Nothing says I respect you like a box filled with toupées.
=XS= The Attic - Xavier's School
Unlike some attics which are merely used for storage and collecting dust and cobwebs, this one seems to be well-maintained. There are cardboard boxes neatly stacked in one corner of it nearly to the ceiling, and turning a corner to either of the spaces above the wings reveals treasures dating back for over a century, but at least the junk's not just lying all over the place. Sunlight is generous here, and streams through large and numerous windows onto the creaking wooden floorboards and the dozens of plants that occupy the area. They seem to thrive in this sunny environment through all seasons, and someone evidently takes good care of them judging by the full leaves and cheerful blossoms on some that render the air pleasant with the scent of fresh flowers to counteract musty attic. Near an old, beat-up couch resting against the back wall, a set of stairs lead further up, and out onto the roof.
At first glance, the attic looks deserted. And second glance too, for that matter. It's the noises that give the illusion away. Slides and scrapes and thumps and grunts ring out in regular rhythm from around a corner where dusty relics spread out over the ceilings of the mansion's wings. Scott has been at this for quite a while, it seems. He's covered in dust and cobwebs, a dark smudge spreads across his cheek, and the remnants of a long packed trunk are spread out around him.
No matter how many times students are told not to get into the building via the treehouse some students will never learn. Perhaps the worst for using the unconventional enterance is Cassy, telekinetic teen terror, who cheerfully wanders in through the roof access door chatting into a dictaphone. "Number of paces on the roof same as last trip," she mutters. "And no obvious alteration of the camera positions."
Scott sneezes loudly from around the corner.
"Ah shit," Cassy declares, clicking the dictaphone off and scrambling to hide it in her jacket pocket.
Scott's hand wraps around the corner, and then his shaggy, dust covered hair flops into view just ahead of his signature glasses. "Cassy." He says it so flatly, it's far too easy to overlook the hint of humor that warms his voice.
"Is totally innocent of whatever you're suspecting," Cassy finishes with well practised ease. "Did you get engine oil in the kitchen or something Professor Summers? Because if you did it's gonna cost you to ensure my silence next time Madame Vargas is around."
"What?" Poor Scott. Cassy is going to have to be clearer if she wants to blackmail him. "I never get oil in the kitchen." He's so anal about everything being kept in its place that he's probably right. "What are you doing up here?"
Cassy rolls her eyes. "That was Cassy speak for 'why are you hiding in the attic'," she explains. "And I'm totally doing nothing, just stretching the old legs as part of my work out routine."
"Oh." He straightens and edges around the corner, patting at his shirt and jeans and kicking up a cloud of dust. "Just going through some of the junk we've got stored up here. It's a fire hazard."
"It is?" Cassy wonders, brightening at the topic. "Cool. So found anything worth any money yet? Or maybe some secret gun stash from the Professors mispent youth."
"No, but I found the stash of christmas toupees." /That/ begs explanation.
Cassy blinks. "I never understood the buying of toupees, not when shoe polish is so much cheaper."
Scott shrugs and laughs. Just a little one. The earth doesn't shake. "It was a joke. Warren would buy one for the Professor every year while he lived here, and a few years after."
"But it's so /obvious/," Cassy protests, trying to subtly push the dictaphone further into her pocket. "And doing it every year is just making things worse."
"I don't think subtle was ever Warren's thing." There is a trace of old envy in the comment. He ignores the dictaphone, and turns back to head into the depths of the storage area. "You should go through this stuff sometime. You'll find some interesting stuff." /And/ be kept out of trouble for an afternoon or so.
Cassy shrugs. "Been there done that," she admits. "Back when me and Mira wanted to find out if the Professor was an international arms dealer. We found some pretty horrible paintings, a stuffed cat and enough spiders to put the boys dorms to shame."
Scott grunts a reply and returns to his inventorying of the collected treasures and junk of Xavier Mansion.