Blondes Have More Fun

June 6, 2014I: Nancy changes her look to better help her hide from Hydra

Doug's Apartment

Small one bedroom apartment in New York



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Mood Music:

Nancy O'Neal gets on the phone after Scott and Calvin leave. She heads into the bathroom for privacy and is in there for a little while before she comes out. She tosses the phone on the couch and grabs a spare pair of army boots that is sitting beside her duffle bag. The look on her face is determined as she grabs a knife from the kitchen and starts to cut off the heel of both of the boots. "For what it's worth, DOug. I'm sorry I put you into this mess."

Wrinkling his nose, Doug shrugs. "Well, like it or not, I'm in it now. At least I can cover my own tracks, but… a cover identity? I'm not interested in going into the witness protection program, so I'm hoping Calvin will solve this soon enough.

Looking at the cutting, Doug queries, "What're you doing with the boots?"

Nancy O'Neal is still rather studiously cutting her boots apart. "I just got off the phone with my trainer. Apparently, she made plans for such a contingency." One of the heels is finally removed from it's boot. Nancy pulls out a drivers license with a new name and a wad of cash and a slip of paper. "Don't suppose you're willing to do a bit of shopping for me so we can go to the bank downtown, are you?"

"Lovely," Doug notes, frowning. "You know, don't you think it's a bit weird that your trainer has contingencies for having -spies- on you?"
Still, the young mutant nods, waiting for her to finalize plans before he can close the distance and gather up the money.

Nancy O'Neal chuckles. "The Partisan is paranoid. She is suspicious of everyone. She wanted me to walk out of here and leave you guys. Says you can't be trusted. I told her that you guys have powers, that you've offered me help with that. She doesn't like it, but she's willing to let me try things my way." She opens up the sheet of paper and then back at the drivers license. "So, apparently, I'm Tabitha now. Do I look like a Tabitha Greene to you?"

"More like a Tabby," Doug replies as he skitters around the limit, waiting for her to finish up. "What do I have to get you?"

Nancy O'Neal tosses the wad of money over to her friend and the drivers license. "Bleach for my hair. Apparently, I look like that now." The drivers license shows her as a bottle blonde. Tabitha Greene is from Kansas. For the record, the drivers license looks rather realistic. A novice would not be able to tell the difference, a pro would have difficulties. "Once I'm a blonde, we can go and get the banking done. Then we have to toss the car and my phone out."

Blonde. Somehow, it fits, though Doug isn't going to voice that opinion out loud. Plus, Illyana would throw a fit.

Nodding slowly, Doug catches the money, and takes the license, taking a look at the hair color. Yeah. Should be easy enough to match, if he could find the right bottle. "Not bad. Okay, I'll go get a bottle of hair dye. Anything else?"

Another grumpy blonde in Doug's life. Lucky guy. Just what he needed. "Not dye. Just bleach. You'll notice the picture is just bleach blonde. It's gonna dry out my hair like nobody's business, but I needed to do my roots anyway. So I'll just cut a bunch off and I should be okay." She tosses Doug the keys to the Jetta outside. "If you want to use it, feel free. Might as well while we still have it."

"Fine," Doug replies, shaking his head.

It doesn't take him terribly long, not with a car, and he does pick a location far away enough that they wouldn't just figure out which apartment he was near.

When he returns, it is with a bottle of bleach, hair conditioner and rinse to help moisturize the hair, and gatorade. For electrolytes, of course. "I'm back… what are you doing?"

Nancy O'Neal is in the kitchen, washing dishes. "I just thought I would help you out a little bit. You know, as a thanks for all this bull I'm putting you through." Her cello sits by the couch. She must have been playing it earlier.

Placing the bag of hair sundries onto the counter, Doug shakes his head. "Right. So once we get your hair done, we'll contact Calvin and see if we can find Illy." He's getting down to business, mostly because he's not all that comfortable discussing, well, the upheaval of life.

Nancy O'Neal takes the bag of hair supplies and rolls her eyes. "So I really have to deal with her? Seriously? I used to think I was a bitch, but I don't make a habit of breaking into peoples homes and threatening their lives. What do you see in her? Honestly." She heads into the bathroom and soon comes out smelling awful, her head caked with white goo.

"I don't see anything. She's just… Illyana," Doug replies as he busies himself with straightening up, if only because it keeps him occupied. That, and he was going to hack soon enough as he could, once he had an idea what was going on. Beginning with this 'Partisan'.

"So, this stuff has to sit in my hair for a while. What do you want to do in the meantime." She goes back to the kitchen and finishes off the cleaning of the dishes. She has to look around for where to put things when she dries them, so the going is slow, but she finishes after a bit. It would seem she is keeping herself out of the magic distance.

