OOC: A Day of Scenes:
X-Men: Movieverse 2 - Sunday, November 25, 2007, 5:27 PM
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=XS= Medbay and Lab - Lv B2 - Xavier's School
Walls are sterile white and surfaces gleam in polished stainless steel, the large room a vision of cool science tinged with the faint medical smell of antiseptic and filled with the soft whirring of autoclaves, refrigeration units, and various medical scanners and devices. Four hospital beds are present near the entrance, curtains rigged to allow for privacy, but pulled back when not in use. In shielded alcoves off the back wall are the resident doctor's pride and joy: A full-body X-Ray machine, as well as an MRI unit and other heavy-duty imagery equipment. Between the alcoves, through a thick glass window, a small operating theatre can be glimpsed. In the lab section, an electron microscope and a pair of gene-sequencers take place of pride, glassware and smaller equipment kept securely locked away in the cabinets underneath and above the work surfaces.
[This room is set watchable. Use alias XSMedLab to watch here.]
[Exits : [M]ain [H]allway]
It's getting decidedly chilly down in the medical bay these days. The weather outside is not yet frightful, but down underground and surrounded by cool metal wall panels and open spaces with rapid ventilation systems one finds one Dr. Jean Grey eyeing a set of purple-blue nail beds with mildly wry amusement as she stands over by one of the lab benches with a recently-stripped latex glove still clutches in her other hand. "I really do sense Erik Lensherr's hand in the design down here," she reflects, a comfortable repetition over the years. "And I think I need coffee. D'you want some?"
"Coffee would be delightful, thank you." Across the room, Hank looks up from peering at his computer screen, laying down his pencil and leaning back in his chair. "He would certainly find it more hospitable than the rest of us." After sending a glance on a survey of all the metal around the room, Hank settles his attention on Jean, asking solicitously and with a twinkle of amusement, "Despite the choice of decor, undoubtedly, but how is your work progressing?"
Jean strips off the other glove, dropping them both in a biohazard bag and giving the now-loaded PCR machine that had occupied her attention a pleased little smile in lieu of a pat. Fingers dusted with caked cornstarch from the gloves' interior cause a necessary detour over to one of the sinks to scrub up, but she chats companionably as she goes. "Oh, it progresses," she allows. "I've got about seven different things all on at once, so it's a little difficult to track exactly how -much- progress for a given thing, but I'm certainly progressing all over the place. Which reminds me, I need to pick your brain about someone."
"Good to hear. My own work was much the same, but with the asteroid to focus my attention on, I find the progress more noticeable and satisfying." Hank nods, but finding his eyes drawn inexorably back to his computer screen, he quickly clicks closed a series of windows, clearing the distraction. "You are welcome to whatever I know of this person. One of the students, perhaps?"
"I suspect my own focus will be on the asteroid as soon as we come down to the actual biology of mutants in space," Jean reflects, drying her hands with paper towel and toddling over to slide back one of the wall panels to reveal a small recessed counter where the Scientists keep their Coffee. (The capitals really are necessary to give proper weight.) Indifferent-to-terrible cook she may be, but Jean sets about getting the coffee brewing right enough, and steps back to survey her work and find it good. "Actually, it was about a girl named Autumn."
"Autumn, yes. I've met her a couple of times. A friend of Amp and Jamie's I believe." Ahh the smell of coffee grounds. Hank pulls in a deep breath to savor the scent before continuing, "From what I understand she resides nearby with her parents, and spends much of her time at a church, the name of which I have forgotten for the moment. She and Amp both speak highly of a 'Pastor Jack'."
"Westchester Family Faith," Jean supplies, with an odd twist of her lips as she gives the name. "I've never been myself, but Autumn definitely seems quite taken with it, and with Pastor Jack. She mentioned that Jamie Madrox, Jeremy and Amp had all wanted her to talk to you about some things..." There's a trailing off, and Jean's lips twist just a little more before they smooth out. "I'm not going to argue if this is doctor/patient privilege stuff, but could you shed some light on what she wanted to know? I saw some things about the shape of her psyche that left me a little concerned."
