Ethereal | (X-Men: First Class)

11. Supportive

Providing encouragement or emotional help.

⭇⭁

French Translations

Répugnant. J'ai des normes: Disgusting. I have standards.

⭇⭁

"I need to borrow clothes from you," Marianne said; she hadn't quite burst in on Moira, but it was a near thing. It was only a last-minute decision that kept her from throwing the doors open as dramatically as the situation required.

Instead, she opened the door normally, walked in urgently, and Moira, who had been cleaning her gun, looked up at her in surprise.

"What for?" Moira asked, not setting aside the disassembled pieces she had in her hands and on her lap. She was sitting in an armchair by the window - she had chosen a room with large windows and plenty of natural sunlight, but a little smaller than the other rooms.

"Charles told me the only training clothes available are sets of sweatpants and sweatshirts," Marianne said, walking over to stand by the bench at the foot of Moira's bed. She wrinkled her nose, disgust filling her voice as she said, "I refuse to wear anything like that. The boys may be satisfied but I refuse."

Moira looked like she didn't know whether to be amused or not.

"I thought I would ask you and Raven, but I came to you first," Marianne continued, "since you're more likely to be in my size."

"I don't have much," Moira warned.

Marianne sighed. "I can wear the sweatpants. If you have any sort of appropriate shirt - a tank top, a t-shirt, anything, that would be fine. I just cannot bring myself to wear the sweatshirt with the pants. They're hideous. Répugnant. J'ai des normes."

Moira's lips twitched. "Yes, I can tell." She placed the pieces of her gun on the table next to her and stood up. "I travel light, normally," she said as she went to her bed, where her small suitcase was open and still packed. "It's what I'm trained for. I only bring necessities. So I have one or two shirts you could use, but try this one on first, make sure it fits."

She tossed a black tanktop to Marianne, who caught it with her powers before she took it in hand.

"Did you have to train much?" Marianne asked. She placed the shirt on the bed before she started undoing the buttons of her own shirt. Moira respectfully turned away. "To get to where you are in the CIA?"

"Yes." Moira sat on the bed, still averting her eyes. "I started out in the typing pools, so I had a lot of work to do before I could be considered ready for the field."

"Typing pools?" She repeated, unfamiliar with the term.

"Groups of secretaries. I spent years there, typing documents and letters and getting coffee, worked my way up the system, and eventually became an agent."

"It sounds hard," Marianne said, taking off her own shirt and reaching for Moira's. "Do you enjoy the work?"

"I love my work. Hate most of the people I work with."

"Men?" Marianne asked sympathetically.

Moira scoffed. "You got it. Ten years and my superiors still don't trust I know what I'm doing. Most of the agents I work with don't, either. At least they've stopped asking me to get them their coffee, though. You should have seen their faces when I brought in Charles the first time."

"There must have been someone you liked. Anyone?"

Moira was silent for a moment.

"Agent Platt was always nice to me," she said finally. "He was a good man."