Guard the pizza

Rule number one of pizza-reserving etiquette-- do not leave your pizza unattended on the table. Doing so makes it free game. Rule number two was that, if you were foolish enough to leave said pizza on the table, it had better have anchovies on top of it.

Gina sauntered into the empty living room, hit by the aroma of fresh, warm pizza. She spied the telltale box upon the counter, trotted over and peered into the box. And, it was a virgin pizza, not a single slice yet removed from the whole! Such luck!

True, it would have been more considerate to leave the pizza be and ask for a piece when the person who purchased it returned, but Gina didn't think ahead that far. She just took a slice, humming happily as she did so, and went to some out-of-sight corner of the living room.

As she did so, the pizza patron returned. This, Gina didn't notice, at first.

>> "Pizza?"

Gina looked up inquiringly, the missing piece, already nibbled, in her delicate grasp.

"Yeah, it's really good," Gina began to explain cheerfully, before spying his face. He didn't look excited, he looked sad. Gina broke off awkwardly, looking at the pizza slice in her hand. It all suddenly seemed to dawn on her-- oh, so the pizza hadn't been up for grabs.

"I'm sorry, you can have it back!" she said quickly, "I only nibbled off a tiny bit."

>> "You keep it. I mean, you started it."

Maybe not sad anymore, now he just seemed bothered. The boy helped himself to a piece, to which Gina just shrugged and went on humming cheerfully.

"Oh, okay-- thanks," she said in a singsong voice, continuing to dance around. If it were any consolation, she added on, "I would've torn the contaminated part off, if you said so."

It wasn't that she picked up on any outward disgust, some people just weren't that communal about food. Especially boys. But, it was to late to turn back now-- given the go-ahead, she sank her teeth into the pizza. Gina continued pacing around the living room, incapable of sitting still. Her tail flicked absentmindedly behind her.

"What's your name?" Gina asked, apparently incapable of being quiet as well, "I don't think I've seen you before." He had mismatched eyes and dark hair, tall in proportion to Gina, but everybody was. If she had seen him before, Gina would recognize him, and she didn't.

Perhaps Gina was a rare breed of teen, but rainy days simply didn't exercise the same influence over her as it did over other students-- quite the opposite, really. While other students listlessly oozed about the Mansion, Gina was practically reverberating with energy. She was invigorated by the rain. She didn't even like the rain-- quite the contrary. She loathed the rain with a catlike vehemence. She was simply so full of energy when it rained, because foul weather meant no flying, and no flying meant stir-craze. Unfortunately, when Gina got stir-crazy, people were liable to have to peel her off of the walls.

>> "There's breadsticks, too."

"There are?" Gina countered, a bit too eagerly. No one was to be decieved by her small stature-- she could really pack food away. She hefted her gaze towards lock, thin brow arching inquiringly. Was this some sort of test? Were the breadsticks really up for grabs, or was he trying her, to see if she'd go after the breadsticks, just as she'd gone after the pizza? The boy took a few for himself, so Gina figured that the permission was genuine.

"Wow, thank you," Gina smiled, trotting over and plucking out a single breadstick, "That's very generous of you." The boy went over to flop onto the couch, while Gina continued her fidgetting. She couldn't sit with all of this energy simmering within her.

>> "Locke... I keep to myself mostly. Hand me the jalapeno?"

A shy one? That explained it. Gina didn't know many of those sorts. Then again, the shy ones usually bolted from her. She was a very strong personality to have to cope with. Gina liked quiet people, though-- it gave her license to speak more, in compensation for their shortspoken-ness.

"Sure," Gina agreed, in regards to the jalapeno request. She delicately pinched the stem of the jalapeno between two claws, and with jalapeno dangling precariously over the floor, she escorted it over to Locke. Rather than circle the couch, she just held it over his shoulder from behind, "For you!"

Once the jalapeno had been handed off, she meandered away again, and offered the introduction, "I'm Gina, by the way. I'm..." well, she didn't keep to herself, that was for sure, "-- kind-of talkative."

Gina was kind of talkative in the fashion that stop signs were kind of red. Which was to say, that was a gross understatement. She paused long enough to take another bite, and finish it, before speaking once again.

"What grade are you in?" she then asked, "You're not new, are you? Just quiet, right?" Gina tended not to let new people slip by ungreeted, so if this boy was new, that meant she was falling down on her duties.

>> "Red Bull?"

His tone implied that it wasn't an offering, but an observation-- a stab at her high-energy. Gina wasn't in the least bit offended. She was, in fact, quite humored. Straightforward people were funny, particularly if they weren't all bubbly and perky-- more room for Gina to be more cheerful.

"No, lots of starches," Gina corrected, without missing a beat. A cheeky grin touched her lips, "They give you more long-lasting energy than caffeine and sugars. It tends to work against me when the weather's like this, though. No flying, and all. No way to burn all of the energy off."

