Romance and Insanity:
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From: drgrey@x-school.edu
To: X-MEN@listserv.x-school.edu
Subject: Leonardo Maxwell
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The busy Mr. Maxwell seems to be keeping a bolt-hole down in Hell's Kitchen. I ran into him while I was closing up my clinic down there for the night, and he was babbling on about some loss of illusions, and going on and on about mutants' place in the world and a whole bunch of nonsense that even Magneto would probably raise an eyebrow at.
Then he proceeded to call me a Mutant Queen and ask me out. I, naturally, declined. He copped to having a mutation for white hair, and after Kurt startled him by arriving in his usual fashion, he let loose a small pulse of some sort of kinetic force, I'm assuming magnetic in origin because of a lack of damage to anything not metal.
In any case, after I shooed him on his way, Kurt and I tailed him to his bolt hole at ---th St. and --th.
We might want to keep an eye on him. He's not quite sane, and he's got Plans.
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Arriving for Emma Frost, care of the Hellfire Clubhouse, a large basket of fresh-cut hothouse flowers, all in shades of white. A card is included, with a calligraphed message of 'Congratulations!' across the front of heavy cardstock. Inside, a little note:
Having met your young Mr. Maxwell, Emma, I wish you both all the best. You seem so perfect for each other that I just had to give him a little advice on how to win your heart.
-Jean
X-Men: Movieverse 2 - Thursday, November 15, 2007, 8:15 PM
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=NYC= Clinton
Hell's Kitchen, because oh if that is not the preferred name for Clinton outside of the law offices, almost dragged itself up by the knuckles into respectability. But that was before the poor as piss housing and Hell's Kitchen's reputation for grit and shadow drew the attention of new gangs and new criminals -- and new refugees. Mutants have tried to disappear into the sagging tenements and alleys and been found dead on the streets. A Worthington safe house for mutants once stood here, but government backing and all, it could not outlast the violence. But the mutants are not only victims -- some of the bodies found on sidewalks or apartments are humans, and not all of them are masked gang members. While the mutant issue has lit the nation into a political hotbed, it has made Clinton dangerous for everyone. Proceed carefully.
[This room is set watchable. Use alias Clinton to watch here.]
[Exits : [Ch]elsea, [Mid]town, [M]ustard [S]eed [C]linic, [L]iving [C]olor [T]attoo, [P]aradise [F]ound Bar and Motel, and [P]aradise [V]illa]
[Players : Leonardo ]
Doors are thick and locks are strong in Hell's Kitchen, and all the moreso when they guard such a place as a clinic, with its dispensary full of things to be stolen to blunt the pain of life or turn a quick buck. The iron bars that form a swinging grill for the Mustard Seed Clinic are carefully tended, and being just as carefully set in place, as an almost-winter evening stretches into night. By some bit of luck a streetlamp is working in just the right spot to cast light over the tall and slender figure doing the locking. Rich auburn hair somewhat dulled by the orange-pink sodium glow, her fine features are still unmistakeable in profile to those in the know: Dr. Jean Grey, chief financial support and sometimes-staff of the clinic.
Walking down the street with his jacket and shirt unbuttoned, stray locks of hair hanging in front of his face, and newly cooled beads of sweat going down his fighter trained stomach and his forehead, quickly beginning to dry in the cool air. Of course Jean likely recognizes him from the school bulletin wall, but he appears to be a hollowed shell of his former self. If she decided to use telepathy for whatever reason, he's thinking things along the line of << He hates us all, I'm alone in the world, the last of a species that will be wiped out within a decade... >> Yeah, emo.
There are absolutely rigid ethics, and then there is good sense and self-preservation. At the prickle against her skin of an approaching mind, Jean pauses in her locking up, looks up, and turns a sharp look down the uneven sidewalk, and a sharp flicker of her telepathy outwards to see what approaches. The thoughts are, if the 'species' is odd, not unheard of. The face, as it comes into sharper view, causes her to stiffen a moment. And then she very firmly locks the door. "Not a part of town I thought I'd see your type in, Mr. Maxwell."
Leonardo looks up, it takes a few moments for recognition to dawn, and before he even says anything, << Damnit! Telepath! Think of complicated math problems... >> and so he does, though he's not trained in blocking telepathy, he thinks of complex math problems as the only defense he can manage, like ducking under a desk during a nuclear blast. "You are Dr. Jean Grey." he says in a calm and slightly depressed tone, slowly and quite fearfully backing up. "I have property here, and I try to help the homeless occasionally."
Eurgh, calculus. Jean neatly turns her mind to other tasks, such as sussing out the locations of any nearby young thugs with a taste for black-market percocet. "Plenty of homeless to help, here," she agrees, stepping out and away from her clinic door to lean carefully against a brick wall that features only minimal amounts of hobo pee. Her arms cross over her chest, the entirety of them wrapped up in the black wool of her coat. "And that's what I'm doing as well. I have to say I've never crossed paths with you before. What's your charity?"
Leonardo appears to be confused, blinking when she asks these questions. "I, oh, mutants." he struggles to say, walking so he's standing about ten feet away from her, and just peers into her eyes. "I am sorry, I just had a horribly traumatic experience, so I am having trouble keeping focus..." he says -mostly- true, though the other half of his focus loss is the incredible fear that she's digging into his mind.
"Only mutants?" Jean wonders, with a vague look up the street at the burnt out hollow where Worthington House once stood. But, beyond a brief lift of her eyebrows, she says nothing more. The latter statement leaves her looking blank for a moment, and mustering a questioning "...oh?"
