ikissdhimbck | OOM: Down in the East Texas Town of Galveston... -- 1888 -- for X-23

"Honey, I couldn't rightly tell you what goes on in a man's head."

She's tried to figure that out once or twice.

It's best to save herself the aggravation.

"But anybody who's smart surely won't. An' anybody who's not won't take long t'figure it out."

She steps to the side, drawing X's attention to the standing mirror by her wardrobe.

"What d'you think? How d'you feel?"

X ignores the mirror for the moment, choosing to take these first few minutes to test her range of motion in the coat.

Then, apparently deciding that is acceptable, she turns to look in the mirror, head tilting ever so slightly.

And after a few moments of intent study --

"I like it."

Truer words.

Kate beams.

"Good. Ready t'go, then?"

She can't remember the last time she felt this — excited.

She didn't realize how much she'd missed having a friend on her own turf.

X considers Kate's question for another second, just to be absolutely certain.

Then --

"Yes. I am ready."

She is pleased about this trip, too. Even though it might be more difficult to detect.

Her face does not lend itself to obvious expressions.

With one last nod, Kate slips her hat back on and leads the way to the door.

The hotel is open, grand for the time period. Kate's second-floor room opens up to an atrium, the hallway they step into supported by porticoes. Beyond the banister, the sounds from the first-floor saloon drift to their ears. Voices, a piano, glasses and silverware clinking. Kate leads X around to the stairwell.

There are folks dining, drinking, gambling, making light; there are finely dressed gentlemen and ladies at some of the tables, and working-class men with working girls on their knees at others. The spirit of the room is lively, and most seem to be in good spirits.

X's glance flicks around the room, noting potential methods if egress, blind spots, places with a good vantage point on the outdoors, and the relative proximity of everyone with a gun --

-- or any other weapon.

Conviviality happens to other people, apparently.

But at least she looks comparatively relaxed?

Some of the folk look up, others don't.

Some of the looks are friendly, others are — not, strictly speaking.

"Y'want a drink?"

Kate nods toward the bar while leading the way to the lobby, tossing in a reassuring smile.

"They've got root beer."

X tilts her head at the friendly looks, presenting them with a very careful -- and deliberate -- smile.

The other kind of look? That gets treated with her usual flat, affectless gaze.

It seems only fair.

She turns to look at Kate when her friend asks a question, though.

"If it will not be problematic. For you."

That is important.

"Please."

She chuckles quietly.

"Any other day'a the week, I've got lots of problems. But not today."

She leads the way to the bar, tossing X another grin.

"Today you call the shots."

She winks, and sets her palms flat on the bar, waiting for the keep to head their way.

"Afternoon, Miss James."

"Howdy, Carl. You're lookin' well. Could we get two sarsaparillas?"

"'Course. Anything for you ladies."

There's extra warmth in the way he smiles at Kate; however, X is afforded a polite nod before he moves off again.

X's nostrils flare as she scents the air.

Pheremones are difficult to escape.

But at least she's learned not to mention them?

"You are allowed to call some, too," X offers, flicking a sideways look at Kate.

"It is your world."

And X does not want to misstep.

She nods, taking the offer seriously.

"I know. You ain't familiar with the way things work here."

Kate won't let her misstep. But she's honestly not all that worried about it.

"I thought maybe stoppin' for a drink would give y'time t'look around an' get a feel for things, too. Ask questions, pick up on social graces — whatever makes y'feel most comfortable."

Carl returns with two mugs of sarsaparilla served at room temperature, and engages in pleasantries as Kate fishes out her coin.

"Don't believe I've seen your friend before."

He smiles at X.

"I travel," X says, gaze flicking from Kate's face to Carl's, and back again.

"A lot."

It keeps her busy.

And, considering Milliways, it is very, very true.

Carl tilts his eyebrows and opens his mouth with a silent 'ah.'

"She keeps a ranch down in San Patricio," Kate grins, tucking her purse away. "It calls for a lotta movin' an' shakin'."

"Well," he says with an exaggerated drawl. "A pair of successful ladies like you's gonna turn this place on its ear."

"I surely hope so."

Kate's smile is diamond sharp and friendly. She raises her glass to Miss X, checking to see how she takes to the story.

Carl slips off to help another customer.

X flicks a glance at Kate, nodding once -- very slightly.

"People will not ask for specifics? About the ranch."

Beat.

"And you will tell me where San Patricio is?"

Maps are X's friend.

"Ranchers are a dime a dozen here. Big business, shippin' cattle across the Gulf. If they've heard one story, they've heard 'em all."

She doesn't think X will have any problems. That second question, though, makes her chuckle.

"It's t'the south. I'll show you a map when we get a chance."

Beat.

"Ah, by the bye — how would y'like me t'introduce you?"

"Laura Talbot."

X's response is prompt.

"I have used it before."

Thanks, Bela.

Kate blinks.

"Laura Talbot."

A fond, yet wistful look crosses her face. She's immediately reminded of Bela, her once very close friend, and wonders how she is. Perhaps Mr. Chandler would know.

"You got it, sugar. Miss Talbot it is. Or, perhaps, Missus Talbot?"

X considers that, head tilting very slightly.

Then --

"One will attract less attention? Here."

X does not know.

She nods.

"But it also comes with a whole lot more story."

And Kate never really fussed over attaching herself to a man, real or otherwise.

X considers this for a few seconds more, then shakes her head, just once.

"Miss is okay. Here."

Usually X dislikes certain kinds of appellations on principle.

"Well, Miss Laura Talbot, welcome t'Texas."

Kate salutes her with her mug. Sarsaparilla isn't exactly like root beer, but hopefully it's close enough for X's tastes.

At one table not far removed sits a gentleman, and a proper lady in fine skirts, eating her meal with the grace of a dancer. At another, three dusty cattlemen are playing poker and sipping whiskey, despite the late morning hour.

"Galveston's a big port town, so there should be plenty t'do an' see. I figure once we leave here we can mosey on down the street, see what kinda trouble we can get into. There's shops of all sorts, a playhouse, stock yards an' the docks, good number'a saloons — I even think there's a fair in town."

X is not very discriminating, especially when it comes to things she consumes in company with friends.

It is both helpful and sad.

Anyway.

Her attention sharpens at something Kate mentioned.

"That is like a carnival? The fair."

She has fond memories of those, it seems.

(X also takes this time to keep a weather eye on the cattlemen playing poker. Mostly because card games can get heated, even with just the younger X-men.)

She nods.

"I reckon so. There'll be booths, people hawkin' wares, givin' demonstrations. I think they got a merry-go-round, but I didn't give things a real hard look."

The cattleman on the far right grumbles, tossing down his hand. The man in the middle looks smug as he gathers up his winnings.

"You interested?"

Edited 2013-03-12 01:40 (UTC)

The gleam in X's eye is bright and pleased.

"If it will not be problematic for you. Yes."

Beat.

"Please."

Sometimes it is easy to remember to be polite.

Or to try.

She only has to catch that gleam before her own smile is spreading, just as pleased.

It's a rare look on X, and it suits her just fine.

"I think today's a perfect day t'visit the fair."

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