I'll... burn you in your sleep. I swear I will. Taken me two years to finally get people to drop that." Okay, so maybe the tension has eased up a bit.
Alyssa can't help the laughter at the threat, though she does parrot back, "St. John," with the suitable blurring firmly in place. "You'd have to end up in my room while I was asleep to do the burning, for one. For two, /that/ is entriely too adorable, and for three.." She wrinkles up her nose and sticks out her tongue, "There is /no way/ you're getting me to drop Johnny, after that. I'll totally call you 'Sinjin' if you do." It's the lesser of two evils, after all. "For what it's worth, mine's Alyssa Elizabeth Carter, but I think you already knew that."
"Out! Out!" John points to the door, though there's a snicker quickly following the words. "Y'know, I guess... this whole thing with Leah. I was thinking, even if she... decided she wanted to tell everyone. Write something... or whatever. I guess I just realized, I don't care if people know. If they've got a problem with it. Well, that's their problem. Let them deal with it." Which is, somehow, just a slightly twisted version of Jean's philosophy. Kids these days...
Alyssa throws her hands into the air in mock surrender, letting the blanket slip for a moment and revealing the lighter in her left hand. "I give, I give. You had to know it was coming, though!" The teasing tone and light in her eyes stays steady for a moment, though it slowly fades in the light of his words. She considers hers for a moment, and then slowly adds, "It shouldn't matter what we are. You and I are no less who we are for being mutants. My parents always told me to be proud of who I am, John.. and that's what got me in trouble, I guess." Her nose wrinkles just slightly before she adds, "So who cares if they know. Fuck 'em. You're St. John Allerdyce," she holds up a hand to ward off any retribution, "And that's damned special. Mutant or not. You're a good writer, and I'm /not/ just saying that 'cause I'm willing to kiss you in front of half the school. I'll tell you if your writing stinks, if you keep letting me work with you." Not that they're really working together right now, exactly. But editting stories can't be dangerous, can it?
"Yeah, I am," John finally replies, tipping his chair back against the desk. "But I guess we'll see how good a writer the pros think I am. I... I'm glad I'm going away for a bit, though. Least I'll not be thinking about them all the time. And, man, do you kiss your mom with that mouth?" he concludes with a smirk.
Alyssa tucks her (his?) blanket back around her, and smirks back. "You must be rubbing off on it, then. Terrible influence, Johnny." She lets this hang in the air between them for a moment, then smirks again, click-clacking the lighter open and closed in a semi-practiced motion. "Like I said, the offer still stands. Always will, too... and just because I don't /use/ the language that often doesn't mean I don't know how to." She studies the lighter for a moment, then palms it, and grins. "I've even been known to flip people off, on occasion. Shocking!"
John's gaze trails down to the lighter, watching its hypnotic motion. Then he glances up, blinking several times before a matching smirk appears. "Bad influence. Well, /that/ I could believe." THen back toward the lighter. "Keep it up and you'll be better than me soon."
"I practice," is admitted with a little bit of a blush, "I like the sound it makes. And fire is cool, even if you can't do anything more than this." In a swift motion, the lighter is back out and lit, and Alyssa passes her fingers through the flame, not low enough that it'll burn her, but enough that her fingers come away warm. The lighter is just as quickly extinguished, and tucked back into her pocket for safekeeping. "You should send me a postcard," is stated with one of those mercurial shifts of focus, followed by, "And the pictures from my prom came, so you can have your set. We didn't look half bad together."
No, it's not a trance, really! that John appears to be in watching her play with the flame. "Oh?" John asks, coming back to reality with the mention of the pictures.. "Cool. Well, I'll bring back pictures of home to show around. Not sure if I'll have anything interesting or not, but I've been sworn to do so. But I can look around for postcards too."
Alyssa wishes John would look at /her/ like that, mind you. But since he won't, she'll simply be entertained by the way he watches the flames. "Mm, yeah. You can even give one to your parents, if you'd like. It's never a bad thing to be able to say, 'Look, Ma! I have friends. And some of them are even girls. Yes, Ma. That's really me. I got dressed up for something. No, Ma. There isn't something I'd like to tell you. Ma!'" Eyes twinkling as she carries on her little mock-conversation, she snuggles down into the blankets just a little bit more. "I've got a thing for postcards. Besides, I need more things for my walls."
John smirks at Aly's dialog. "Yeah, that'd be about it. And sure, bring them by, or I'll stop and get them. I'll see what I can do about the cards. Sure there will be places around." He glances up at his own walls, strewn with miscellaneous pictures and posters. "Eh, most of this stuff is Bobby's," he comments.
"You looked good at graduation," is noted with a slightly softer smile, before Alyssa qualifies the statement with, "I hope those pictures are ready before you leave, too. If not, I'll make sure I email you a few copies of yours to show off, providing you've got 'net access now and then." Her eyes follow his to the walls, and there's just a trace of sadness in her voice, and a slight frown marring her expression when she says, "Makes it easier to leave."
"I guess," John shrugs. "I'll have to find stuff to use when I get a place of my own. Unless I just want the bare walls." He looks around the room again, and at the door to the hallway. "Yeah, will be strange not to be living in the dorms anymore. Get used to it pretty quick."
Alyssa can help there, at least. "I can paint for you, if you like. It's summer, anyway -- pick a theme, and I'll ply my brush and see if I can come up with something you're not ashamed to hang on your walls. Or at least tack up on them until you can buy something better." The mention of not living in the dorms results in a slight shake of her head, "I'm still trying to get used to being in them. It's easier now that Rahne's on vacation." Because what's the easiest thing to do with an idle roomate? Ship her off for the summer.