capeandcowllogs | the past stays in the past

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the past stays in the past

WHO: MIRROR MASTER and QUENTIN QUIRE
WHERE: Quentin's place at first, then??
WHEN: Umm today I guess.
WARNINGS: Drugs.
SUMMARY: Drugs and haircuts and god knows what else.
FORMAT: Whatever!

Although it had been tempting to stay in Glasgow longer, Mirror Master really did have things he needed to do back in the City. He could always go back; no reason not to live there, when he could always get anywhere in a second if he needed to. Right now, though, he had plans. He put the monocle somewhere safe, first of all, then peered through the rows of mirrors in his Mirror hang-out to see if he could locate Quentin's. It seemed like they had something to talk about.

When he found Quentin's mirror, he slid easily into the reflection, not even bothering to make his reflection mirror Quentin's at first; he was just himself, looking as if he were standing in the room. "Haw, howzitgaun, Quentin?"

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"Gyah!"

Evan is greeted with a yelp of surprise and also a plastic comb being thrown at the mirror as Quentin jumped away from the mirror. Throwing various hair products onto the floor since he'd been in the process of styling his hair before Evan showed up. Quentin quickly realizes that it is just a guy in a green condom and not a boogey-man or any other paranormal being and his fear turns into annoyance.

"McCulloch, dude, y'ever hear of knocking? I have a fucking door! Wait. Why are you using the bathroom mirror, that's just sick."

At least he was properly dressed in his pants and not walking around the house in briefs Evan. You've been saved. For now. He grabs the shirt hanging off the bathroom door, putting it on with haste. On his shirt, beautiful purple letters scribbled out Question Everything!. Below that, in angry red letters, scrawled DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!

"Keep a calm sooch, pal. Taking the door's the long way around." He rolls his eyes, though looks aside as Quentin puts on his shirt. "Bathrooms and bedrooms have the biggest mirrors, besides. Would ya rather I come out of the telly next time?"

He leans out of the mirror, swinging his feet clear of the sink so he can climb out. "Told ya I'd be over in a day or so didnae I, by the way?"

"What if I'd been in the shower? How embarrassing for you," he quickly throws various hair products into the shower to get them off the floor... He'll clean it up later, this is how any teenager cleans let's be honest. He also unplugs his razor and hairdryer, setting them in a bucket off to the corner.

"But if you'd came out of my television, I'd have fucking punched you." Quentin doesn't even turn to look at Evan as he walks out of the bathroom door, expecting the other to follow him into the kitchen where he snatches the remote for his stereo system and cuts the music. His kitchen is not messy but not clean either. Once again, very teenage-y.

"How was Scotland?"

"Simple. I'd just come back later." Evan hangs back a moment, pulling a couple of things from out of the mirror before he follows Quentin out. He peers around the place, less out of idle interest and more as just something to do. He leans against a counter.

"Quiet, mostly. Well crowded but peaceful enough to give me a good breather. Nothing blown up while I was gone, I take it?"

He hoists himself on top of the counter, glancing briefly over at Evan and shrugging nonchalantly. But he grins at the thought of something being blown up. Babby anarchist with big dreams.

"Nothin's blown up. Unless you count our Deputy Mayor popping a blood vessel. Things have been their usual mundane boring shitfest."

"Didnae miss anything, then. Fair doss. Even watching the Clyde's more lively than this place most of the time. Here," Evan says, putting a tin of chocolate biscuits next to him on the counter. "Brought those back. It's a souvenir." It wasn't the reason he dropped by, obviously, but it was better to start with food than drugs.

"Did you, really?" if it were possible, Quentin's mood brightens up even more and he's even a little shocked. Shocked because he wasn't expecting anything from Evan but happy that Evan remembered him. He quite liked it when people didn't forget about him, even for a minute. Carefully, he reaches over to open the tin.

"I got something for you."

"Aye, good stuff. Would have gotten shortbread but I think it's best fresh, know? So biscuits it was." He crosses his arms and grins, more interested in what Quentin said rather than his reactions.

"Brilliant. Was hoping that'd be the case."

"Well, I love snacks." It's true. The kid eats a lot of sugar because his brain needs all that power to run!!! Or maybe he's just got a big appetite, and he's sufficient on eating just cookies and chocolate. Gee, no wonder you're so short and skinny like a twig, Quentin. He reaches into the drawer below him, tossing a thin rolled up bag of suspiciously white substance over at Evan.

"You know I was kidding you about the fata thing, right? But I'm a guy of my word, I still got the goodies."

"Wasnae sure, dinnae keep all o'it straight anymore. New stuff always springing up. Sounded too good to be true." Evan catches the bag and holds it up, inspecting it before he pulls a pocket mirror off his belt and sets the bag on top of it. "We splitting this then? Didnae just bring sweets along with me, I got some more if we need."

"Only if you want to share," a pause as he stares at the pocket mirror. Evan must really like mirrors, or maybe the mirrors enhance the drug. Quentin opens his mouth to speak, pausing again before composing himself again. "Are you doing it on a mirror? Or do you just... is that like a fetish for you? Mirrors and all that jazz?"

It's an honest question. One has to ask it eventually to the Master of Mirrors dressed in a bright orange spandex costume.

"What? No, no, it's just easier. See, ya can divide it up on glass easy and it disnae stick to the surface. Or get wedged inside it." He opens the bag up to pour it out onto the mirror, glancing around the kitchen. He picks up a knife to divide the cocaine up into lines.

"If ya dinnae want any maybe I should go into the other room for a moment then, eh? Be just a sec."

