ArchivedLogs:Tiffio

Tiffio
Dramatis Personae Ororo, Sergio	2016-01-12 "Have you come across her since you've taken over her body?"
Location <NYC> Queen's - Newetner Residence
A dark cloud lingers just over the Newetner family's crumbling brick rowhome. The day is gloomy and gray, and Mrs. Newetner's muddled looking shih tzu yaps at every single passing car. Rather than properly training the dog, she perpetuates the noise pollution by screeching right back at it to shut up. Barefoot, Sergio slides off of his frilly powdery-pink duvet. Framed by the canopy of the bed, he bends to retrieve the flute he'd just dropped. Catching his reflection in the adjacent vanity, he believes for a moment that his reflection is someone else's. Slowly drawing the flute up to press against his chest, he waits as if expecting the girl in the mirror to move independently of him. She doesn't. Her face is framed by healthy golden-flecked locks, which Sergio tucks back behind an ear on one side. In direct contrast to her princessy surroundings, whatever figure Tiffany might have is well hidden behind an oversized New York Giants hoodie and saggy pajama pants. Her fingertips are marred with the clumpy product of Sergio's first attempt at having ever painted nails. "Tiffany, sweetie?" Mrs. Newetner taps hesitantly on the open door, already pushing it open. "You have a visitor. She's from a special school! It's-ehem-Mrs? I'm sorry, I know I'll get it right one of these times! Third time's the charm!" The doughy, simple woman breathes out an exasperated little laugh and slaps her leg. She steps aside and makes a grandiose gesture to usher the stranger in the hallway into her daughter's positively saccharine room. "Can I get you anythin'? Tea? Hot Chocolate? Coffee?" "Ororo Munroe. Ms. Munroe is fine, if it's easier for you to remember," Ororo says, her deep voice calm and warm, a soft smile disarming any anxieties Mrs. Newetner may have about her inability to remember or pronounce her name. "And no, thank you. I'm fine," she says in response to the offer of a beverage. She looks toward Tiffany and the flute she has in her hand. "Do you play?" she asks, stepping inside the room though she remains just beside the door, still respecting Tiffany's space. Appearing on behalf of the school, she's elected for business casual attire: grey pencil skirt, black turtlenecked blouse. Her long white hair is for once not hanging loose but pulled up into a tight, if large, bun. "Ms. Munroe!" Mrs. Newetner throws up both hands, committing it to memory, "Munroe, Munroe!" Tiffany doesn't move. Hands holding tightly to the flute, she just stares at Ororo as a deep flush creeps up her neck. Slowly, she lowers the flute to her side. Mrs. Newetner answers the question for her daughter, "Oh, she used to! It's always been her talent- You'll see here, she's won-" Her elation at having her daughter back has her naive and she is eager to motion to the generous display of beauty queen trophies, sashes, and photograph-momentos that line the girl's shelves. "-Could you make me some hot chocolate? Actually?" Sergio asks meekly in Tiffany's sweet, gentle voice. At the sound of it, he can't help but look away from Ororo in shame. "Of course, princess! I'll go put the kettle on right now!" Mrs. Newetner bustles forward and pecks her daughter on the cheek before making her way out of the room. She smiles and nods to Ororo, "Excuse me." Ororo appears to be just as interested in Tiffany's trophies and awards as Mrs. Newetner is in showing them off. "Oh my, those really are some accomplishments," she agrees, looking over the various mementos carefully, all while casting brief glances towards Tiffany and her reaction to her presence. As the mother rushes off to prepare Tiffany's drink and leaves them alone, Ororo offers the girl a careful smile. "So, I hear you've had a...interesting recent few weeks," she says, tiptoeing around the giant elephant in the room just to see how Tiffany/Sergio reacts. Sergio waits until Tiffany's mother has left the room to slump quite dramatically against the nearby vanity, pressing a tiny palm to its surface to support his weight. He looks down at the flute in his hand. "You found me," the girl manages in little more than a whisper, bottom lip quivering. When she looks back up, her eyes are wet with the onset of tears. "Did you not want us to?" Ororo asks, finally making her way into the room and sitting down on Tiffany's bed, near the girl but still a comfortable enough distance away. "This is a...difficult situation. The Professor thought talking with someone you knew before might help. And we can talk about what's going to happen next." "I did," Sergio crawls to join Ororo on the bed, curling a first around the flute and fiddling with it, "But I'm scared." Shrugging inwardly, the young telepath looks out into the room with a small, pathetic whimper. When Tiffany turns back to Ororo, it's with an expression of urgency, "I didn't mean to do this. I didn't do this on purpose. You have to believe me." Speaking quickly, she grips towards