"Oh?" Bushy blue eyebrows fly up at that last, and Hank pulls his spine straight to sit more alertly in his chair. "As far as I am aware, Autumn was not at all concerned with keeping the results of her test or our conversation confidential. Jamie and Amp pushed her to submit to a test for the X-factor, which returned positive, much to her surprise. Later on she returned, wishing for guidance I believe, concerning the revelation. I did my best, and also encouraged her to speak to Charles, her friends, and her Pastor about it."
"Just the genetic test, no bloodwork?" Jean asks, by her tone already aware of the likely answer, but asking anyways. Over on its countertop, the coffee maker blups and hisses. Jean wraps her arms about herself, rubbing at her upper arms in an attempt to keep warm. In an attempt to think, she paces slowly. "I did my residency in a Boston E.R.," she begins. "I came into contact with the minds of more than a few drug addicts while I was there. Autumn's mind reminded me of that, just the way the surface was arranged."
"No bloodwork. I had no reason at the time to think it necessary, that any such would have been run by her general practitioner. She was also reluctant for the DNA test, and usually anything that require blood be drawn..difficult to convince most anyone to submit to voluntarily without specific reason." Hank huffs a frustrated breath out between his teeth, unconvinced by his own reasoning. He pushes to his feet as well, slowly walking the distance between them. "She mentioned unbearable headaches before joining the church, perhaps she might have turned to substance abuse as a way to cope with those?" He pulls off that train of thought long enough to note Jean's heat conserving posture and wonder, "Are you cold?"
"Freezing," Jean confirms, with a brief flash of a grin as she tugs her lab coat a little more warmly about herself. "I do envy you your mutation, at times like this. But... mmm." The substance abuse answer gets a vague little shake of her head, although it's a moment before Jean answers. "Trying to translate psychic impressions into speech always leaves me feeling like a synesthete, but it had a different sort of tang to it. Heroin always felt like they were wrapped in cotton wool. Amphetamines, they were lively, but it was brittle and pale. Autumn... there were all the signs of it in higher thought and behavior, but none of the physical feedbacks."
"There are some advantages, occasionally I must admit." Hank diverts his steps to the end of a counter where several empty express mail envelopes and poster tubes are stacked. Beside them is Hank's coat, voluminous and black, really a terrible color for showing the dusting of blue hair around the collar. This he carries over to Jean, stopping just behind her to drape it over her shoulders. "So, you're suggesting addiction without a physical component. Fascinating. The girl's mutation, likely the cause of those headaches in my opinion, is as yet unclear. Do you think it possible that might play into it somehow?"
Jean is of a height to wear the coat without it trailing on the floor, but is rather less of a fit in terms of girth. As a result, she grins again as she wraps it about herself like a little girl trailing a comforter about behind her. "A gentleman as always," she thanks, before her eyes settle on the coffee maker as a useful point of focus, and her mind returns to business. "I agree with you on the headaches," she murmurs. "She was really interested in hearing about my own experiences with headaches when I was a teenager. And I don't know if there's interplay, but I think we should take the time to sequence out her X-Factor and run a BLAST against our database, just in case."
An arm across his waist, Hank gives her a teasing half-bow, saying on a laughing breath, "You are most welcome." Then he too sobers for the business at hand. "In light of this, I concur, it would be well worth the time to do the sequencing. It could be valuable even to eliminate that as a factor. Do you think approaching her friends or her Pastor with this would yield any useful insights?"
"Mmm, if we do, we should do it delicately." Jean replies. "Although, on that front, I've got both Tim and Jamie Madrox to pass things on to me if they notice them -- my money's more on Tim to actually do it, mind." she sums up, with a crooked smile. "I'll set up the sequencer tonight... but for now," she notes. "You and your nice warm coat are coming with me, and we're going to Harry's."
"Harry's? Clearly I have no option but to say yes, seeing as how you are holding my coat captive." Hank smiles and says neither yes nor no as he crosses back to his work, wondering instead, "What's the occasion?" Tapping a few keys on the computer to send it to sleep, shuffling papers together and adding one last note to one, he begins to close up his things.