"Well I do have human patients, but one can only afford to help so many people." Leonardo offers as his excuse, looking down at himself and beginning to button up, for appearances. "I met a powerful person, and let us just say that he has crushed every dream that I have had since I was a teenager. Now I have to figure out what to do..." he shakes his head when his jacket is fully buttoned, runs his fingers through his hair, then just continues to stare at her. "I have no guidance and no purpose now." not even enough to care that he's emoing out to a (sort of) total stranger.
Jean has experienced many strange things in her life. There have been abductions, rescues, insanity, amnesia, missing and returned ovaries, love triangles, and everything but aliens. Nevertheless, an extremely bemused look is being turned on Leonardo from beneath her very fetching wool cap. Drawn in despite the oddness of a perfect and somewhat suspect stranger confessing to her, she falls back on the one solution encoded even more deeply within her genes than her X-Factor. She turns. She unlocks the iron grille once more. "You," she intones, "Need to come inside, and I'm making you a cup of coffee."
"I thought all of you Xavier people thought I was dangerous?" Leonardo is confused, Jean has completely caught him off guard, but he follows her. "You, you are a telepath, correct?" he asks, not even in the mood to act dignified, his eyes linger on curves and hips, and occasionally return to her face. "I will pay you anything you want, to do something specific to my mind."
"Dangerous to an innocent student," Jean confirms, with a narrow-eyed glance over her shoulder as she opens the door and then motions him on in ahead of her. Eight feet of entry hall feature a door and a window into a reception area on one side. It is this that is her destination, the outside door being shut behind her. "Not dangerous to me. And I think that if I left you outside in this part of town mooning like you are, I'd be an accessory to your inevitable demise. Sit," she motions to a comfortable, if old, secretary's chair. "And I don't generally hire out my telepathy like a strippergram, Mr. Maxwell."
Leonardo sits as instructed, something about being commanded by a woman who can scramble your brains. "Inevitable demise, I think we are all headed there very quickly, if you have dug into my thoughts like I am sure you have, you are very human-like." he observes of her, eyes never leaving the woman. "I just want to reprogram certain memories, I want to remove something from my entire life, but keep everything else about myself intact..."
"Actually, from the way you were eyeballing my hips, I don't -want- to go poking around your mind," Jean replies, eyebrow lifted and tone green-apple tart as she turns to go get the promised coffee started. Water, meet chamber. Filter, meet coffee maker. Maxwell House... her eyes go vague, searching for a moment to see where the cannister has gotten off to. "And what you're asking wouldn't be a very good idea, even if I was inclined to do it. This isn't like picking unwanted bones out of a salmon steak. Your life's memories and experiences make up what you are and how you percieve reality -- as a psychologist," for Xavier's is good at basic finding out of things, "You should know that."
"-I- know that, yes, but I do not know the exact nature of telepathy, I was thinking that maybe there was more to it, something to avoid those problems, but I guess it does not matter." Leonardo says with a sigh, leaning slightly on the table, he can't believe the conversation he's having, and who he's having it with. "I was not eyeballing your hips, I was observing your stance, to see if you were physically capable of handling yourself in a fight." Yeaaaah, right. He watches her make the coffee, all while thinking of the next thing to say. "I do not know how you do it, living as an open mutant knowing that billions are currently plotting your demise. Especially when you are practically a queen among your kind, in my personal opinion, at least."
Jean simply favours him with a Look, of the sort generally reserved for teenaged males who are busy swearing that their girlfriend was just taking care of a muscle cramp for them. In their pants. There's a moment where she visibly considers an active poking at his defence, and then settles instead for a "Whatever," and a reach past him to grab the cannister of coffee. "If you know who I am, you also know I'm telekinetic. I don't have to rely on the physical in a fight," she points out, tapping precise scoops of ground coffee into the machine. "As for how, I live my life, and I work to make the world one that my children can live in after me. The billions out there are doing much the same, and don't really give a damn about me. Hundreds are plotting, perhaps. If that. Now, why do you want your memories sectioned up like so much beef?"
Leonardo listens, considering, then simply asks. "I suppose it wont help not to tell you, since you can simply get it out yourself anyway, right?"
"Can," Jean replies, with another narrow-eyed look. "Is not the same as 'will'. Unless you believe all the propaganda that mutants are incapable of -not- using their powers."
"Oh, it is not mutants that I believe that about, it is mutants who have mindsets which are much too close to human, like yourself." Leonardo sniffs at the cannister when it's moved, hunching forward and breaking his usually good posture. "When I see billions of humans, I see billions of people who are potential soldiers against mutants. When I see you? I see a well intentioned yet slightly misguided mutant woman, not changing what she has the potential to, sticking to human law and acting like one." he explains, finally laying his head exhaustedly on the table, still turned to her. "I want everything removed from my mind that has taken away my purpose, I want to believe that I can change everything again, I do not want my faith to be taken away so easily with a few of one man's words..." He groans slightly, pushing against the table so he's sitting up again. "I want to believe that I can do everything without him, by myself."
Jean tunes out and starts skimming every few words of the grand monologue by about the point where she's being lectured by a young twenty-something on her potential in life. This can be discerned by the keen eye and mind by a sudden increase in her polite smile, and the addition of a few little nods here and there in a fine display of 'do go on'. When he stops, so does the smile, winked away as of by some rogue teleporter. "Mr. Maxwell," she says. "You're insane."
"I am not insane, I am a human who is guided by the self preservation of mutants." Leonardo corrects, still sitting there and waiting for his coffee. He's been much too upset today to be shaken by a simple observation. The proper diagnosis is sociopath. "I do not understand you, if there is something you do not like about me, why do you not simply change it?"
