You've Got to Live! (Gina)

Laundry day.

Gina hated doing the laundry, but what she hated more was having nothing to wear because her clothes were dirty. So, doing laundry was the lesser of the two evils. Gina didn't have a lot of clothes-- she divided and conquered, washing a little at a time to avoid being in the laundry-room for hours on-end. She had a basket, that was all, which she had tucked under her arm as she went into the laundry room.

A brunette guy was already there, scrubbing at something that Gina didn't get a glance at as she came in. Her attention was directed towards the washing machines, some of which were conveniently open. Gina gravitated towards the one closest to ground-level. She was too short to bother with the machines in the upper reaches.

"Afternoon," she greeted the guy distractedly, as she stuffed her dirty clothes into the washer. Once that was through, she shut the door, and shifted her gaze towards him, smiling mildly, "Good day to do some laundry, no?"

The second statement was delivered with a note of sarcasm-- doing laundry was held in the same entertainment-level as watching paint dry, in Gina's book. Gina went to the other side of the room to get some detergent and such, passing the sink along the way. She was still "on a mission", so didn't even stop to look at the sink until she was returning to the washing machine with soap in-hand.

Good lord, that water was pink. And what a lovely shade of lavender-- though it was oddly too lavender for a guy. Unless he was what Gina referred to as a "fruit-cup". Not that this was a matter of relevance.

"What happened to your coat?" Gina dared to inquire, as she pulled the door open. Gina wasn't by any means morbid, so her mind didn't go to "blood", first. Her mind went to "artsy", which led to "paint". An artsy guy would wear a lavender coat, right? She added on, "You look like you got into a fight with a paint-can, and the paint-can won." Particularly with the pink soapsuds that was creeping up his arms and flecked all over his face and torso.

>> "Yeah, something like that."

How incredibly cryptic. Gina shrugged and hummed, before adjusting the washer's settings to her liking-- Let's see, I'm washing everything all at once, so... cold water-wash, right? Yeah.-- before hitting the "Start" button on the washer. With a sigh, Gina walked over to an unnoccupied pair of driers, which were positioned in the proximity of the brunette guy, yet not so close as to be uncomfortable. She set her "things to do" and her laundry basket atop one drier, and took a seat on another by hopping up onto it.

>> "I'll be in here awhile. If you want me to change your laundry over to the drier later. I promise to wash my hands first."

Gina smiled, flattered by the offer. Anything so that she could spend less time in the laungry room. She would have accepted, but... Gina wouldn't wish the fate of killing time in a laundry room upon her worst enemies. It was simply to cruel and unusual.

"I couldn't possibly," Gina countered, gesturing towards the coat, "I mean, all you've got is the... coat to wash, right? I wouldn't subject you to sticking around, just to watch my laundry-"

As Gina spoke of the coat, she looked towards it. And, what gave it away wasn't the coat itself, but its lining along the inside. Even when water-logged and tainted pink, Gina felt an inkling of recognition. That was one of the perks of altering your own clothes. You made changes that didn't come with the coat, to hide the places in which you'd popped seams and added snaps, or other such things. Gina had a lavender coat in which, to hide the unattractive aspects of her tailoring, she'd lined the inside of the coat with a floral print. The chances that a guy had the same lavender coat with the same lining? Very, very slim. She bet the coat had wing-holes, too.

Gina played it cool, though. Just her luck, she'd leap to conclusions and wind-up making a fool out of herself. She wanted to see with her own eyes before she made those sorts of assumptions.

"So, what's your name?" Gina inquired. That was a good place to start, if you had no intention of leaving any time soon.

>> "Calley. Also known as the mascot for the Ultimate Frisbee team. The seal."

Gina smiled at that. He was the mascot for the ultimate frisbee team? That seemed both absolutely adorable and slightly unethical. Gina grinned.

"Oh my gosh," Gina gasped, "That's adorable-" If he'd pardon her terminology. Some guys didn't take well to being called adorable, "-And a totally smart idea. I was going to join the team, but all my hand-eye coordination was spent on flying. I can't play sports worth a hoot."

Why study when you could spend the time doing something far more enjoyable, like talking? In turn, Calley asked Gina's name, held the coat up as he fussed with the plug in the base of the sink.

"Gina," Gina replied, "It's an honor to meet the Ultimate Frisbee team's mascot."

Gina's gaze shifted as the coat did. Yup, that was her coat. Except there was a rather unignorable puncture in the the fabric, around which the paint seemed most local. Gunshot. Gina swallowed a shiver. That meant that the paint wasn't paint, but blood. Another chill. The wing-holes made it her coat, as did the fabric and the workmanship. But Gina hadn't kept any of the clothes that she'd been wearing when she'd been shot, not any of the tops anyways-- and she most certainly hadn't been wearing that coat.

"Oh wow," she sucked air in through her teeth, as if to wince, "I don't remember that hole-" Was that a slip of the tongue, or had Gina consciously acknowledged the obvious? She didn't seem angry, by any means, "You weren't... I mean... were you... shot? Were you scared?"

"The laundry?" Gina echoed in mock-horror, grinning and even leaning back as if to shy away from the notion. It was enough of a chore to do her own laundry, but to have to do the laundry of others? That was downright unsanitary, absolutely disgusting. She wouldn't mind helping with posters, though. Gina was a helpful sort.