Eyeing Nancy, Doug shakes his head, before eyeing the television. Picking up a console remote controller, he tosses it over to Nancy. "How about Cuigi Kart?" he replies, as he picks up another one to start playing.

It takes a bit of a while before Doug ventures to ask another question: "What about your mom, do we need to watch for her too?"

Nancy O'Neal smiles as she grabs the controller. "Sure. I've never played before, so you're likely gonna whip my butt." Not that she seems to mind. She heads over to the couch and sits herself down, smelling of hair bleach. "That Jericho guy said he will watch her. He's worried they will use her to get to me. Personally, I don't think she cares enough about me to be useful to them. But… it's not her feelings that Jeri is worried about."

"It's not that hard. Steer this way, use a button to accelerate, use the other button to use the item you pick up along the ways, and stay away from things that will stop you from driving," Doug responds, as he calls up the tutorial.

After a bit of driving, Doug ventures to ask, "Who -is- this Jeri dude?"

Nancy O'Neal realizes she is sitting to close to Doug as they play the game and gets up to see if she can play from the kitchen. "I really your friend Hank can figure out how to stop this. It's getting a little annoying. And by little, I mean it's a pain in my ass. At least Hank likes it. "Ummm… well… I know he can turn into a werewolf made of light. Or grow wings made of light. I've… had to deal with him a couple times."

"Dr. McCoy will probably just give you some sort of power dampener, I bet," Doug responds as Nancy is in a safer position. There's a pause as he tilts his head briefly. "You think he's on the up and up? I'd want Calvin to meet him too, at some point…"

You say, "If he has one of those, why isn't he using it on himself, the goof." She smirks and rolls her eyes. She plays the game, sticking her tongue out as she tries to concentrate on the game. Her tongue tip moves as she steers, going to whichever side of her mouth that her car is on the road. Her shoulders lean when she steers around corners, as if it will help. "I don't know. My trainer says not to trust him, but like I said, she says not to trust anyone. Mind you, he did bring a whole slew of people with guns chasing him into the mall.""

"Because he likes it, I think," Doug replies. "It's not as if he hasn't gotten used to it."

Steering through obstacles, Doug nods slowly. "I guess we should suggest to Calvin to check out your friend too, just in case."

You say, "I wouldn't call him my friend, so much as a guy who is always around when there is trouble." She tries not to smile then and laughs. "So, like me and you?" Nancy/Tabby is not having an easy time with the game. "Gonna go rinse my hair out. Ready for be being blonde?"

"… Not really," Doug sighs. "Don't let Illy catch you being her hair color."

Nancy O'Neal snorts as she heads into the bathroom. "Illy doesn't have the sole license to a hair colour, Dougie. Or she'd have to kill for Madonna, Lady Gaga, Blondie."

"You haven't noticed how much clones they are of Illy?" Doug notes dryly.

Nancy O'Neal is in the bathroom for a while, rinsing out her hair. When she finally comes out, her hair is a lot different. Shorter too, but it still has orangey tips where the bleach had to deal with the black dye from before. "Wait, she has clones too? Should I be surprised? She's all colours of … weird."

"No, she doesn't, really. Though have you taken a look at Lady Gaga? I wouldn't be surprised if she -were- an Illy clone…" Doug replies, grinning.

Nancy O'Neal takes a moment to think about it and nods her head as she considers. "Okay, actually, I can totally see that. Though I think Gaga has a bit of a warped sense of style." She goes to lace up her boots, the only black she is wearing now. "So, do I look different enough? Think it's safe to go to the bank?"

"You should see Illy when she's dressed up for Limbo," Doug notes.

Leaning back to consider the hairstyle, Doug nods slowly. "I don't think your own mother would recognize you. Just smile."

You say, "Smile? I don't smile. You clearly don't know me very well if you're asking me… oh… hardy har har. Funny one, there Doug." She rolls her eyes and gets ready to go, popping a lollipop into her mouth. "Ready to go?""

"-Now- you get it," Doug can't help but grin, as he shuts down the console, and prepares to head out. "After you."

Nancy O'Neal tries to smile, but it really doesn't look convincing. Nancy/Tabby isn't the sort of person to just smile for no reason. aPerpetual bitch face some would call it. She is about to head out the door when she heads back to her stuff. "My trainer wants me to have my gun with me at all times." She pulls out a Glock and looks at it, sighing. Not happy about it, clearly. "Not in a bank though. That's just askng for trouble." She puts it back in her bag and then heads out the door.

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