"Because I don't work that way," Jean answers, just as simply as before, settling down in a seat across from him and gesturing to the coffee maker with one hand. A switch flips. And with a contented blup-blup-hiss, the road to coffee is embarked upon. "I think you're young, and I think you might benefit from some psychological counselling of your own. You've experienced a shock to your world, and rather than learn from it, you want it erased so that you can continue down a path that has already proven flawed. Either you're insane, or you're an idiot." This is how you can tell Jean is one of the good guys, you see. She offers an alternate option.
Leonardo lets out a slightly defeated laugh, laying back in the chair. "It is funny, I have hated you for years, and here you are, in all your beautiful mutant glory, making me feel better..." he admits, sighing and beginning to gaze into her eyes again when she sits. "You are right, I need to learn from this, create an alternate plan. -He- is not important, -He- is wrong, you are right. It is myself who I should have been depending on, not holding on to some hope that a savior would come and guide me." He leans forward, sliding a hand across the table to her. "You have helped me a lot, I was thinking such stupid things. Would you like to go on a date with me? I mean, as a thanks for helping me."
Kurt teleports in.
It's just as well the coffee is not yet ready. Beautiful mutant glory aside, that last part is a definite mug-dropping moment waiting to happen. As it is, it's Jean's jaw that drops, rather than the as-yet-to-be coffee cup. She stares at the hand on the table, stares up along it, and then stares at Leonardo head on, before managing a response of "I have a boyfriend already, Mr. Maxwell. And, ah, I tend to prefer somewhat older men than you." 'Somewhat'. Yes.
"That is very understandable, I simply admire such experience and wisdom, I could not resist asking." Leonardo smiles, slowly taking his hand back. "Though I was not exactly thinking of -romance-, well, perhaps not on the first date. I have a deep interest in Emma Frost, so I am still trying to fully explore that until I become serious with another woman."
While not someone who has (or will) ever dated one Dr Jean Grey, Kurt does fit the 'older' descriptor well enough, when measured against Leonardo. If barely. And so one might call his timing appropriate. There is a sharp crack of displaced air and the scent of brimstone, and then the filing cabinet along the wall suddenly has an adornment. One that looks rather like a gargoyle, if gargoyles were covered in indigo fur and prone to wearing jeans, a sweater, and a long (dashing!) wool coat against November's cold. There is even a fedora, perched rakishly above pointed ears. "Late patients, liebling?" said gargoyle asks, voice quiet and warm and furred with a light German accent. Leonardo is noted a moment later, and Kurt cants his head, yellow eyes fastening on the young man. Hmm.
"This experience and wisdom generally prefers to date those who are old enough to actually rent a car," Jean offers, gentle in tone, before there's another moment that would really be far more comical were the coffee ready. Her eyes widen at the mention of Emma Frost, and there's a sudden entirely unholy gleam that appears in them. "Oh -really-?" she asks him. "Well, if you should happen to need any advice... the woman and I are rivals, but really it's just because we're so very similar," she admits in mischief what she'd never admit in earnest. But the sudden, familiar whipcrack diverts her momentarily, and it's with a glad "Kurt!" that she greets the fuzzy elf. "You -must- meet Mr. Maxwell. Although I have to warn you, he is your competition."
"I own a private -jet-." Leonardo quickly defends on the comment about renting a car, then his eyes widen when she mentions being Emma's rival. "You can really give me advice? I hope it is not just 'Don't even bother' again, that is -not- helpful advice." then there's a bamf, and he quickly jumps up out of his seat, going into a fighting stance with his fists closed tightly, door beginning to groan. "What-wait-huh? Oh, you are a mutant. I apologize." he says with a clearly apologetic smile, holding his chest and returning to his seat. "I suppose you must get that a lot. Please, call me Leonardo."
"I do not think you have anything to do with my mutation, that you might need to apologize for it," Kurt replies. Gravely. Yes, that's it. He peers at Leonardo for a moment more, tail flicking in a manner reminiscent of nothing so much as a curious cat. And then he executes a graceful showman's bow, without ever leaving his perch upon the cabinet. "My name is Kurt Wagner. But in the Munich circus, I was known as the Incredible Nightcrawler." His gaze slips towards Jean as he straightens, and he queries, sing-song, "Competition?" In addition, silent, is a not-so-idly wondered, << Has our Sinister friend met with Magneto recently, do you think...? >> Hair. Groaning doorframes. Melodrama. There are similarities.
<< You were just waiting for someone who'd let you get all that out. >> Jean's mind notes teasingly to Kurt's. She rises cautiously from her chair, ostensibly to collect another cup, but also to inspect the doorframe to see if it's still hung square. "I begin to doubt that you're just a simple human, Mr. Maxwell, but if you'd like advice on how to woo Emma Frost -- you see, Kurt, a rival of yours -- then the first advice I can offer you is to be -persistant-," she assures, with a solemn nod of her head. << And God, I hope not. If he did, this one got addled in the egg. >>
The door is fine, except for a slight indentation that one wouldn't notice unless they were looking for it, which Jean is. "Persistant, yes, so simple, you truly are full of wisdom, and I am not -that- simple of a human, I was born with this pure white hair. Though I do not see your similarity to Ms. Frost, elaborate?" he requests while taking a good look at Kurt, then the tail. "Well, you certainly are night-like, and I assume you crawl in some form. Your ability is interesting, it smells like brimstone, is there a scientific explanation for that?" he asks more out of curiousity than anything.
I don't understand that.