Ororo, latching into the frilly duvet cover as a fat tear slides down her chin. "I believe you. I really do," Ororo says, frowning sympathetically at Tiffany's tears. "But what's done is done. And we need to decide what we do now." She glances briefly towards the wall of trophies and awards before turning back to face Tiffany. "Let's start from the beginning. The last anyone saw you, you were in our medical bay, sick with a virus. You died there, or your body did anyway. Tell me what happened next." It takes the girl a moment to be able to speak. She takes a few short, successive breaths and sniffles, "I was... I ran." She blinks hard, bringing up a hand to knuckle away some tears, "It was black at first, because there was no one around. I thought maybe I had died... I mean, I had but... I thought maybe that's what it was like." Sergio fiddles with the flute, staring down at the shiny metal tube. "When I realized that I hadn't, I knew I had to get the cure. I thought, maybe, if I somehow attached myself to the people who were receiving it, I could get it. But it didn't work, nothing worked..." She holds back a sob, but it is strong enough to cause her small body to jump, "I was in the hospital. And the nurse in the room that I was in dropped her phone in the sheets, and cursed. It was like- I was so mad, and I couldn't stop. I don't even know how I did it. But the next thing I knew, I was-" She brings her hands up to her chest and neck, "I was in here. I've been too afraid to leave." Ororo listens carefully as Sergio explains his side of the story. "The virus affects the mind. No one can blame you for what happened," she responds calmly. "So, the virus was triggered in your mind - disembodied mind no less - and you lost control and entered Tiffany." She takes a deep breath, slowly taking in Sergio's new physical host. "What about Tiffany? I mean...her mind and consciousness. Have you come across her since you've taken over her body?" Sergio shakes his head, looking down into Tiffany's hands, "I think she's dead, but in a different way." He curls inward, voice lowering to a whisper as his eyes dart towards the open door, "Someone else did this to her, before I was here. She's an ...she's an empty shell." His host's body convulses slightly as he tries to hold back another little sob, "And when I woke up, they thought-" "They think-" "They think you /are/ Tiffany. A difficult situation indeed," Ororo says, pressing her lips together as she nods. "Well then, before I say anything, I'll ask you. How do you plan on handling this?" “I don’t know,” Sergio admits, head tilting some as his gaze drifts around the room. He looks anywhere but into Ororo’s eyes for some time, going off on an emotionally-fueled tangent, “When I texted Jack, it was… I just want to disappear.” With a dry gulp, he runs his wrist under his nose, “I was afraid you, or Professor Xavier, or Professor Gray, would make me ...make me leave the body. And I was scared of what …” He finally looks at her. His long lashes bat away tears, “-before I came to the school, I was cool with just floating around all invisible. Alone. But I know now that I don’t want to be invisible and alone, Professor Munroe.” “None of us are going to make you do anything. Mostly because there is no right answer,” Ororo says. “There are entire Philosophy classes devoted to this type of situation, hypothetical until now.” She carefully folds her hands on her lap. “If Tiffany were still in there, then there would be an ethical dilemma. But as you said, her body has become a blank slate. However…” Ororo takes a deep breath. “It’s not just your decision to make either. I assume Mrs. Newetner would like a say in her daughter’s body, even if her daughter isn’t necessarily there. And your own mother, who is currently grieving the loss of her only child. She needs to know the truth as well.” Hanging his head, Sergio’s hands don’t fold into his lap so much as seek shelter there between his thighs. “I know,” he whimpers with a cowardly hunch to his posture. In the far reaches of the house, the tea kettle begins to whistle. It signals Mrs. Newetner’s inevitable return. Hiding behind his new tresses, Sergio begins to cry quietly. The whistle also alerts Ororo to Mrs. Newetner’s return. “I think this is something you need to tell her. I don’t think she’d appreciate hearing it from a stranger. Would you like me here with you? Or I can give you some privacy?” Even the possibility of Ororo getting up and leaving the room provokes one of Sergio’s hands to snake out in an attempt to catch the professor's, “Please, don’t leave me.” Appearing in the threshold with a steaming mug of cocoa in hand, Mrs. Newetner lingers. The first spark of true maternal intuition glimmers in the woman’s eye as she catches the intimate exchange between Tiffany and the perfect stranger, Ms. Munroe. Cautiously, she sets the hot beverage aside. “Mo-” Sergio begins, but stops himself short of perpetuating the lie that had already gone too far, “Mrs. Newetner. Could you have a seat? There’s something… You have to know...”