(Untitled)

[i_translate_it]

WHO: teenage Doug and pre-X-men Betsy
WHAT: Post-traumatic conversation
WHERE: The Willows, Seattle
WHEN: Monday, after Betsy's post
WARNINGS: I don't expect so?
SUMMARY: Slaymaster handed Betsy her eyes, she fell into another dimension, and now there is an anxious but well-meaning boy who will not go away. Good times.

Comments

[butterflybolts]

Betsy was home because she refused to be bound in a hospital. She refused to recover in such an unwelcoming place. Not that the room she was in felt any better, but at least it didn't have the atmosphere hospitals had.

She likely felt the boy before the knock even came, but it was a few moments after he stopped talking that he'd hear her voice in his head, 'The door's open'.

Though, in retrospect, with someone wanting to fight her out there, that probably was likely not the smartest of ideas.

She was sitting in the common room, in an armchair. A set of crutches propped to one side, a tea tray on the table before her. The spent teabags would give indication that it's been there awhile. Bandages were sporadic over her body, though a concentration of them were, predictably, over her face.

[i_translate_it]

He breathed out a sigh of relief and let himself in. When he saw her, so beat up, he fought down a wave of dismay. He remembered stuff about this fight, in shreds and flashes, images from her mind from when they'd first met. He tried to put the negative emotions away, keep them to himself, like the Prof had taught him.

This is crazy. What can I say?

He sat down in another chair and looked around. It was much homier than 'his' place. File that away for later. I wish 'Lock were here.

"My name's Douglas."

[butterflybolts]

The nice thing about being affiliated with the X-men in such a fashion, is one gets taught a few basics regarding telepathy. Shielding, naturally, and perhaps also how to tell if someone was attempting to feel around in their head. Doug may have felt such a sensation the moment he sat down.

She stood up, bent over to pick up the tray, and carefully navigated her way into the kitchen. It was a slow process, mostly because her leg was broken, and she was doing a good job of hobbling without crutches, and well, getting to the kitchen was dependent on Doug actually looking in its direction.

"And a friend, you've said," she responded quietly.

[i_translate_it]

He felt that light touch in his mind and it triggered the same 'whoa, time to clean up this mess' reaction it always did when he felt Professor X or Rachel doing it. He hoped she didn't look too closely at how they'd met, since that wasn't a fantastic time either, but that meant he had to not think about not thinking about it. Or he'd think about it.

Oh lord, she was going to walk on that? Yes, she was. Doug stood up to help, but Betsy was so determined. Doing stuff for her might be insulting. "It's okay to rest up and heal, you know. I can do the dishes." At least he was looking the right way, watching in case she should stumble.

"That's right. I've known you--you and Brian--for, I guess a couple of months?" Back to not thinking about not thinking about Mojo. "I'm not sure how far off that is in your time." There's another thing life around the X-Men prepares you for. Time-travel.