driftfleet | Windrose, where the wind blows

[Rogue enters, but raises an eyebrow.]

Spring cleanin'? [Did a season skip her or something? But more importantly - large square of metal.] Doesn't look like you're just dustin'.

[What are you doing?]

Midwinter cleaning. Whichever.

[What is she doing? Good question. Hoisting the panel, she shrugs just a little.]

We got a size upgrade this morning. Ship was a little closer to what it used to be. So I figured, why not take advantage of being parked here, see what all they've changed.

[Hence the prying off portions of paneling.]

Congratulations. [On the ship upgrade, that is. Moving to peer over her shoulder from a respectable distance.] Ya figure anythin' out?

The electronics still make zero sense, but I've pretty much assumed they keep all the really important things unreachable. We've got some nice hiding spaces, though, we ever decide to take up smuggling. Or just a fleet-wide game of hide and seek.

[She fits the panel back in place over a tangle of wires and gives it a solid kick back into the wall, before turning to Rogue.]

Thanks for the party invite, by the way. Sorry I cut out early. Anything catch fire after I left?

[Rogue's eyebrows raise at that kick and then she nods a little. Well, that's one way to get it done.]

No, actually. I'm as surprised as you. [After all, she'd explicitly worded her interpretation based on past experiences with drunk superpowers.] I didn't even have ta throw anyone out.

[And the casual way she seems to think that would be possible, considering her guest list, might say a thing or two.]

[Well, she figures nothing important is accessible. And besides, the little joys in life are even more important out here.]

Sounds like a Christmas miracle. Either that, or there's some kind of sedative in the shipboard food.

But seriously, seems like everyone's calmed down since November. Guess we're still recovering from the Marsiva screwing around inside our heads.

[Ah yes, about those Calibrations...

Rogue gave a light shrug.] Or space. People gettin' used to who's here an' who's not. An' I think most folks feel better to be on their own ships again.

[But speaking of recovering from the Marsiva screwing around in their heads... Rogue gave Natasha a sidelong glance and then cut straight to the point.] You were in mine, weren't ya? An' I was in yours.

It is nice not having a hundred other people to share a bathroom with.

[And having some place she's at least a little more in control of. That's part of what this is about; owning her territory. She stops for the moment, though, facing Rogue and leaning against the panel she's just replaced.]

From what I remember, yeah. Assuming we remember the same things. Yours was...definitely a little more crowded than mine.

[Ain't that the truth. Hundreds sharing the same bathroom - quite unpleasant.

Her brow furrowed slightly.] Crowded? What'dya mean?

You had furniture, for one.

[Her tone is just a little dry. It isn't everything she means, but then, what she says is rarely just that.]

And it seemed a little...busier. Like it wasn't just your memories stored away in there.

[Already treading on an uncomfortable topic, her crowded mind, this was far too abrupt an incision for Rogue to handle with grace. She scowled and crossed her arms.]

If there were, then they'd hardly be mine ta talk about, now would they?

[Seems like it's a touchy subject, but then she'd been expecting that. It's why she stays calm, just keeps looking at Rogue, eyebrows slightly raised.]

Guess not. If they aren't yours.

[It's still enough of a confirmation for her, that there's more than one set of memories kicking around in Rogue's head.]

[her scowl deepens. Rogue dislikes the feeling that she is being probed, catagorized, assessed. There had been a certain amount of willingness to clear the air. Now, however, she mostly just felt defensive. As violated and cracked open as the Atroma had made her to be. She knew well what you called a person with voices in their head.]

If you're going ta ask questions that are none of your business, at least do me the courtesy ta ask.

[she waits. It's up to Natasha to decide what kind of digging exposition she's on, if it's espianage or the sort that will respond to an invitation to honesty, however sourly worded.]

[She does not point out that Rogue was the one who started the Calibrations conversation. She also doesn't look at Rogue like she's a crazy person, or like she's afraid. She does, however, look faintly irritated.]

How about I tell you instead, and you stop me when I'm wrong? I know you have abilities most people don't. I'm pretty sure it's mostly involuntary and based on touch, and I'm definitely positive it comes with consequences. I'm also gonna go out on a limb here and say most people back where you're from don't exactly appreciate any of that. How am I doing so far?

[Rogue doesn't shift, but her features progressively tighten, locking down hard at each assumption. She is rigorously scrupulous when it comes to guarding the privacy of those she has touched, of their lives and secrets. It is no surprise, then, that she is similarly guarded in her own life. While what Natasha was saying were not secrets, they were not things that she talked about, not things that she was comfortable with.

She detested the feeling of being analyzed, compartmentalized, as if she could be known.

That was pride. And she was trying, really trying to grow more at peace with her powers, with their consequences. So she took a breath. It was her powers that she didn't like (hated, still, deep in her bones though she was trying), but she would never, ever be ashamed of being a mutant.

She simply lifted her chin.]

I'm a mutant. An' so far you're not wrong. You wanna keep goin'?