Kurt, if one is inclined to read his expression as anything other than sinister based on his features, is clearly amused. "Ah, you did. That's too bad. He seems like such a charming young man." His head cants further to the side, the angle such that it is quite possibly uncomfortable to look at. He smiles at Leonardo. "Of course. It is - atmospheric exchange, I believe it was called?"
"Indeed. Such a pity that you and he will no doubt have to scorn each other as rivals for the affections of the fair Emma," Jean nods, with a terribly sad little moue. "I'm sure the best man will win in the end, of course. But yes, persistance. If she plays hard to get, simply play harder. After all, no corporation is taken over by the person who allows the door to slam permanently shut on his foot. And here's the coffee," she decides, as the coffee maker gives off the faintly-charred aroma of coffee Jean Grey-style, which is to say high on caffeine, and also slight charring. "Do you think you can be safely released back onto the street once you've had it, Mr. Maxwell? I wasn't kidding when I said I wouldn't like to contribute to your death by misadventure."
"You and Emma Frost? I do not believe randomly appearing in her shower is considered courting." Leonardo offers playfully with a grin. "I will be incredibly persistant, her Christmas present is currently under construction as we speak, it should be finished by then." He holds a hand out, waiting for his coffee. "I will be fine, I train here in my private gym quite frequently, no one complains about noise in these neighborhoods, not often, at least."
Kurt's eyebrows rise at that. "Of course it isn't. The smell of wet fur is not pleasant, after all." His tail swishes once, then curls about his ankles, and he smiles benignly. Ish. If one ignores the pointed teeth. Of any opinion he might hold of Emma, he says only, "She is quite the formidable woman." His gaze slides to Jean again, perplexed, and while there is no more overt projection, his body language is simple enough to read - 'Is he for real?' "As for lack of complaint, I didn't think that was a good sign in a place like this."
Jean parcels out the coffee with the efficiency of a scientist and doctor who knows well to keep the caffeine coming. She takes her own mug over to the door to examine the faint signs of force applied to it. "Indeed. And while your hair alone didn't dent my door, not everyone down here is kind enough to carry guns, knives, and other metallic objects," she shoots into the metaphorical dark. "You could earn a baseball bat across the back of your skull easily enough if you go around in the haze you were in when I first spotted you -- I've treated a few of those here." << Sadly, >> she answers Kurt's body language with another unspoken form of communication. << All too real. If not precisely viewing the same reality as the rest of us. Fortunately, Emma's a big girl, and better her than our Tim. >>
"Well I would not call carrying a gun to be kind, that is much worse than a baseball bat." Leonardo answers in an innocently perplexed voice, seemingly confused by her words. "I am over what was bothering me earlier, I just needed an experienced and beautiful woman to guide me in the right direction. There is nothing I can do to change what has happened, except learn from it." He gives Kurt a warm smile at his comment, adding, "I need peace, not people knocking on my door simply because they heard a loud noise, so yes, it is a good sign in this case."
Kurt's smile becomes a veritable grin, one of genuine mirth. "It seems you have another admirer, liebling," he says to Jean, yellow eyes aglint. Leonardo is favoured with another curious look. "This is New York." Optimistic though he is, Kurt is not entirely blind to the ways of people living in large metropolises. "I did not think many knocked. Called the police, perhaps, if they thought it was dangerous. As they should." The tip of his tail flicks, though the length of it remains neatly coiled. "A good person watches over his fellow man, where he can."
"It's my winning personality and keen mind," Jean replies to Kurt, with a deadpan bob of her head. Her green eyes are narrowed in thought again when she turns back to Leonardo, but opts to do no further digging in lieu of sipping at her coffee, black and bitter as it is. "Well, if you're sure you'll be all right, Mr. Maxwell," she murmurs to him. "Kurt and I are already a touch late heading back up to Westchester."
Leonardo nods, taking sips of the coffee and mmming. "I assure you, thanks to your coffee, I will be fully alert." he says with a flirtatious smile, standing and reaching into his pocket to pull out a card, a card he slides to Jean. "If you would like to discuss Ms. Frost more, perhaps give me some advice, or possibly if things do not work out with your boyfriend and you would like to test the waters with someone younger..." Suddenly Kurt doesn't exist anymore, his gaze completely fixed on Jean. "Give me a call. I must be going though, I have to give my sister a call to make sure she is not making me poor or crashing my jet." Then, he turns around, waving back at them as he opens the door. "Farewell, Mutant Queen, you too, Nightworm guy." And then he is gone.
The insult, whether it be intentional or otherwise, does not seem to ruffle Kurt's - err - fur. Feathers are another mutant entirely. "Go with God, Mr. Maxwell," the German mutant replies amiably. And then gives Jean an amused look and wonders, "Has he met Logan yet? Or Scott? I think they would get along famously." And the fireworks would be something to watch.
"Take care of yourself, Mr. Maxwell. And leave my students alone," With a neat pocketing of the card and a polite smile, Jean sees him out. And then closes and locks both iron grate and door behind herself. She returns to the office and favours Kurt with a wry look. "Seriously. But do you want to slip out the back and see where he's got his secret hideout? I think he might bear watching, since I'm not sure he's savvy enough not to do something stupid and splashy eventually."
Kurt nods once, gravity sliding into place as merriment flies in the face of possible mayhem. "But of course. I don't think a man of his appearance will be too terribly difficult to follow." Not, of course, that Kurt himself is exactly low-profile. But he, at least, can blend into the night.
Whereupon Jean meets that weird Maxwell guy, is asked out on a date, and is informed she is a queen. And Nightcrawler finds he has a rival for Emma's love.
