Of all the people Terry expects to show next, Emma Frost is the last. Much as she'd like to think this woman only looks like Emma, Terry's pretty damned sure nobody else would dress the way Emma does. She hopes nobody would, at least.
She comes to a stop in front of the sofa, arms crossed. "Ms. Frost."
Well, this is an unexpected development on several levels. It isn't simply that Terry Cassidy suddenly seems to be several years older or that Emma can't feel her there; it's that there's no one there, not in the way she's accustomed to, nothing to block out, nothing if she reaches for it.
"Ms. Cassidy," Emma says, sitting up, ignoring the way her stomach lurches at that realization. No voices, no thoughts - she hadn't realized anyone else was around at all. She bites back the urge to inform Terry that her uncle's a lunatic. "I didn't think I was unconscious that long."
"I can't say much for what ye were doing before ye showed up here," she says, shrugging apologetically. There isn't much she likes about Emma, but that doesn't mean Terry doesn't understand exactly how she's going to feel in a few moments when she realizes she can't read anyone's mind anymore.
"Coercing your father into killing me on your uncle's behalf," Emma replies dryly. "He's a lunatic, by the way. I'm not sure if you missed that." There's only so long Emma can restrain herself at the best of times. This decidedly does not count as that. She looks around, not bothering to hide her disgust as she stands. "Where is here?"
She can't say much for Uncle Tom now, not really, but he'd been a father to her and Terry'd loved him, despite it all. The truth is a good thing, but it still hurts.
"I figured it out for meself a while back," she replies after a moment. "Nobody knows where we are. Some island on some planet in a universe nobody's sure of. We're powerless, on top of that."
"Yes, I figured that out for myself a moment ago," Emma admits. It's a relief, truth be told, to find that Terry's just as powerless as she is. If nothing else, she's not suffering through it alone. On the other hand, it means it's not a temporary problem with a quick fix. "Any chance there's anything you do know?"
"Depends on what ye'd like to know first," Terry says, reminding herself that she'd been in Emma's position once. "Other than no, nobody knows how to get home."
"How we got here, where the time went, what's become of my students and who's running this side show, for starters." It's not like Emma's going to pretend she doesn't have a million questions. If Terry can't tell her where they are, how to get out or where her powers have gone, she'll just have to cut to the rest.
Terry sighs and sits down, feeling a bit ridiculous having to do this standing up. "Nobody knows how we get here, why where here, or why there're time discrepancies. Ye should get used that, getting I don't know as an answer. Happens a lot."
At least this is a touch better than explaining things to Moira, though Terry's going to leave the news of two of her students not making it for a later time. "Yer students are fine, far as I know. I've even been on a team with Monet for the past couple'o months. It's been a few years."
Emma doesn't doubt her own plans, but it's a relief nonetheless to hear her students make it. It's not as if she has the best track record with that.
"I guessed," she says, glancing over at Terry, who makes the passage of time clear enough just by being there. She can deal with that. It's the loss of her powers she's having trouble with - that and the lack of real answers. "Is it just you, then, or should I be expecting more familiar, slightly-aged faces?" What she wants to ask is And your father? but she'll be damned if she'll actually say it. She did her part. She has to believe he did his.
"Sort of," Terry says, shrugging awkwardly. She'll never admit it, but anything she does in the same vicinity as Emma feels awkward. "Some of the X-Men are here, along with me da. He's young. Twenty-five."
That catches Emma by surprise more than she cares to admit. "Good Lord. How old are you?" She doesn't even want to know who else is here yet. For all she knows, Wolverine's a teenager and no one should have to deal with that.
"Twenty-six," she says with a slight smile. Some days, especially when people show up from her past, she feels older than others. "He won't know ye, but he knows he was headmaster of the school with ye. Paige and Monet used to be here, they sort of filled him in."
It makes no difference to Emma if Sean knows who she is or not, so long as the children are safe. That's the only thing.
She doesn't have to like it, of course.
"Well, that must be strange, being older than him." It's also strange to realize Terry's nearly her own age, but that one, Emma's not saying aloud. "What kind of a place is this anyone? I'm getting incredibly tired of these pocket dimensions."
"And we don't know who's running this place?" That's what sticks out for Emma. She's been in all kinds of strange situations before, but it's rare - if not unheard of - for whoever's behind them not to take some kind of credit. There's a logic, no matter how insane or idiotic, and someone standing in her way. "How long have you been here with no information?"
She comes to a stop in front of the sofa, arms crossed. "Ms. Frost."
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"Ms. Cassidy," Emma says, sitting up, ignoring the way her stomach lurches at that realization. No voices, no thoughts - she hadn't realized anyone else was around at all. She bites back the urge to inform Terry that her uncle's a lunatic. "I didn't think I was unconscious that long."
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"What were ye doing?"
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"I figured it out for meself a while back," she replies after a moment. "Nobody knows where we are. Some island on some planet in a universe nobody's sure of. We're powerless, on top of that."
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At least this is a touch better than explaining things to Moira, though Terry's going to leave the news of two of her students not making it for a later time. "Yer students are fine, far as I know. I've even been on a team with Monet for the past couple'o months. It's been a few years."
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"I guessed," she says, glancing over at Terry, who makes the passage of time clear enough just by being there. She can deal with that. It's the loss of her powers she's having trouble with - that and the lack of real answers. "Is it just you, then, or should I be expecting more familiar, slightly-aged faces?" What she wants to ask is And your father? but she'll be damned if she'll actually say it. She did her part. She has to believe he did his.
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She doesn't have to like it, of course.
"Well, that must be strange, being older than him." It's also strange to realize Terry's nearly her own age, but that one, Emma's not saying aloud. "What kind of a place is this anyone? I'm getting incredibly tired of these pocket dimensions."
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It's almost as bad as any myriad number of scrapes the X-Men have found themselves in from time to time. At least nobody's trying to kill them.
Well, not all the time.
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