He puts on his new Victorian duds, navigating the layers effortlessly, and looks the very picture of a well-to-do gentleman. Cleaner, really, than most of the people on the streets, which just serves to make him look all the better.
"Oscar Wilde would LOVE to suck my--" he says as he admires his own reflection in a shop window. He is cut off by the clatter of a taxi carriage going by and he moves quickly to avoid being splashed with mud. What he hopes is mud. What really isn't just mud.
He looks up and down the street. "What we need," he says, presumably talking to you and not just himself, "is absinthe. Non?"
II: SEANCE
Jean-Paul sits grumpily at the table, visibly rolling his eyes. It's not the sort of thing he'd enjoy under any circumstances, and the fact that the stuffy little room smells of incense and Victorian B.O. is not improving his temperament any.
When Mary Price looks at him, however, something changes.
"What haunts you?"
A: TURN OF THE SCREW [CW: suggestive language]
Jean-Paul scoffs. "Nothing," he says, irritated. "I don't have any stupid what ifs, and I don't DO regrets."
The medium's mouth falls open and a cheerful voice, distinctly male, issues forth:
"You sure about that, JP? You don't ever think, hey, maaaaayyyybe if I'd pushed a little I coulda touched his dick?"
Jean-Paul freezes and then does something so rare that most people wouldn't believe it possible: he blushes. Not much, but it's unmistakable.
LOST HEARTS [CW: talk of murder]
Or, when the medium's mouth falls open instead the voice that issues forth is older, softer.
"That's not true, Jean-Paul Martin. There are things you think of nearly every day, and I wish with all my heart you would not."
Jean-Paul jerks as if an unseen blow has been delivered, and his eyes widen. "Non," he murmurs. "It cannot be. I. I don't think of you that often, not anymore."
Jean-Paul Beaubier/Northstar | Marvel !616 | OTA
Jean-Paul looks good.
He puts on his new Victorian duds, navigating the layers effortlessly, and looks the very picture of a well-to-do gentleman. Cleaner, really, than most of the people on the streets, which just serves to make him look all the better.
"Oscar Wilde would LOVE to suck my--" he says as he admires his own reflection in a shop window. He is cut off by the clatter of a taxi carriage going by and he moves quickly to avoid being splashed with mud. What he hopes is mud. What really isn't just mud.
He looks up and down the street. "What we need," he says, presumably talking to you and not just himself, "is absinthe. Non?"
II: SEANCE
Jean-Paul sits grumpily at the table, visibly rolling his eyes. It's not the sort of thing he'd enjoy under any circumstances, and the fact that the stuffy little room smells of incense and Victorian B.O. is not improving his temperament any.
When Mary Price looks at him, however, something changes.
"What haunts you?"
A: TURN OF THE SCREW
[CW: suggestive language]
Jean-Paul scoffs. "Nothing," he says, irritated. "I don't have any stupid what ifs, and I don't DO regrets."
The medium's mouth falls open and a cheerful voice, distinctly male, issues forth:
"You sure about that, JP? You don't ever think, hey, maaaaayyyybe if I'd pushed a little I coulda touched his dick?"
Jean-Paul freezes and then does something so rare that most people wouldn't believe it possible: he blushes. Not much, but it's unmistakable.
LOST HEARTS
[CW: talk of murder]
Or, when the medium's mouth falls open instead the voice that issues forth is older, softer.
"That's not true, Jean-Paul Martin. There are things you think of nearly every day, and I wish with all my heart you would not."
Jean-Paul jerks as if an unseen blow has been delivered, and his eyes widen. "Non," he murmurs. "It cannot be. I. I don't think of you that often, not anymore."
He looks around the séance table, eyes stricken. "This must be a hoax," he all but pleads.