Jean grins, and twirls to flare the coat out slightly, before she removes it and offers it back to Hank, the better to peel off her lab coat and hang it back on its hook in the lab area. "Kitty," she notes. "Is a newly-minted twenty one. So we owe it to her to buy her enough drinks to get her to do suitably embarassing things, and to prevent others from buying her enough that she ends up needing a pair of doctors."
Hank accepts back his coat, with a chuckle and a caution. "You'd best wear a suitable coat of your own, or I might be forced to have you relinquish your dignity by wearing mine in public." He shrugs into his own after slipping the last few papers back into the appropriate folders and tucking his mechanical pencil back in its place in his breast pocket. "What did you do when you celebrated your 21st, dare I ask?"
"Twenty one..." Jean trails off thoughtfully as she wanders out of the medbay, pausing to wait for Hank. "Well, I was in first year med school, then. As I recall, we went up to Montreal, and I woke up the next morning with someone named Giles passed out across my lap." The name is given the French pronounciation, as Jean gives a rueful laugh. "My -clothed- lap, just to be clear. But I'll meet you at the garage, I just need to swing by and get her present."
Only a few moments to wait, then Hank is right behind her, papers tucked under one arm. "And I would like to deposit these in my room. So rendezvous at the garage in a few minutes only makes sense." The Medbay doors hiss closed behind them as they begin the walk down the long bright hallway.
Discussions between doctors over Autumns and Kitties and birthdays.
=WES= Harry's Bar - Salem Center
An old tavern that stands from Revolutionary Times, Harry's is a common hide-away place for humans and mutants alike, although surprisingly quite a bit of the latter can be found, for all of the owner's devil-may-care attitude towards them. Modestly furnished in dark woods, it holds a relaxed, comfortable atmosphere that appeals to many, although almost never crowded. Up against one wall stretches the bar itself with several red leather barstools stationed in front of it and an impressive selection, behind the counter. Most of the rest of the room, however, is occupied by a few tables and booths, for people to dine at. Definitely not any kind of white-collar establishment, but the company it keeps is good.
[This room is set watchable. Use alias Harry'sBar to watch here.]
[Exits : [O]ut]
[Players : Scott, Kitty, Madrox, and Hank ]
"Like I'd let you forget if you did," says the birthday girl to the multiple man. "But then, if I have too many of these things, /I/ might forget," she jokes over the top of her glass, taking a slow sip. Woo! Kitty Pryde: party animal. "Thanks," she says cheerily to Scott, perching herself on her bar stool once again. "I think we could all use the night out."
"Every night is a night off. For one of me." Jamie says it with a hint of his blytheness, if it's almost a joke about a joke. His attention turns sharper to Kitty. "So here I am! Don't overdo it on the alcohol-- although I know you're just that happy to see me."
Rolled eyes behind ruby shades at Jamie's smart comment, "So are you buying tonight, Kitty?" Scott asks, mock serious as he nods to whoever is working behind the bar. "Sam Adams," is Scott's order, pulling a few bills out of his pocket, a pair of twenties. "I'm kidding, Kitty. My treat for your birthday."
So two mutant doctors walk into a bar... And they don't say 'ouch'. Jean Grey, wrapped up in a long black wool coat against the November cold, is first in through the heavy wooden door, car keys twirled idly about one gloved fingertip. Her other hand is busy holding a promisingly gift-wrapped package, and her eyes are bright and lively for all the tired crinkles at their corners. "All right, where's the birthday girl," she calls. "And have there been any outbreaks of karaoke?"
"In that case, I'll replace this thing with a beer," says Kitty, brightly. "I think the sugar content in this thing is gonna get to me before the alcohol," she explains, and is about to say something else when she hears the voice of a certain redheaded doctor. "Jean! You made it, yay! And Dr. McCoy!" Happy Kitty! "No Karaoke yet- but the night is young," she is still far, far too sober to sing in public.
The other mutant doctor, similarly attired in a black wool coat, but perhaps just a few sizes larger, is close on Jean's heels. Hank smiles, returning Kitty's greeting. "Happy Birthday Kitty. After a beer you should let me introduce you to whiskey, the proper way to identify and enjoy one. A much more effective way to drive up your blood alcohol to the ridiculous range necessary before singing in public."
