The X-Project

Sparks fly as two music loving mutants meet up in a record store. And no, it's not in a good way.


Mark normally liked shopping at small music stores, places that sell second-hand CDs and LPs. There was a great one near Second Avenue that he adored and patronized constantly. But sometimes they just don't have what you need, which leads people like Mark uptown to the loud, bright, and packed fourteen-by-four block area of Times Square. Many might consider it a special talent that Mark was able to move fluidly through the human traffic between the subway stop at 42nd Street and the Virgin Megastore at 45th without colliding into anyone or getting pick-pocketed.

He took a deep breath of new CD and capitalism as he stepped inside, and immediately headed over to the new releases display. "Why is Hillary Duff allowed to do anything?" he asked no one in particular upon seeing her album. He shook his head and picked up the CD next to it. "Oh, Beyonce, I love you so. You're coming home with me."

John who had been browsing through the display couldn't help but let out a rather distinct snort at hearing that. He had in his hands a copy of Kaiser Chiefs 'Yours Truly Angry Mob'. Post-Punk. Indie Rock. It was a clear example of an album worth purchasing.

"Oh, don't be like that," Mark said, looking up in the direction of the clearly audible derision. He was used to people making comments about his music, so he just smirked. "Vapid, contentless pop is no worse than your generic screeching guitars and Liam Gallagher-esque vocals."

"...just part of my anger management therapy," he muttered out, flicking a quick glance at Mr. Beyonce as he lifted Machine Head's 'The Blackening' up in full view. "Helps drown my screams at night?"

Mark laughed at that. "You look familiar," he said slowly. And that wasn't just a pick-up line, either, even if this guy was worth second, third, and fourth looks. "Have we met?"

The only reply given to that was a smirk. John hadn't even bothered to look up. "...judging from your taste in music, I think we're already pretty much worlds apart here."

"Don't judge me on my silly pop days," replied Mark, mirroring the smirk. "No, I think I remember. You go to Xavier's, right? Just stirred up a bit of shit on the blogs."

At the mention of Xavier's, he rolled his eyes. There was the sharp click, whir, snap of his lighter as John started to fiddle with it. He replied with a mere 'hm' before turning to look at the guy. "...and just who the hell are you?"

"Mark Sheppard. I work at Snow Valley with Doug, Angie, Amanda, and all those other people you seem to get on with so well." The smirk never left his lips, but his eyebrows raised ever so slightly at the sight of the lighter.

It was an old, trifle habit of his to mess with the metal zippo in his hand. As he stared back at Mark, he looked almost...bored. "Oh," John said, before returning his attention to the vast array of album covers in front of him. "So how are they?"

Mark considered both the question and the questioner before answering. "Is that an 'I may or may not actually be interested in what they're up to' or an 'I'm asking just to be polite'?" he replied evenly.

John arched his head back as he took in a deep breath, eyes narrowing slightly in pretend thought. He bit down on the edge of his bottom lip before letting out a bit of a shrug. "I don't know, Priscilla. Between seeming interested and being all polite..." He whistled low. "That's seriously a tough question."

Bloc Party joined Beyonce and The Shins in Mark's growing pile. "Priscilla? That's a new one. Do I really look like a Priscilla?" If snippy was to be the name of the game, then snippy he'd play. He brushed past John to get to the CD rack at his other side. "Obviously politeness isn't one of your fortes, yeah? And yet, I doubt interest is, either."

"Well, a guy's got a reputation to uphold." He eyed Mark's albums just then. "Unlike some people." And boy oh boy, the downhill tumble from maturity had all but started again.

"Oh, sweetie, I'm all about challenging people's expectations. That is really the only facet to my reputation." Mark added a copy of the Berlin Philharmonic performing Holst's The Planets to the mix, as if to emphasize that.

"Look," John said. "...Sheppard," he added, as an afterthought. "I'm sorry for having treaded on your skirt, alright? Now you've got Christina, Beyonce and Justin Timbershits on your side and I've got my death metal and punk. I'm contented. You're contented. So let's just the cut the crap and get back to our music pickings."

Mark smiled. Pleasantly, even, with no malice or insincerity hidden behind it. "You misunderstand. My panties remain untwisted. It takes a lot more to ruffle me. I mean, I work with Pete on a daily basis. I'm just wondering why you get off on being so . . . contrary." That's one way to put it. "Do you honestly just not like people or what?"

"Hell, I don't know. Maybe I'm a sucker for anathema." He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up slightly. "What?" John arched an eyebrow up at Mark. "You want to hear my life story?"

"Would you give it to me if I did?" Mark retorted. "I picked up the basics around the office. Went to Xavier's for a while, left to join Magneto's roadies, then came back when that wasn't all it was cracked up to be. If I were the analytical sort, I'd say that you treat people the way you do to set low expectations so when you screw up, you don't disappoint. But I'm not, and I think you're just a jackass."

"Oh, really?" He stepped forward, malice in his eyes this time as he stared down at the other mutant. And it took John a moment to regain control of his rising temper but when he did, he stepped back and away with a slight shake of his head. "Whatever, man." He'd had enough of trying to deal with people.

It was a testament to his time at SV that Mark barely flinched or backed up when the taller man approached. The taller, Magneto-trained pyrokinetic, even. He did let go a breath he didn't realize that he was holding in when John stepped back, though. "Look, sorry. What's with the hostility, really? Did I offend you in some way? Before just now that is."

John shrugged. "...a bad reaction to people knowing who I am," he said. "And for the record -- you're right. I am a jackass. ...but I'd be willing to start over though." Awkward moment aside, he extended his hand out to Mark. "John Allerdyce."

Mark accepted it without hesitation and shook firmly. "Mark Sheppard. Nice to meet you. Yo, you seeing Death Cab next month? They're playing right down the street."