From: drgrey@x-school.edu
To: X-MEN@listserv.x-school.edu
Subject: Leonardo Maxwell
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The busy Mr. Maxwell seems to be keeping a bolt-hole down in Hell's Kitchen. I ran into him while I was closing up my clinic down there for the night, and he was babbling on about some loss of illusions, and going on and on about mutants' place in the world and a whole bunch of nonsense that even Magneto would probably raise an eyebrow at.
Then he proceeded to call me a Mutant Queen and ask me out. I, naturally, declined. He copped to having a mutation for white hair, and after Kurt startled him by arriving in his usual fashion, he let loose a small pulse of some sort of kinetic force, I'm assuming magnetic in origin because of a lack of damage to anything not metal.
In any case, after I shooed him on his way, Kurt and I tailed him to his bolt hole at ---th St. and --th.
We might want to keep an eye on him. He's not quite sane, and he's got Plans.
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Arriving for Emma Frost, care of the Hellfire Clubhouse, a large basket of fresh-cut hothouse flowers, all in shades of white. A card is included, with a calligraphed message of 'Congratulations!' across the front of heavy cardstock. Inside, a little note:
Having met your young Mr. Maxwell, Emma, I wish you both all the best. You seem so perfect for each other that I just had to give him a little advice on how to win your heart.
-Jean
X-Men: Movieverse 2 - Thursday, November 15, 2007, 8:15 PM
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=NYC= Clinton
Hell's Kitchen, because oh if that is not the preferred name for Clinton outside of the law offices, almost dragged itself up by the knuckles into respectability. But that was before the poor as piss housing and Hell's Kitchen's reputation for grit and shadow drew the attention of new gangs and new criminals -- and new refugees. Mutants have tried to disappear into the sagging tenements and alleys and been found dead on the streets. A Worthington safe house for mutants once stood here, but government backing and all, it could not outlast the violence. But the mutants are not only victims -- some of the bodies found on sidewalks or apartments are humans, and not all of them are masked gang members. While the mutant issue has lit the nation into a political hotbed, it has made Clinton dangerous for everyone. Proceed carefully.
[This room is set watchable. Use alias Clinton to watch here.]
[Exits : [Ch]elsea, [Mid]town, [M]ustard [S]eed [C]linic, [L]iving [C]olor [T]attoo, [P]aradise [F]ound Bar and Motel, and [P]aradise [V]illa]
[Players : Leonardo ]
Doors are thick and locks are strong in Hell's Kitchen, and all the moreso when they guard such a place as a clinic, with its dispensary full of things to be stolen to blunt the pain of life or turn a quick buck. The iron bars that form a swinging grill for the Mustard Seed Clinic are carefully tended, and being just as carefully set in place, as an almost-winter evening stretches into night. By some bit of luck a streetlamp is working in just the right spot to cast light over the tall and slender figure doing the locking. Rich auburn hair somewhat dulled by the orange-pink sodium glow, her fine features are still unmistakeable in profile to those in the know: Dr. Jean Grey, chief financial support and sometimes-staff of the clinic.
Walking down the street with his jacket and shirt unbuttoned, stray locks of hair hanging in front of his face, and newly cooled beads of sweat going down his fighter trained stomach and his forehead, quickly beginning to dry in the cool air. Of course Jean likely recognizes him from the school bulletin wall, but he appears to be a hollowed shell of his former self. If she decided to use telepathy for whatever reason, he's thinking things along the line of << He hates us all, I'm alone in the world, the last of a species that will be wiped out within a decade... >> Yeah, emo.
There are absolutely rigid ethics, and then there is good sense and self-preservation. At the prickle against her skin of an approaching mind, Jean pauses in her locking up, looks up, and turns a sharp look down the uneven sidewalk, and a sharp flicker of her telepathy outwards to see what approaches. The thoughts are, if the 'species' is odd, not unheard of. The face, as it comes into sharper view, causes her to stiffen a moment. And then she very firmly locks the door. "Not a part of town I thought I'd see your type in, Mr. Maxwell."
Leonardo looks up, it takes a few moments for recognition to dawn, and before he even says anything, << Damnit! Telepath! Think of complicated math problems... >> and so he does, though he's not trained in blocking telepathy, he thinks of complex math problems as the only defense he can manage, like ducking under a desk during a nuclear blast. "You are Dr. Jean Grey." he says in a calm and slightly depressed tone, slowly and quite fearfully backing up. "I have property here, and I try to help the homeless occasionally."
Eurgh, calculus. Jean neatly turns her mind to other tasks, such as sussing out the locations of any nearby young thugs with a taste for black-market percocet. "Plenty of homeless to help, here," she agrees, stepping out and away from her clinic door to lean carefully against a brick wall that features only minimal amounts of hobo pee. Her arms cross over her chest, the entirety of them wrapped up in the black wool of her coat. "And that's what I'm doing as well. I have to say I've never crossed paths with you before. What's your charity?"
Leonardo appears to be confused, blinking when she asks these questions. "I, oh, mutants." he struggles to say, walking so he's standing about ten feet away from her, and just peers into her eyes. "I am sorry, I just had a horribly traumatic experience, so I am having trouble keeping focus..." he says -mostly- true, though the other half of his focus loss is the incredible fear that she's digging into his mind.
"Only mutants?" Jean wonders, with a vague look up the street at the burnt out hollow where Worthington House once stood. But, beyond a brief lift of her eyebrows, she says nothing more. The latter statement leaves her looking blank for a moment, and mustering a questioning "...oh?"