"Me, I'll just refrain on the singing," Scott says sa the tall glass with the Sam Adams within is put before him on a small paper coaster. The server goes to get one for Kitty, bringing it back shortly. "Jean, Hank," Scott says, "Glad that you both were able to get away as well."
"You've got a better singing voice than I do," Jean points out to Scott, as she unbuttons her coat one-handed, en route to bar and colleagues. "And Kitty, once you've taken advantage of the beer and the whiskey, if you're still not yet bursting into song, I'll have to introduce you to the art of the Irish Carbomb. A gin and tonic for me, Harry?" she requests, before claiming a seat near to the others and placing her present before Kitty and her coat folded on her lap. Only then does she take a proper look around.
"I'm taking baby steps," Kitty tells Hank, picking up her glass. "Because I've never ever had alcohol, you know," riiight. College students never drink under-age! "I will sing, only if I know it's not going to end up on YouTube in the morning. The world doesn't need to see- or hear- that."
Hank orders a "Whiskey and Soda" for himself before pulling up another seat. "Well, perhaps we'd best begin by subjecting you to us singing you Happy Birthday. Appropriate torture, I believe." Hank grins and twists in his seat to pull out of his own coat and sling it over the back of his seat.
"Maybe I do, Jean, but I still feel silly unless it's singing Nate to sleep," Scott replies to Jean, adding after a moment, "Though if Kitty tries whatever it was she was drinking, now the beer, then a whiskey, then the other drink, I don't think she'll be capable of singing," Scott says with a chuckle, raising his beer to his lips for a measured drink. The drink is put back on the coaster, his right hand holding the glass suspiciously missing the brace that the good doctor told him to wear. "Would we do that to you, Kitty? Put you up there for all the world to see?"
"Nonsense," Jean sniffs, with a fine and playful upper-crust edge to it. "All we have to do is feed her pub food while she's drinking it all and she'll be fine. That's why God invented buffalo wings." But the playfulness evaporates from her expression as she turns to take up her gin and tonic and gets a good look at Scott's hand, and the lack of a brace on it. There is a very significantly lifted eyebrow delivered to one Mr. Summers as a result, even if the chiding is kept quiet as only a telepath can. << You know that's going to add extra time onto the healing. >>
"What, /one/ form of public humiliation isn't enough?" Kitty responds to Hank, shaking her head. "If you /must/ sing, you're buying that whiskey for me," she bargains. "After that, we'll see about my karaoke performance. How about a duet?" she asks the group. "Or am I to embarass myself all alone?"
"Of course, the whiskey is on me. That's the 21st celebration bargian, you must completely surrender your dignity, but we will supply the drinks." He turns to Jean, catching her look to Scott and lifting his eyebrows just slightly in a question, but continuing with his intended comment in a teasing tone, "Out of all the available pub food you would choose buffalo wings? I'm afraid I don't see that much of an appeal?"
<< It's in the car, didn't want to make the birthday filled with questions about how I hurt my hand on Logan's chin >> Scott replies to Jean on the mental plane, "So we'll get her drunk and counteract it by giving her food that will counteract a small part of the alcohol?" Scott asks, amused at the image of a drunk Kitty. An arched eyebrow, "Right now I've already put forty bucks into the coffer to cover everything up to that point, so till we get that far, drinks and food are on me."
A sigh of a laugh escapes from Jean at mental conversation, and she shakes her head ruefully at Scott, suggesting to the others in the area where the conversation's been happening. << Well, if there are questions, three words will settle them. >> she suggests. << 'Sparring with Logan'. Go get the brace. >> she encourages, with a brief brush of her thoughts against his, exasperated and amused all in one. "Ah, but Hank, buffalo wings are kinder on any adventures in reverse peristalsis than a good curry would be. And I'll sing with you, Kitty, if we pick something like Bob Dylan. But the sooner we sing you a Happy Birthday, the sooner you can open the present."
"You're all /evil/," Kitty tells her former teachers with a giggle. "Ooh! Did you say present?" she says and perks. "Okay, maybe you're not so evil," she allows.
