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Post by Hank McCoy on Jun 27, 2007 8:51:17 GMT -4
"Next", Henry called out.
He had lost count. Was it fifty? Maybe sixty?
He wasn't sure. He only knew that taking applications and conducting interviews was a lot better idea on paper than it was in practice. They sat in a row of three chairs - Henry, Callie and Emma - and faced the applicants, one of which now walked in and returned their assessing stare.
Henry still thought that they should all agree, but it was beginning to look like the odds of finding such a person were very long ones. There was something each of them didn't like about all of the candidates it seemed.
And speaking of "long ones", Henry couldn't help but stare at the wooly spidery arms - all four of them - of the....person....that stared back. The upturned tusks that reached its eyebrows. The disturbingly small pupils. The spikes on the end of its tail.
He turned to look at Callie whose wide eyes blinked back.
Henry nodded. "I'm sure you're very sweet", he said with a quick turn to the applicant. He didn't really sound like he meant it.
"Next", Henry called out.
At least they were going faster, Henry thought. But at this rate he'd feel more comfortable with the idea of having Victor Creed watch his daughter than any of these weirdos. And that was saying something.
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Post by Callie on Jun 27, 2007 9:23:45 GMT -4
This wasn't quite what Callie had expected from the interviews.
Ok, so, she had liked a couple of them, but they'd always turned out to be somebody that neither of her parents were too impressed with.
The eight foot valkyrie-like woman who was next on the list scared Callie so much they had to pause the interviewing for half an hour for her to calm down.
This was definitely not what she had expected.
Things got back on track soon after, mind, though it didn't exactly begin to look up.
The colourfully dressed man with dreadlocks that appeared first after the break delighted Callie, but one look at his dilated pupils had both her parents sending him out before the interview had got very far at all.
Callie herself called out a desperate squeak of a 'next' before the following candidate - a shuffling, amorphous blob of purply-black that looked more like something out of a child's nightmare than a nanny - had even had a chance to sit down.
"Daddy," she whispered, leaning over before the next candidate came in "This isn't going very well."
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Post by Emma Frost on Jun 27, 2007 22:54:51 GMT -4
No, Emma agreed, mentally, her thoughts sour. It definitely wasn’t.
The desire to work unbothered was not winning out over the safety of her child. Considering the fact that the Mind Witch easily could have hand-picked some of the applicants for inmates to participate in her re-training school spoke volumes of their character, or lack thereof. So far the grand scheme accomplished nothing but scaring the pants off of her child and causing Emma great concern for those upholding their way of life.
At Callie’s call, the door opened to a big smelly... thing and Emma tried to not wrinkle her nose with disgust. It seemed that her mutant power was to ooze a pungent odor into the air of whatever room she was occupying. If they wanted to smother and kill Clarissa, she’d do fine. Besides, the woman reasoned with herself as she called out, “NEXT.”
She was wrinkly.
The physical unattractiveness seemed to be a progressive trend with the subsequent applicants, and Emma watched them all enter quickly and leave at her authoritative command, if it was possible, even faster. Didn’t they know who it was they were going to work for? They may not be in the middle of a fashion district, but Emma Frost was easily the best dressed and well groomed person within the walls of the Castle Complex.
She dismissed two more people in the line for fear of her daughter’s sanity. One was a walking lizard that approached the assessors with a rather hungry demeanor and caused all three of them to back away slowly until Emma was assured that she had a good enough hold on the man’s mind to guide him out the door safely. The other seemed normal, until he started showing off several of his various tattoos, strategically hidden under his clothing.
How do they even get started on these topics? she thought as she waved him out, throwing his shirt and belt out the open door.
“For God’s sake!” she almost shrieked, strands of her hair falling out of its neat bun and hanging in her face, “Next!”
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Post by tara on Jun 27, 2007 23:22:15 GMT -4
[OOC: Hopefully it's fine that I'm popping in now - if y'all want to have more fun with the random and disturbing prospective-nannies first, lemme know... Heh.
Oh, and ...present-tense is okay, too, right? Haven't officially played in so long I can't remember if that was even a rule or not here. >.>;;]
Still debating with herself over this job option (a nanny? Really? Because she so doesn’t see herself as a nanny, because aren’t all nannies old, gray hair tied in a bun, wearing old-fashioned clothes and with glasses pushed down on their nose, all prim and proper and strict? But surely it pays well, and she could really use the money...), Tara eyes the other waiting applicants, trying to keep the disturbed look off her face (and trying to stifle the snickers that occasionally bubble up inside).
Few actually fit the image of a nanny suitable for a child of any sort except maybe a child from outer space or something, and even less meet her mental image of the steriotype for them…
So maybe there’s a chance? Though, really, she doesn’t actually …know what to do with kids, does she? Entertaining them sounds easy enough – what kid isn’t amused by shiny objects and chocolate, after all? – and it’s not like this kid is going to be an infant she’d have to really take care of a lot or anything…
And besides, she’s next in line to enter the room, so making the decision’s just as easy as walking across one room, into another. Simple. Yep. She’s absently fidgeting with her jewelry, hoping her overabundance of shiny and random accessories won’t bother her possible-future employers, make her appear young as she sorta-actually is, as she walks into the room and takes the seat she assumes is meant for whoever’s in the interview position at the moment.