"Well I do have human patients, but one can only afford to help so many people." Leonardo offers as his excuse, looking down at himself and beginning to button up, for appearances. "I met a powerful person, and let us just say that he has crushed every dream that I have had since I was a teenager. Now I have to figure out what to do..." he shakes his head when his jacket is fully buttoned, runs his fingers through his hair, then just continues to stare at her. "I have no guidance and no purpose now." not even enough to care that he's emoing out to a (sort of) total stranger.
Jean has experienced many strange things in her life. There have been abductions, rescues, insanity, amnesia, missing and returned ovaries, love triangles, and everything but aliens. Nevertheless, an extremely bemused look is being turned on Leonardo from beneath her very fetching wool cap. Drawn in despite the oddness of a perfect and somewhat suspect stranger confessing to her, she falls back on the one solution encoded even more deeply within her genes than her X-Factor. She turns. She unlocks the iron grille once more. "You," she intones, "Need to come inside, and I'm making you a cup of coffee."
"I thought all of you Xavier people thought I was dangerous?" Leonardo is confused, Jean has completely caught him off guard, but he follows her. "You, you are a telepath, correct?" he asks, not even in the mood to act dignified, his eyes linger on curves and hips, and occasionally return to her face. "I will pay you anything you want, to do something specific to my mind."
"Dangerous to an innocent student," Jean confirms, with a narrow-eyed glance over her shoulder as she opens the door and then motions him on in ahead of her. Eight feet of entry hall feature a door and a window into a reception area on one side. It is this that is her destination, the outside door being shut behind her. "Not dangerous to me. And I think that if I left you outside in this part of town mooning like you are, I'd be an accessory to your inevitable demise. Sit," she motions to a comfortable, if old, secretary's chair. "And I don't generally hire out my telepathy like a strippergram, Mr. Maxwell."
Leonardo sits as instructed, something about being commanded by a woman who can scramble your brains. "Inevitable demise, I think we are all headed there very quickly, if you have dug into my thoughts like I am sure you have, you are very human-like." he observes of her, eyes never leaving the woman. "I just want to reprogram certain memories, I want to remove something from my entire life, but keep everything else about myself intact..."
"Actually, from the way you were eyeballing my hips, I don't -want- to go poking around your mind," Jean replies, eyebrow lifted and tone green-apple tart as she turns to go get the promised coffee started. Water, meet chamber. Filter, meet coffee maker. Maxwell House... her eyes go vague, searching for a moment to see where the cannister has gotten off to. "And what you're asking wouldn't be a very good idea, even if I was inclined to do it. This isn't like picking unwanted bones out of a salmon steak. Your life's memories and experiences make up what you are and how you percieve reality -- as a psychologist," for Xavier's is good at basic finding out of things, "You should know that."
"-I- know that, yes, but I do not know the exact nature of telepathy, I was thinking that maybe there was more to it, something to avoid those problems, but I guess it does not matter." Leonardo says with a sigh, leaning slightly on the table, he can't believe the conversation he's having, and who he's having it with. "I was not eyeballing your hips, I was observing your stance, to see if you were physically capable of handling yourself in a fight." Yeaaaah, right. He watches her make the coffee, all while thinking of the next thing to say. "I do not know how you do it, living as an open mutant knowing that billions are currently plotting your demise. Especially when you are practically a queen among your kind, in my personal opinion, at least."
Jean simply favours him with a Look, of the sort generally reserved for teenaged males who are busy swearing that their girlfriend was just taking care of a muscle cramp for them. In their pants. There's a moment where she visibly considers an active poking at his defence, and then settles instead for a "Whatever," and a reach past him to grab the cannister of coffee. "If you know who I am, you also know I'm telekinetic. I don't have to rely on the physical in a fight," she points out, tapping precise scoops of ground coffee into the machine. "As for how, I live my life, and I work to make the world one that my children can live in after me. The billions out there are doing much the same, and don't really give a damn about me. Hundreds are plotting, perhaps. If that. Now, why do you want your memories sectioned up like so much beef?"
Leonardo listens, considering, then simply asks. "I suppose it wont help not to tell you, since you can simply get it out yourself anyway, right?"
"Can," Jean replies, with another narrow-eyed look. "Is not the same as 'will'. Unless you believe all the propaganda that mutants are incapable of -not- using their powers."
"Oh, it is not mutants that I believe that about, it is mutants who have mindsets which are much too close to human, like yourself." Leonardo sniffs at the cannister when it's moved, hunching forward and breaking his usually good posture. "When I see billions of humans, I see billions of people who are potential soldiers against mutants. When I see you? I see a well intentioned yet slightly misguided mutant woman, not changing what she has the potential to, sticking to human law and acting like one." he explains, finally laying his head exhaustedly on the table, still turned to her. "I want everything removed from my mind that has taken away my purpose, I want to believe that I can change everything again, I do not want my faith to be taken away so easily with a few of one man's words..." He groans slightly, pushing against the table so he's sitting up again. "I want to believe that I can do everything without him, by myself."
Jean tunes out and starts skimming every few words of the grand monologue by about the point where she's being lectured by a young twenty-something on her potential in life. This can be discerned by the keen eye and mind by a sudden increase in her polite smile, and the addition of a few little nods here and there in a fine display of 'do go on'. When he stops, so does the smile, winked away as of by some rogue teleporter. "Mr. Maxwell," she says. "You're insane."
"I am not insane, I am a human who is guided by the self preservation of mutants." Leonardo corrects, still sitting there and waiting for his coffee. He's been much too upset today to be shaken by a simple observation. The proper diagnosis is sociopath. "I do not understand you, if there is something you do not like about me, why do you not simply change it?"