"Jesus don't be a weenie and share one line with me McCulloch. I've usually used a coffee table is all." He gives an exasperated sigh. Adults. Quentin swings his legs a little off the counter before hopping off. There's his cocky grin again as he folds his hands behind his head to run his mouth.

"I'll look the other way if you're stage shy, McCulloch."

"Fine. Have at it, Quentin. Glass'll do ya better than a table, you can make sure ya get it all." He passes the mirror over the counter, sneering a little. He hesitates for a moment before he pulls his cowl off; as much as he dislikes taking it off it's a hassle doing blow with it. He pulls it off and shoves it aside: his hair is dark auburn and just long enough in the back to qualify as a mullet.

"Gaun yourself, I'll go second."

Quentin snorts, at Evan not the drug. He definitely takes note of Evan's hair, finding it both funny and not-at-all surprising. He rolls his eyes a little at Evan's sneer, pulling open the drawer in front of him for some straws. He grabs two out of the bag and reaches across the counter for a pair of scissors to cut both straws down to size. After making sure they were alright, he laid one on the counter for Evan and kept the other in his hand. Quentin rubs his nose, readying himself.

"You look like you could use a hair cut, McCulloch."

"Eh, maybe," Evan says as he examines the straw. His other hand runs through his hair, smoothing it down a little. "Does itch me neck a bit when I got the cowl on, and I barely take it off." Still smirking, he wrinkles his nose a bit. He so rarely takes his costume off, his appearance or his hair isn't often something he thinks or worries about. Not much.

He leans over the counter, toward the readied mirror, rubbing the side of his nose. "Speaking o' hair, why'd ya for pink? Bit odd."

Quentin holds up his hand, Evan's question will have to wait until he's done snorting the line of cocaine. He straightens up when he's done, brushing the bridge of his nose for any he missed. He grins over at Evan, sniffing a little and indicating with his hand that it was Evan's go.

"Simple really, everyone's going to turn heads when they see me. And I won't be forgotten. No one remembers the blond kid who stormed the World Conference." a pause. "And your hair itches 'cause you barely take your cowl off. If you trim it, it won't bother you much."

"If ya storm the World Conference people'd take notice even if ya had a bag over your head. That's what I think. All kinds of ways to get noticed if ya want, dinnae have to go all over pink to do it," Evan says, shrugging before he leans down and makes short work of the remaining lines. He exhales, straightening up and rubbing his nose again. He's not calling you a flamingo, at least.

"Brilliant, that's the ticket," he says, already anticipating his usual bursts of energy. He rubs the hair brushing the back of his neck. "What, ya think so? Just chop it off?"

"But if the media has it their way, they'll erase events and everyone will forget about it if you don't stand out visually." He's thankful you didn't call him a flamingo. Or else he'd be calling Evan Crocodile Dundee.

"Not entirely," he imitates the length of Evan's mullet with his fingers. "Just lop it off at the back and trim the sides and you got yourself a new hairstyle. I've got scissors and a razor in the bathroom."

"Guess they might, at that. I'd put it past the government, sooner. They'd either cover ya up or hire ya as one of their hitmen. Watch yourself." Evan picks up the little mirror and holds it up, catching any remaining powder on his fingers and licking it off. Waste not, want not, etc... He tucks the mirror back into his belt.

"Awright, but dinnae leave me with any bald bits," he says, narrowing his eyes a little. He's in the mood to try anything by this point and it's just hair, right? More harmless than going out and raising hell somewhere, which was always tempting. "And I'm not dyeing it."

"Government can't buy me with their cheap money," a beat. "Don't be such a sourpuss, you should totally dye it. But I won't force it on you, I'd have to make the dye anyways and that would take a while both ways." He makes his way to the bathroom, stopping briefly. "Wait here."

In a few minutes, Quentin returns with his razor, a pair of scissors, two towels, a comb, and a spray bottle full of water. He clearly knows what he's doing here. Maybe if this whole leadership of the X-Men doesn't work out, he could be a hair stylist at a saloon.

"But at least you're prepared now, aye?" Evan smirks, following behind Quentin with confident -- though a bit weaving -- steps and leaning against the bathroom door. He eyes the supplies that Quentin returns with, with mild wariness. Whenever he'd cut his own hair he'd just used scissors and a mirror, and he'd only ever even done that when it got really long. He sits on the edge of the tub.

"Awright, let's get it over with then."

He smiles, flashing briefly in a devious fashion before going about his work. He places one of the towels around Evan's shoulders, clipping it on the front with a hair scrunchie to hold it into place and tosses the other towel into Evan's lap.

"Hold that for me," he says without much explanation. he leans over to the electric socket to hook up the razor before picking up the spray bottle and dowsing Evan's hair. "God, McCulloch, your mullet is like a jungle."

Evan holds onto the towel, raising his eyebrow and dipping his head down when Quentin sprays it. He scowls a little, legs and feet twitching a little restlessly. "So it's been a while since I had it cut," he says. At least properly -- he vaguely remembers going through a process similar back at the orphanage, but not in much detail. "You're cutting it off anyway, so what's the problem? Gaun, it cannae be that bad."

Snip, snip, snip. Quentin cuts away at Evan's hair, holding up the top mess of hair with his telekinesis. Once it's short enough, he grabs the electric razor and makes quick work of Evan's neck hair and carefully goes along the side. Not bald, just short. Another spray of the bottle and Quentin combs out the remaining top of Evan's hair before cutting it again. He doesn't lop off a lot of the top like he did the bottom.

But by the time he deems it finished, Evan's hair looks pretty nice. At least in Quentin's opinion. He doesn't hand Evan a mirror because, well, he expects the Mirror Master to get his own damn mirror.

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