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Gina giggled at the "sister Gina". It made her feel like a nun, which she was probably the farthest thing from. Agnes picked up the dress, as well as a few other essentials to the ensemble, and with the disclaimer of, "I'll be right out," slipped into the bathroom.

"I'll be right here," Gina echoed back, flopping onto the bed as the bathroom door was shut securely behind Agnes. Now came the moment of truth, now came the waiting game. While Agnes was battling with the world's worst butterflies of anxiousness, Gina hopped off of the bed, scampered towards her desk, and withdrew a small, unobtrusive white box from the top drawer. It was tied with a decorative little gold ribbon.

Gina hopped back into position on the bed, tucking the little box under the blankets, and returned to playing the waiting game.

After a while, Gina began to wonder if perhaps Agnes had squeezed out of the bathroom through the ventilation, and was currently booking it off of campus because of nerves. How long did it take to put one dress on? Gina tried to be patient, but she couldn't help herself-- she was just about to ask Agnes if she was still alive in there when the door popped open once more.

Agnes emerged in all of her luminous glory, garbed in the dress, a soft white sweater, and pair of cute, yellow slip-ons. Agnes twirled, and gave the compulsory, “How do I look?”

Gina beamed, bouncing off of the bed excitedly.

"How do I look, she says?" Gina practically squealed, "Aggs, you look amazing! Zow, sister!" She paused, inclining her head, and she began to trail, "I've got just the thing to top it off."

She rummaged under the blankets, and withdrew the little box, with the explanation of, "It's a belated birthday gift."

>> "Well, sort of... I like English and writing, but I don't think I want to be a writer. History might be my favorite class, but I can't talk to teens now, so being a teacher... That's right out the window. The only other thing I'm good at is kids. So I guess something with child development. You?"

"I would love to work with kids," Gina breathed in agreement. She would love to have taught at an elementary school, and not a mutant one. But, there were downfalls to looking like a demon... no one trusted you around their children unless they were pro-mutant, or mutant themselves, "But that isn't likely. Something where I work with people... Or maybe tailor clothes to fit mutants... I mean, I've been alerting my own clothes since I was, like, twelve."

Gina shrugged, "I don't know, but I've got time to figure it out."

Neither Maxwell nor Pamela stirred when Gina spoke—her voice was far too raspy, as her throat was uncommonly dry. Or maybe they were just illusions of an intoxicated mind? They couldn't be here, in New York... they were supposed to be in California. Perhaps, if Gina could just touch one of them, and see if they were real?

Gina shifted stiffly, her back groaning in protest as she slowly leaned forward. If she could just nudge Maxwell, to wake him up, then she wouldn’t have to bother trying to speak any louder. She extended her good arm, and gently shook her eldest brother’s shoulder. He groaned and stirred, turning his face towards Gina without opening his eyes. He had fallen asleep with his glasses on, Gina noted with a smile. Typical Max. She nudged him again, and whispered a hoarse, “Max, rise and shine.”

Maxwell opened his eyes slowly, and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his grey-eyed gaze. He glanced towards Gina as he adjusted his glasses, and his breath hitched.

“Gina, you’re awake,” he gasped. Ever-careful of her injuries, he took her hand in his, and kissed the back of it lightly. Gina smiled faintly. Of the three brothers, Maxwell spoiled her the most.

“Yeah,” she trailed, still smiling, “Max, what are you guys doing here?”

Max frowned, still fastened to his sister’s hand as he lowered it to the bed.

“They called us, said you’d been shot—we were so scared…” he squeezed his sister’s hand tightly, “We caught the first flight we could catch out of San Francisco.”

I’d been shot.[/i] Memories came trickling back, despite the drug-induced fog that blanketed her mind. Her stomach lurched, and she looked towards the bed sheets. It hadn’t been a dream—Gina thought she was going to be sick.

“Sis, you okay?” Maxwell inquired, brow stitching. Gina nodded wordlessly, swallowing back the nausea.

“Mom’s going to kill me,” Gina observed weakly, her feeble voice quivering with the threat of sickness. She almost feared her mother’s rage more than facing a guy with a lion’s head—just thinking that brought on another wave of sickness—anyone who would have rather taken Pamela on had never dealt with a Mother Bear who’d been crossed, before.

“I should wake her, since you’re awake, at the moment,” Maxwell murmured, tilting his gaze inquiringly towards his sister. His tone said that he wouldn’t unless Gina permitted him to do so. Gina nodded.

“You should,” she confessed. That was all the permission Maxwell needed—he kissed his sister’s hand once more, reassuringly, before releasing her hand from his grasp. He unfolded himself from the chair, pushing it back from him as he stood, and shuffled over to his mother.

As Maxwell was about to rouse her, Pamela let out an unglamorous snore, at which both Maxwell and Gina grinned. Oh, Mom— Maxwell shook his mother’s shoulder lightly, speaking in soft tones as he said, “Mom, wake up… Gina’s come-to…”

Pamela didn’t awaken as slowly or peaceably as her son. She jolted awake, lost in a moment of blind confusion and mid-snore. She glanced groggily towards her son, inhaling deeply, and she let out a tired, “What?”

“Gina’s up,” Max answered. Pamela glanced blearily towards her daughter, and Gina smiled.

“Hey, Mom,” Gina croaked. She couldn’t help herself, she smiled in relief. Given the circumstances, there was a whole new meaning to the sentiment, “Good to see you.”

