Jean was currently positioned in the middle of the mess hall. Her mind was wide open, her eyes closed softly, and she was listening. The din of psychic voices around her was soothing, feeding her a nearly giddy energy. She wasn't honing in on any one thought, just loving that she had the ability to sit there, free to dip into any open mind that
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It was hard not to notice the redheaded woman. That color of hair couldn't be real. Raising an eyebrow, Kat pursed her lips. "Sorry if this is rude, but do you dye your hair?"
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My, she was stir-crazy. And my, she was pissed off at her boyfriend.
It wasn't what was going on with Kat's main thoughts though. Something was very off inside this girl's head. "I'm Jean." She sipped her coffee, studying the brunette across from her.
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She gave Jean a small brief smile, one that didn't reach her eyes. "Kat."
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She wasn't crazy; no, she was perfectly sane. Jean moved to her memory center, feeling along until she bumped into something very wrong. It was like the memory had been ripped it half, part of it taken out, before being sewn back together. "Nice to meet you, Kat," Jean said, her eyes on Kat's face but her mind completely elsewhere ( ... )
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The monkey stopped to pull up his sock, POP! goes the weasel. She giggled aloud, a smiling face sitting in her peanut butter. She licked the sticky mess from her fingers before slicing a banana carefully and covering the jam and gherkin with it.
All around the Mulberry Bush, the warthog chased the weasel. The warthog pulled out his elephant gun. POP! goes the Weasel. Ophelia wasn't rightly aware that anyone would be listening in on her thinkings. Emma had done it once, and once only. Ophelia found that while the telepath was clever and pretty and felt so very much, she wasn't too keen on the ( ... )
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She watched her movements, feeling her stomach turn a little at whatever the girl was putting together as a sandwich. Jean knew mental instability when she felt it. It was like someone had taken the girls thoughts, laid them out on a table, then chopped them up and pushed them back into her head.
Jean slid down the table until she was seated across from the girl. "I thought the monkey chased the weasel," she said quietly, "not the warthog."
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People knew things, that she understood. This woman knew it, and she had an aura of complexity about her. It was hard to get a good feel on the emotions; pride and power ran hand in hand, a darkness that felt cold and hollow.
"Strange it seems, but sense it makes. The monkey won't chase less you raise the stakes." And Ophelia took a bite of her sandwich happily, smiling closed mouthed at the woman.
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Then again, there was the rhyming. "So what does the monkey need to chase?" Jean lifted a brow, a smile coming across her lips. She wasn't going to go delving into the girls head outside of the general feel she'd gotten for it already. Yet. But a little bit of questioning never hurt anyone.
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She felt so alone, isolated. She had no one else here she was close to except Jack. Obviously, she couldn't talk to him about this. She so desperately needed to talk to someone. Jessie hadn't seen Edie in days. Perhaps she had scared the other girl off by sharing too much. Domino was busy with her own problems. And Jessie was doing so well at making new friends herself. She was not one bit closer to finding out what Stryker was really up to.
She was so frustrated, and angry, she wanted to cry. Even though she knew feeing sorry for herself was a complete waste of time, Jessie felt like wallowing for a while.
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Sure sign of someone with something bothering them.
She made her way over to the girl, sitting down quietly. "Why so glum?"
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She smiled weakly. "It's nothing a few pictures of margaritas and six months of psychotherapy wouldn't cure."
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She let her mind open to the girl, picking up the mental images more quickly. A man, two women (one of whom she'd seen reflected in Logan's mind), and a general worry about herself. Hmmm.
Jean returned the smile. "If you get your hands on some margaritas, please let me know." She extended a hand across the table. "I'm Jean. I just got here a few days ago."
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He saw the new woman sitting with her own coffee but wasn't sure if she'd want any company or not.
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"Aren't you a little young for coffee?"
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He took a bite of his sandwich chewing happily.
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At least this one seemed quiet.
She simply nodded at his statement about the coffee, then turned her attention elsewhere.
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He was smiling a little, his thoughts going over how much better he was sleeping now that he and Fred had talked over the dreams which had been plaguing his friend. Despite being stuck indoors John felt pretty positive.
Training in the gym, reading books, chatting with the other members of the team and cooking. All things that John was more than happy to do, especially if it meant he didn't have to kill anyone.
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It was so out of the ordinary of what was flowing around her that Jean searched it out. There she saw John in front of the coffee machine. She glanced at her mug and saw it was nearing empty, so she got up, sidling up to the man and smiling at him congenially. "Is there enough for 2 cups?"
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"For a lady like yourself there is always plenty of room for two coffee cups. Just don't go tellin' the others I'm makin' you a mug of else they'll all be expectin' me to be the tea boy. For some of them it ain't already enough that I do the cookin' round here." Pressing the various buttons John waited for the coffee machine to whir into life before holding out his hand.
"John Wraith an' may I be so bold as to ask who you might be?"
Manners, always being polite and considerate, John gave everyone a chance to prove that they were a decent individual before he decided if they were trustworthy or not. Nothing against all the new additions but it was hard to know who to trust in a job where guns were handed out left, right and centre... along with all those mutations.
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She shook his hand, trying to keep the smile in her eyes. "I'm Jean, it's a pleasure to meet you John." Jean studying him for a quick moment. He couldn't really be that nice, right?
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