Calley didn't seem to miss a beat as Gina observed that she didn't remember that hole being in the lavender coat that was now within the older boys' grasp. He coyly inquired if Gina knew who the coat belonged to, and did not look her in the eye. Probably expecting to get the "Mom" glare from the little gargoyle.

"Yes, I do," Gina said with a laugh fringing her tone. She had coats aplenty, one coat really wasn't the end of the world. Even if it took forever to tailor and was a rather cute coat. She tucked her knees up to her chest, arms twining around them. Since they were both thinking the exact same thing, Gina saw no point in dancing around the matter. With the same note of humor, she replied, "That's my coat."

Well, was her coat. She didn't want clothes with bullet holes in them.

The conversation shifted directions, turning instead towards the most prominent damage, the bullet hole. Calley frankly replied that there hadn't been scared, for there wasn't the time to be. Gina may have recoiled faintly as the question was returned to her with a casual, "You?" her eyebrows leaping up and her eyes widening.

Was she really so transparent? Or was it just that typical for mutants to get bullet-holes punched in them. The school's gossip-chain had long since dropped the harrowing tales of Gina and the mysterious gunman, replaced by so-and-so dating such-and-such, or two people getting into a fight. Gina hummed with a very mild strain of unease. Well, she'd never been a subtle sort.

"I was more concerned with getting away," she agreed, looking towards the washing machine in which her clothes churned, "Hadn't the time to be scared." Gina touched her shoulder absently, fingers brushing the old scar. Her tone dropped to a mumble as she observed, "What was worse was when the guy came to finish the job. That was scary."

Her gaze flickered over to Calley, a half-smile, half-grimace touching her lips. But enough of the war stories, already--

"How on earth did you get a hold of my coat, is what I want to know," Gina said. She then paused, and said, "No, scratch that-- why didn't you... hm, borrow a coat that would fit you better?"

She didn't imagine that the coat of a girl who just barely surpassed the five-foot mark would fit a boy who was somewhere between five-and-a-half and six-feet tall very well. Had Calley gone directly to the source and stolen the coat from her closet, why hadn't he gone for the tan trenchcoat that had once belonged to Shane? It was neatly draped on a spare hanger... Gina hadn't had the heart to toss it out or donate it. Who knew, maybe one day he'd come to the Mansion for it?

The animal-shifter and the little gargoyle exchanged glances, Calley pausing for a moment before returning to scrub the coat. He agreed that it was always worse when they, the shooters, returned to finish the job. But, Gina had survived, so what had she done? What had she done? To get shot, or to survive?

“To get away?” Gina countered, “Or to get shot in the first place? Or afterwards?”

To discuss such a thing so casually felt absolutely bizarre, but Calley shifted conversational gears, and Gina gladly followed.

>> "Sorry about the coat. I didn't mean to... get it dirty. I was just running out the door, and I needed something to keep warm. This was the first one I saw. I'm usually not too picky about sizes… I was going to give it back, probably. I mean, I am. Once it's clean."

“I can’t say that I've missed it too much, if I didn’t notice it was gone until just now,” Gina mused allowed. She really hadn’t noticed that the lavender coat had been missing, which in her mind, meant that she could probably live without the thing. She waved her hand dismissively, and added on, “Don’t sweat it.”

Not only hadn’t she noticed it was gone, but Gina didn’t feel like mending it. If Calley got the stains out of it, which was starting to seem less and less probable, there was still the issue of mending the hole. And, if the bloodstains remained… well, she’d probably have to toss the coat out.

Gina let up a short, sharp laugh in surprise as two cat ears flicked into view, a hand flying to her mouth to hide a delighted smile. But before she could gander at the ears for too long, Calley hid them, the only proof that said ears had been there being the grin upon the gargoyles' lips.

"You have cat ears," Gina gasped, trying hard not to squeal. God help her if she offended this boy by getting excited over cat ears. Though some boys had reservations about such comments, perhaps an animal shifter would be used to this sentiment? Before her mind could catch-up with her mouth, Gina quickly confessed that, "That's so cute."

Her brain finally caught up when she decided to answer Calley's question. Did she always look like a gargoyle, or could she shift.

"Sadly, I can't shift," Gina explained, curling her tail around her legs, "I'm all-gargoyle, all the time."

>> "Had cat ears. Past tense. As in, do not currently possess. Witness: had. Contrast: Have. Had. Have. Had. Have."

Gina almost retorted with a carefree “whatever” to Calley’s correction of her grammar. She was pretty sure that nobody liked having their grammar corrected, and Gina was no exception to that rule. But with this lesson in grammar came the return of the cat ears. They flicked in and out of view.

It took every fiber of Gina’s being not to squeal over the cat ears again, and she held her hands to her mouth, though a grin could be seen from behind the clenched fists. Gina had a soft spot for cute things. Calley was lucky that his ears were adorable. His plot was working. Gina had already forgiven him for and forgotten the coat, and stated so, but the ears were a nice little ploy, over which Gina would not complain.

>> "Why sadly? I kind of like the grey thing you've got going. Nice dappling."

Gina felt a light blush color her grey cheeks an off-lavender. Compliments of this sort were rare things, particularly genuine ones.

“Thank you,” Gina murmured, brushing her hair back as if to preen, “Sadly, because… well, I do get mistaken for a demon. A lot. But it flatters me to hear that someone likes my dappling.”

There was a laugh disguised as a cough at the last word. It was a funny thing to compliment. It was like telling a human girl that she had “nice freckles”. Did people compliment freckles like that?