“Gina,” Pamela gasped, getting the same look of threatening-to-be-tearful relief. She was on her feet in an instant, stumbling towards her daughter, and she wrapped Gina a bear-hug. Gina wanted for nothing more than to stay there, in her mothers’ arms, constricted against her mother’s chest, but—

“Ah, Mom, the shoulder—“

Bear-hugs were really painful, at the moment. Pamela released her daughter with a faint apology, and instead resorted to touching Gina’s face, touching her hair, and just constantly touching her, overall.

“Baby, how do you feel?” Pamela inquired.

Gina’s throat was shot, her entire body ached, and she was trying to hold what little she had in her stomach down. Her head was pounding, too—all of this because she’d been shot, and God-knew-what kind of damage that had done to her shoulder and her wing… Whatever had happened, it had landed her in a hospital with IV's plugged into her arms...

Given the situation, she felt phenomenal.

“I don’t feel half bad,” Gina replied, her tone cracking under the effort of trying to sound cheerful. It simply made her sound even weaker, “All facts considering.”

She smiled faintly, and her mother smiled back, but Pamela was rubbing her temples as if massaging away a headache. It was the calm before the storm. A heavy silence settled, during which Gina and Maxwell exchanged hesitant glances. Maxwell nodded encouragingly.

“Momma, I’m sorry—”

>> "Weird... She goes fishing in a pond and my dad didn't even go scuba diving in an ocean."

Gina nodded her head. What Locke was saying was rather true-- Pamela did have a limited supply of men. Sometimes she went up to Ukiah to look around for guys, since it was simply a slightly-larger small town, but it didn't have nearly as much variety as a monstrous city such as San Francisco.

>> "Dunno what my mom did, but I think she stayed at home when I was born. Kendra's an internet nanny. Sounds cool until you realize it gives her access to everything that you might want to watch or play. Everything turns into a debate. 'This movie's rated R, but this is what's in it,' 'You're not old enough to see that' 'I want to get this video game' 'Chris and Mai might have nightmares from it'... Dad doesn't do much these days."

"Hm," Gina replied faintly. Internet nanny did sound kind of cool, but what caught her ears wasn't the fact that Kendra was an internet nanny, or Locke's miniature tirade about not being able to be doing certain things on the Web without Kendra knowing-- although, that did earn a chuckle from her, because it reminded her of Maxwell. No, what snagged her attention was the change of tone when he went from Kendra to his father. Locke was clamming up, at least in that avenue of speech. Gina could respect that-- she'd find some less-forbidden route of conversation.

"What do you want to do?" Gina inquired, inclining her head, "For a career, I mean-- or do you know?"

>> “Are you kidding, Gina? I WISH I had your hair! It’s so curly and pretty. Mine’s always as flat as a board. And trust me, attempting to curl it results in disaster.”

Gina puffed her cheeks out and restrained a laugh. Thus was the vicious cycle of being a girl-- no girl was ever wholly content with themselves. They always wanted what they didn't have, be it straight or curly hair, more curves or less curves, and the likes. There was always some sort of improvement to be made, even in the most self-confident girls. There was always something that girls envied about other girls. Gina's was her hair, her height, and her stature overall.

"Agnes, curls are inherently a disaster," Gina grinned. Some back-and-forth banter was perfect for nerves, "You can't do anything with them except tie them back or leave them down."

She finished with the first side of Agnes's head, began moving towards the back. She fell silent as she fussed with a particularly difficult snarl, because Gina was rather intent on not tugging at her sister's hair.

>> “A little better... I don’t feel as desperate to find a crack in the wall to crawl into. I hope it lasts.”

"Good," Gina replied, smiling assuredly, "I hope it does, too. You'll have fun."

A comfortable silence fell as Gina finished combing out Agnes's hair. It was quick and easy work, since her hair wasn't too insurmountably thick, or indescribably long, either. Even the snarls were few and far between. Gina finished and nodded her head.

"There, that'll do ya," she announced, "I don't think that I'll even have to spray it down."

Gina was finished combing, so she set the comb down on the counter, and turned towards her sister. Yeah, she'd done well. Gina stepped aside, to let her sister survey her own reflection.

"Anything else?" she inquired, "Or are you ready for the best part of preparation?"

Gina was a sucker for clothes. Particularly when it came to getting other people all dressed-up and fancy. Not that the rest of this hadn't been fun, but the outfit was the icing on the cake.

Continued in Aftermath.

Gina gathered her sister's hair towards the back, laying it flat with her hands as she awaited further instruction.

>> "Umm, just my usual hair I guess. I usually just wear it flat and straight. I don’t always care to have my hair up,” [/i]

Gina was relieved that Agnes's request wasn't more intensive than that. For, as girly a Gina was, she couldn't do hair to save her life. Corkscrew curls were only good for leaving be or pulling back. She had neither the skill or the tools to do much beyond that.

"Can do, boss," Gina sang. Of course, if it was what Agnes did to her hair each day, Agnes probably could have done her own hair. But, Gina was enjoying helping. Until Agnes spoke up, she wasn't going to step back.

She artfully combed her sister's hair back, before letting gravity pull it down, revealing the natural part in her hair. Having found it, Gina delicately traced a line back along Agnes's head, before delineating the part with careful claw. The part was to one side as opposed to being down the center, which naturally gave Agnes a more refined look.

"I love your hair," Gina sighed, as she began to gently comb out the snarls, "It's so straight and well-behaved ." As opposed to Gina's flyaway curls. Hell, Gina probably wouldn't even need hairspray to keep Agnes's hair in line. She was so lucky.

"How are those butterflies doing?" Gina inquired lightly, gaze flicking towards Agnes's reflection.