"Because I don't work that way," Jean answers, just as simply as before, settling down in a seat across from him and gesturing to the coffee maker with one hand. A switch flips. And with a contented blup-blup-hiss, the road to coffee is embarked upon. "I think you're young, and I think you might benefit from some psychological counselling of your own. You've experienced a shock to your world, and rather than learn from it, you want it erased so that you can continue down a path that has already proven flawed. Either you're insane, or you're an idiot." This is how you can tell Jean is one of the good guys, you see. She offers an alternate option.
Leonardo lets out a slightly defeated laugh, laying back in the chair. "It is funny, I have hated you for years, and here you are, in all your beautiful mutant glory, making me feel better..." he admits, sighing and beginning to gaze into her eyes again when she sits. "You are right, I need to learn from this, create an alternate plan. -He- is not important, -He- is wrong, you are right. It is myself who I should have been depending on, not holding on to some hope that a savior would come and guide me." He leans forward, sliding a hand across the table to her. "You have helped me a lot, I was thinking such stupid things. Would you like to go on a date with me? I mean, as a thanks for helping me."
Kurt teleports in.
It's just as well the coffee is not yet ready. Beautiful mutant glory aside, that last part is a definite mug-dropping moment waiting to happen. As it is, it's Jean's jaw that drops, rather than the as-yet-to-be coffee cup. She stares at the hand on the table, stares up along it, and then stares at Leonardo head on, before managing a response of "I have a boyfriend already, Mr. Maxwell. And, ah, I tend to prefer somewhat older men than you." 'Somewhat'. Yes.
"That is very understandable, I simply admire such experience and wisdom, I could not resist asking." Leonardo smiles, slowly taking his hand back. "Though I was not exactly thinking of -romance-, well, perhaps not on the first date. I have a deep interest in Emma Frost, so I am still trying to fully explore that until I become serious with another woman."
While not someone who has (or will) ever dated one Dr Jean Grey, Kurt does fit the 'older' descriptor well enough, when measured against Leonardo. If barely. And so one might call his timing appropriate. There is a sharp crack of displaced air and the scent of brimstone, and then the filing cabinet along the wall suddenly has an adornment. One that looks rather like a gargoyle, if gargoyles were covered in indigo fur and prone to wearing jeans, a sweater, and a long (dashing!) wool coat against November's cold. There is even a fedora, perched rakishly above pointed ears. "Late patients, liebling?" said gargoyle asks, voice quiet and warm and furred with a light German accent. Leonardo is noted a moment later, and Kurt cants his head, yellow eyes fastening on the young man. Hmm.
"This experience and wisdom generally prefers to date those who are old enough to actually rent a car," Jean offers, gentle in tone, before there's another moment that would really be far more comical were the coffee ready. Her eyes widen at the mention of Emma Frost, and there's a sudden entirely unholy gleam that appears in them. "Oh -really-?" she asks him. "Well, if you should happen to need any advice... the woman and I are rivals, but really it's just because we're so very similar," she admits in mischief what she'd never admit in earnest. But the sudden, familiar whipcrack diverts her momentarily, and it's with a glad "Kurt!" that she greets the fuzzy elf. "You -must- meet Mr. Maxwell. Although I have to warn you, he is your competition."
"I own a private -jet-." Leonardo quickly defends on the comment about renting a car, then his eyes widen when she mentions being Emma's rival. "You can really give me advice? I hope it is not just 'Don't even bother' again, that is -not- helpful advice." then there's a bamf, and he quickly jumps up out of his seat, going into a fighting stance with his fists closed tightly, door beginning to groan. "What-wait-huh? Oh, you are a mutant. I apologize." he says with a clearly apologetic smile, holding his chest and returning to his seat. "I suppose you must get that a lot. Please, call me Leonardo."
"I do not think you have anything to do with my mutation, that you might need to apologize for it," Kurt replies. Gravely. Yes, that's it. He peers at Leonardo for a moment more, tail flicking in a manner reminiscent of nothing so much as a curious cat. And then he executes a graceful showman's bow, without ever leaving his perch upon the cabinet. "My name is Kurt Wagner. But in the Munich circus, I was known as the Incredible Nightcrawler." His gaze slips towards Jean as he straightens, and he queries, sing-song, "Competition?" In addition, silent, is a not-so-idly wondered, << Has our Sinister friend met with Magneto recently, do you think...? >> Hair. Groaning doorframes. Melodrama. There are similarities.
<< You were just waiting for someone who'd let you get all that out. >> Jean's mind notes teasingly to Kurt's. She rises cautiously from her chair, ostensibly to collect another cup, but also to inspect the doorframe to see if it's still hung square. "I begin to doubt that you're just a simple human, Mr. Maxwell, but if you'd like advice on how to woo Emma Frost -- you see, Kurt, a rival of yours -- then the first advice I can offer you is to be -persistant-," she assures, with a solemn nod of her head. << And God, I hope not. If he did, this one got addled in the egg. >>
The door is fine, except for a slight indentation that one wouldn't notice unless they were looking for it, which Jean is. "Persistant, yes, so simple, you truly are full of wisdom, and I am not -that- simple of a human, I was born with this pure white hair. Though I do not see your similarity to Ms. Frost, elaborate?" he requests while taking a good look at Kurt, then the tail. "Well, you certainly are night-like, and I assume you crawl in some form. Your ability is interesting, it smells like brimstone, is there a scientific explanation for that?" he asks more out of curiousity than anything.
I don't understand that.