It’s not really like her to feel shy, so this isn’t ‘shyness’ it’s just sort of that weird awkwardness of a prospective employee hoping she’s not about to screw up and say something stupid, hoping she’s not going to come off as ditzy or at all crazy-like, because she doesn’t think she’d want someone crazy or scatterbrained watching her kids, if she had any, and she’s pretty sure most people feel the same, ‘cause what if someone forgot to feed the kid, or forgot where the kid was…? And, ooh, she’s a cute one, adorable and …cat ears? Awesome…
...And she’s definitely really distracted, probably not actually helping avoid the airheaded-ditz image, so she looks over towards the parents and tosses a small wave (the jangle of too-many bracelets making her internally wonder why she hadn’t gone with a more conservative look for the day, but she pushes the thought aside, because aren't they going for not ditzy? Yes. very-not, preferably. Intelligent and smart and together and... stuff), and flashes a smile.
”Hiya... Umn. ‘M Tara...”
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Post by Callie on Jun 28, 2007 10:03:32 GMT -4
Callie nearly breathed a sigh of relief as the next applicant walked into the room.
It wasn't that she looked 'normal' - because let's face it, anyone who looks like she does with a father like Henry McCoy didn't really count 'normal' as, well, normal. Not in this day and age.
But the point was she didn't look scary.
She also looked nervous, like she was actually worried what they thought, which Callie liked - half the other applicants had come in all cocky as if they deserved the job, and the young girl had felt particularly stubbornly set against them.
She looked nice, friendly, lots of shiny bracelets that caught the child's gaze and made her smile when she waved. Callie waved back.
And she introduced herself by her name - there had been a particularly stuffy woman who had introduced herself primly as "Mrs Johnson", which the nine year old hadn't liked at all.
Tara was certainly doing well in Callie's eyes at least.
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Post by Hank McCoy on Jul 10, 2007 20:39:42 GMT -4
"Tara", Henry repeated. He nodded and blinked at her as he tried to figure out what might be wrong with her that he hadn't seen yet.
Whatever it was, it eluded him.
"Why don't you tell us about yourself?", he suggested, thinking it would most likely make itself plain as soon as she started to speak. Or showed her fangs. Or changed into a chicken or something.
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Post by tara on Jul 11, 2007 4:31:33 GMT -4
...Well, so far so good, she reasons - they haven't kicked her out yet. Most of the others who'd gone in hadn't been in very long, some even less than she's been already. And Callie seems to at least not be scared of her (though, really, having seen some of the others? The likelihood of being the scariest thing the poor girl's seen in just the past ten minutes is very slim). So that's good...
"Tara. [...] Why don't you tell us about yourself?"
Tara half-shrugs slowly, hesitates just a second, a little uncertian as to what she's meant to tell, 'cause it's not like she's got any sort of resume to list off, and she's not sure if they'd like that anyway, and telling about herself like hobbies and random things like that doesn't seem like the most important thing ever for a job interview (at least not this soon, because sometimes job interviews are fun and conversational and you hit it off with them right away, but she's totally getting off topic now and should probably say something before the pause is long at all).
"Um...I'm eighteen - hopefully tha' isn't really a probblem or anythin', me not bein' old. Didn't know if old was required or not..." she adds the end as an afterthought, tone somewhere between slightly worried-curious and conversational, then sort of half-shrugs and continues, almost babbling once she gets started because once it gets going the words never really want to stop and she's not uncomfortable when she's talking (or, well, she doesn't notice it if she is, anyway, because she's too busy talking to realize it).
"Also, I don't sleep. Um, at all ever, mostly. It's part of my mutation - well, that and all the coffee, I guess, 'cause coffee's amazing... and pretty much half my bloodstream. Not literally, jus' a figure'a speech, sorry - and so I sorta thought that'd be helpful with the whole watching-over, runnin' around, whatever. Though, um, I don' ...actually have ...any experience with kids. At all. Um." she stops, blinks, and flashes a sheepish grin, "And I babble sometimes. Apparently. Sorry."
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Post by Emma Frost on Jul 11, 2007 18:16:05 GMT -4
Emma was already putting together a list. She was infamously hard to impress.
Too much gaudy jewelry… she’s too young… no experience with children… never shuts up. This girl pretty much oozes her disqualifications out of her mouth. I wonder if that happens to be a mutation of hers.
She smirked, almost sweetly, “Tara, love.”
Although, the blonde woman had to admit that this applicant was much more suited and seemingly trustworthy than any of the previous, er, people had been.
“Breathe.”
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Post by Callie on Jul 13, 2007 18:00:36 GMT -4
Callie smiled encouragingly, this girl seemed really nice. She wasn't mean, or arrogant, she was... just a person. And she was quite young, so Callie had already started imagining her in an older sister sort of role - like how Kyle, when he wasn't busy with her father's work, was something of an older brother to her.
Her mother didn't seem immediately dismissive, in fact she was almost encouraging, that was a good sign.
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