>> "Thanks," Locke replied flatly, as Gina forked over the pepper. She hadn't meant anything by dancing around to the back of the couch, it was just the direction in which she had been headed, in her aimless sauntering.

"No problemo," was the simple reply. Following her introduction, Locke gave yet another dry reply. At least they were engaging in dialogue. It was better than being ignored outright.

>> "I'd say kind of is an understatement."

"You've got no idea," Gina said with a smirk in her tone, "I'm just getting warmed up."

>> "Junior. I was a sophomore when I got here. Guess that someone messed up my math grade with a person that had a clue what was going on."

That was perhaps the longest sentence that Gina had squeezed out of him thus far. Progress? Perhaps.

"I'm a sophomore... Math isn't my strong suit, so I probably couldn't help you there," Gina trailed, "What math are you in?"

Gina smiled as the boy seriously labelled her consumption of starches as "carb loading". A stifled laugh might have even escaped her. He was missing the point-- whether or not she actually loaded up on carbs for her energy, Gina had been making a joke. A joke. And, it had gone right over his head. She'd even explained the true reason for her excess-energy, and he still hadn't gotten it. Boy, oh boy, Locke was going to be fun.

He then proposed the Danger Room, as a solution for her wealth of energy, and Gina shook her head adamently, her curls bounching as she did so.

"It's not the same," Gina informed him, "The spaces are programmed, which mean there are boundaries... looking at the same tree a billion times absolutely defeats the purpose." Besides, she'd have to ask a teacher for permission to use it, and there were probably a handful of other hyperactive children down there already. To Gina, the Danger Room was just like a treadmill... good for keeping you mutationally active, but not nearly as excited as physically going out and flying.

"Oh," Gina replied, in response to his answer. He was in Algebra, and had then went down to math two. Gina had been in Geometry last semester, but was repeating it once again. She was right on the cusp of passing or failing, but the Final Exam had been the final nail in the coffin of her grade. She had to repeat the class, "I'm in Geometry... again..." In Gina's mind, Geometry wasn't so much of a math as it was a logic class, given all of those proofs that were thrown at them. Even though Geometry was a step above Algebra, she'd only passed Algebra by the grace of God, so... she still wouldn't be of much help, there.

Okay. That was by far the most he'd spoken thus far. And, the sad part was, that it was all gibberish to Gina. She understood Lovecraft-- he was an author who wrote spacy books, right? There was a program like that in the danger room. Her mental voice took on the tone of a hippy leftover from the 70's as it declared, 'Far out, dude...' And, of course, outwardly, Gina just stared while Locke spoke. And stared some more. Computer programs made just about as much sense as Chinese to Gina, which was absolutely no sense at all.

Gina did her best to refrain from laughing, but she did smile. Not condescendingly, but in a confused 'I've-got-no-idea-what-this-kid's-saying,' sort of way. He was already shyly clamming himself up with another slice of pizza, so laughing more would probably send the boy into a bout of mutism.

"Geometry?" Gina echoed. Well, Geometry was a math-- or a logic. Locke probably meant to ask what you did in Geometry, not what it was. Gina meandered over to the couch and sat on its arm, taking on a contemplative look, "It's a math where you work with shapes, and graphing, and shape- or graph- related equations. But, mostly-" her face took on a haunted look, brown-eyes going wide with mock-terror. Her voice no more than an ominous whisper, she informed Locke, "We do proofs. Proofs are the centerfold of Geometry, and they're pure evil. You have to essentially prove that you can do certain mathematical things using these predetermined rules." Gina shuddered, "Pure evil."

Gina listened as Locke began ranting, not really putting in her two bits. She didn't have a problem with school overall, just math-- she also struggled in science, though she was rather fond of the subject. She let him rant, though-- soon, the conversation turned to NASA, and then... juggling... monkeys?

Gina let out a short laugh, but quieted as Locke groaned, quickly excusing his peculiar phrase.

>> "Sorry. I don't know why I said that. Monkeys wouldn't like to be juggled."

Which only made the previous comment ten times funnier. Gina couldn't help it. She laughed. Sure, Locke was a dork, but Gina thought it was funny. Particularly because Locke was getting so embarrassed about it.

"It's okay," Gina assured him, "Tamarins are far more suitable for juggling, anyways." Gina had stopped chuckling long enough to deliver that line, but after she said that, she quirked a smile. She didn't want to talk about her classes, she wanted to debate over techniques and preferences when it came to juggling monkeys. But, if Locke wanted to take the reigns in the conversation, Gina would follow along.

"History, English," she began to rattle off, "Geometry, Computers, Language, and Mutation Control," Gina huffed when she had finished. Of all the classes she was in, Mutation Control was the one she liked the least (besides Geometry). Her mutation wasn't any more than what you saw, so there really wasn't anything to gain mastery over.