Kurt, if one is inclined to read his expression as anything other than sinister based on his features, is clearly amused. "Ah, you did. That's too bad. He seems like such a charming young man." His head cants further to the side, the angle such that it is quite possibly uncomfortable to look at. He smiles at Leonardo. "Of course. It is - atmospheric exchange, I believe it was called?"
"Indeed. Such a pity that you and he will no doubt have to scorn each other as rivals for the affections of the fair Emma," Jean nods, with a terribly sad little moue. "I'm sure the best man will win in the end, of course. But yes, persistance. If she plays hard to get, simply play harder. After all, no corporation is taken over by the person who allows the door to slam permanently shut on his foot. And here's the coffee," she decides, as the coffee maker gives off the faintly-charred aroma of coffee Jean Grey-style, which is to say high on caffeine, and also slight charring. "Do you think you can be safely released back onto the street once you've had it, Mr. Maxwell? I wasn't kidding when I said I wouldn't like to contribute to your death by misadventure."
"You and Emma Frost? I do not believe randomly appearing in her shower is considered courting." Leonardo offers playfully with a grin. "I will be incredibly persistant, her Christmas present is currently under construction as we speak, it should be finished by then." He holds a hand out, waiting for his coffee. "I will be fine, I train here in my private gym quite frequently, no one complains about noise in these neighborhoods, not often, at least."
Kurt's eyebrows rise at that. "Of course it isn't. The smell of wet fur is not pleasant, after all." His tail swishes once, then curls about his ankles, and he smiles benignly. Ish. If one ignores the pointed teeth. Of any opinion he might hold of Emma, he says only, "She is quite the formidable woman." His gaze slides to Jean again, perplexed, and while there is no more overt projection, his body language is simple enough to read - 'Is he for real?' "As for lack of complaint, I didn't think that was a good sign in a place like this."
Jean parcels out the coffee with the efficiency of a scientist and doctor who knows well to keep the caffeine coming. She takes her own mug over to the door to examine the faint signs of force applied to it. "Indeed. And while your hair alone didn't dent my door, not everyone down here is kind enough to carry guns, knives, and other metallic objects," she shoots into the metaphorical dark. "You could earn a baseball bat across the back of your skull easily enough if you go around in the haze you were in when I first spotted you -- I've treated a few of those here." << Sadly, >> she answers Kurt's body language with another unspoken form of communication. << All too real. If not precisely viewing the same reality as the rest of us. Fortunately, Emma's a big girl, and better her than our Tim. >>
"Well I would not call carrying a gun to be kind, that is much worse than a baseball bat." Leonardo answers in an innocently perplexed voice, seemingly confused by her words. "I am over what was bothering me earlier, I just needed an experienced and beautiful woman to guide me in the right direction. There is nothing I can do to change what has happened, except learn from it." He gives Kurt a warm smile at his comment, adding, "I need peace, not people knocking on my door simply because they heard a loud noise, so yes, it is a good sign in this case."
Kurt's smile becomes a veritable grin, one of genuine mirth. "It seems you have another admirer, liebling," he says to Jean, yellow eyes aglint. Leonardo is favoured with another curious look. "This is New York." Optimistic though he is, Kurt is not entirely blind to the ways of people living in large metropolises. "I did not think many knocked. Called the police, perhaps, if they thought it was dangerous. As they should." The tip of his tail flicks, though the length of it remains neatly coiled. "A good person watches over his fellow man, where he can."
"It's my winning personality and keen mind," Jean replies to Kurt, with a deadpan bob of her head. Her green eyes are narrowed in thought again when she turns back to Leonardo, but opts to do no further digging in lieu of sipping at her coffee, black and bitter as it is. "Well, if you're sure you'll be all right, Mr. Maxwell," she murmurs to him. "Kurt and I are already a touch late heading back up to Westchester."
Leonardo nods, taking sips of the coffee and mmming. "I assure you, thanks to your coffee, I will be fully alert." he says with a flirtatious smile, standing and reaching into his pocket to pull out a card, a card he slides to Jean. "If you would like to discuss Ms. Frost more, perhaps give me some advice, or possibly if things do not work out with your boyfriend and you would like to test the waters with someone younger..." Suddenly Kurt doesn't exist anymore, his gaze completely fixed on Jean. "Give me a call. I must be going though, I have to give my sister a call to make sure she is not making me poor or crashing my jet." Then, he turns around, waving back at them as he opens the door. "Farewell, Mutant Queen, you too, Nightworm guy." And then he is gone.
The insult, whether it be intentional or otherwise, does not seem to ruffle Kurt's - err - fur. Feathers are another mutant entirely. "Go with God, Mr. Maxwell," the German mutant replies amiably. And then gives Jean an amused look and wonders, "Has he met Logan yet? Or Scott? I think they would get along famously." And the fireworks would be something to watch.
"Take care of yourself, Mr. Maxwell. And leave my students alone," With a neat pocketing of the card and a polite smile, Jean sees him out. And then closes and locks both iron grate and door behind herself. She returns to the office and favours Kurt with a wry look. "Seriously. But do you want to slip out the back and see where he's got his secret hideout? I think he might bear watching, since I'm not sure he's savvy enough not to do something stupid and splashy eventually."
Kurt nods once, gravity sliding into place as merriment flies in the face of possible mayhem. "But of course. I don't think a man of his appearance will be too terribly difficult to follow." Not, of course, that Kurt himself is exactly low-profile. But he, at least, can blend into the night.
Whereupon Jean meets that weird Maxwell guy, is asked out on a date, and is informed she is a queen. And Nightcrawler finds he has a rival for Emma's love.