[Natasha understands privacy. Understands what it is to carefully guard secrets, and to reveal as little as possible. To have strangers wandering inside her head, to have part of herself willing and able to give away everything she'd worked to protect? It had been terrifying. It still was. Terrifying, and infuriating. No one had the right, not anymore.

Maybe that's why she gets it, at least a little. She doesn't understand Rogue's abilities, but this much--pride, and privacy--that she understands. So she just looks back, shrugs one shoulder, calm again. Serious.]

That's about all I've got. I didn't poke around. Bad manners.

[It wouldn't have stopped her, with most people. But there's at least a seed of respect there for Rogue, and enough sense to not fuck with unknown abilities.]

Right.

[...argh. This is not what she wanted.

Rogue exhales a controlled breath and runs a gloved hand through her hair, an obvious gesture of frustration, an attempt to regroup. But she can't really see her way out of where she's standing.

She looks over at Natasha.]

...sorry. I do remember that. You not pokin' around. An' there's nothing wrong with the questions you're askin', or the things you've put together. Back home, what I am ain't no secret. Heck, my face was blasted across the TV shows as a 'most wanted' for a while, there's no hidin' who I am or what I do. It's just - out here, it ain't like that. An' unpleasant things tend ta get even more private, after a time of not havin' ta talk about them.

[She gives a little, wry smile.] My powers ain' very pleasant.

[Controlled responses seems to have been the way to go. Rogue seems to pull her automatic responses in, get a handle on the frustration that seemed about to come flying directly at Natasha, but she still gets the sense they aren't in the clear. Honesty, then; as much as she can.]

I don't know anything about you, or where you come from. I'll admit, I'm curious. But I'm also the first to admit that especially out here, privacy's not something you wanna give up fast. And some things don't get easier to talk about.

[She shrugs. It's hard to resist the urge to poke around the edges, to lead the conversation. Hard to not use her tricks to get the information she wants. But not everyone can be used that way, and she's smart enough to know both when it's a bad idea and when it's not really necessary. When there's other ways that might get her the same thing, and maybe something better.]

Power always has a cost. I have a friend back home who'd agree with you.

[Right, three guesses as to who that was and the first two don't count. She'd had a giant chunk of Bruce and Hulk in her head for a long, long time, poor guy.

At Natasha's reminder of the importance of privacy in this scenario, Rogue was suddenly reminded that - yes, smile, they were on candid camera. Well. Screw that.

Still, her lips twist wryly.] Yeah, I'm sure our audience is lovin' this.

[She shakes her head.] Screw 'em. Ya wanna know 'bout the world I'm from, bit more 'bout who I am? I don't mind tellin' ya. Your ship have any coffee?

[Let's shift ground, make this less like whatever this was, and more like a talk over coffee.]

[Whatever this was was whatever it always seemed to be. Both of them were fighters, if not literally then metaphorically. Both of them were private people who fiercely defended their boundaries. Both of them had spent at least some time in combat, recently. It wasn't a surprise that they'd occasionally clash. Be more of a surprise if this hadn't come up, if it hadn't been a problem. It wasn't easy for either of them to talk about, Natasha thinks, returning Rogue's smile with a ghost of her own.]

Don't have coffee, but we've got decent fake tea and something that pretends it's scotch.

[It's something. She'd rather change keys, too. There was bound to be enough fighting in their near future, if the general pattern held.]

[Bleck to both those options, honestly.] That's a shame. Guess it'll do, if ya don't mind takin' a break.

[Fair. The Windrose crew hasn't exactly spent much time or effort on the culinary wonders available in space. For the first crew, it was privacy that mattered more. Now, with the Vision expanding his little hydroponics corner, maybe she'll consider better meals a slightly higher priority. For morale, you know.]

[Just as long as no one expects her to cook.]

[Motioning with her head, she moves off of the wall, leading the way deeper into the ship towards their small galley.]

I don't mind. Been up since before sunrise, I should probably stop and take a break, anyway. Got plenty of time to finish checking her out before we leave, if the pattern holds true. Not that I trust Atroma to keep any sort of schedule.

[Rogue follows along. There wasn't much that was needed to respond there, and as part of her mind was doing its best to organize the information she was preparing to impart, only asked absently:] What do ya count as sunrise up here?

[Or had she been on the planet?]

[It's a short walk to the galley, and it's clear the crew hasn't done too much to what originally came with the ship; there's a single glowfish hanging out in a bowl on a counter, a small selection of bottles, and a few mismatched stools. That's about the extent of it.]

Been using the planet's clock, while we're here. Not that it matters too much. Seems like every planet we visit to seems to sync up pretty closely to ship time.

[She waves at the stools, letting Rogue choose her ground as she heads for the drink dispensers.]

Want anything?

Mmm.

[Does she want anything? She wants to reorganize your kitchen, that's what she wants. She looks around and her fingers fairly twitch.]

Y'all don't have a cook, do ya. [She glances at the drink dispenser and resigns herself.] I'll take some fake tea, thanks.

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