"I think, Jean, you'd better pick a starting note. I'm afraid that my preferred note is generally a little lower than your range." Hank lets his voice fall to the lower end of his range, teasingly emphasizing the base rumble to it.
"I'll be right back," Scott says, leaving his jacket behind as he goes out to the blue Mazda. He returns a minute or two later, still pulling velcro straps to secure it around his right hand and up past the wrist joint to the first quarter of his forearm. "Did I miss the singing?" he asks as he comes back to his seat, sliding onto the stool and picking up his beer with the now braced hand. "Or any other item that needs to be documented as having embarrassed Kitty?"
"You're just lucky I'm not a soprano," Jean banters back to Hank, before Scott's return earns him a soft smile, and a Jean who actually relaxes a little bit at one less thing to worry about. With a toast of her gin and tonic to the birthday girl, Jean finds a note, which doesn't really last all that long, and sings out. "Happy birthday to you..."
There is blushing and facepalming on Kitty's part. Much blushing and facepalming. But she is, however, smiling for the duration of the song.
Scott's singing voice isn't bad, though not practiced or used often. After the song he looks around the bar at the sparse group of people within. The beer is raised to Scott's lips and anotherlong drink taken, half of the glass now empty, or is it half full?
We are best off not talking about Madrox's voice one way or another, but he does join in, if a bit quiet, as if not /trying/ to draw too much attention to that voice of his. Minor as he is, he remains undrinking.
Jean's singing voice is that of someone who cannot carry a tune, but has had enough choir practice as a young thing that she can occasionally frantically juggle one. She sings anyways. "To -you-." she finishes with emphasis, and turns to give Kitty a toast, a hug, and a "Now open your present." in short order.
The present is opened, and a happy squeel comes from the birthday girl. The necklace (a gold '21' key on a chain) is put on (though it takes a few seconds to awkwardly fiddle with the clasp), and the shirt is held up for display. A stick figure holds up a pair of beakers, with the warning STAND BACK, I'M GOING TO TRY SCIENCE! is stamped on the front in white on black fabric. "Awesome! I love them!" Of course, she has now finished two drinks, one of which had a surprising alcohol content for all its fruity flavour and she loves just about everything. And now there are hugs to be given out!
The hug is accepted and returned, "Just do us a favor and don't blow anything up when you try science," Scott jokes, amused at the younger woman's reaction to the drinks and the birthday. Scott just takes another drink of his beer.
Madrox takes the hug with his usual just-/over/ enthusiasm, but it's maybe a bit /less/ than usual. "Sorry I didn't get you a present," he says as he withdraws. "I'll send it on."
Jean manages through somewhat wild flails of an arm to keep her gin and tonic from being enveloped in the hug when it comes around to her, but bestows a fond peck upon Kitty's cheek all the same. "I'm pretty sure you'd love Brussels sprouts at your blood alcohol level right now," she opines, reclaiming her bar stool. "But I'm glad. It was either that or some Giant Microbes, and let's get you a basket of Irish nachos."
Kitty doesn't actually mind Brussels sprouts. She is one of those freaky people who actually /enjoys/ really healthy food. Freak. "Lockheed has taken to chewing on the Black Plague I got last year," she comments at the mention of Giant Microbes. "I'm afraid plush toys have a very short lifespan in my room."
"In that case, I'm glad I didn't stick Rabies in your stocking," Jean quips, before taking a long sip of her gin and tonic that brings a bloom of colour to her cheeks. Shutting her eyes and sighing at the alcoholic warmth, she opens them again to slide a sidelong look to both Scott and Hank, before she notes to Kitty that "Y'know, Harry's got a pretty good library of songs for his karaoke machine. You should take a look through the list."
"I say the women sing," Jamie says helpfully.
There is a hesitant groan as she does it, but Kitty does get up to go look through the list of available songs to butcher- and the drunken revelry begins! Oh, she's going to look back on this night and /wince/ (in other words; Operation: 21st Birthday is a success).
(OOC) Kitty says, "fade out there? Also, Kitty's choice of song is "Truly, Madly, Deeply," as it is the sappiest one I can think of."
The Kitty and the Birthday in question. Harry's Bar, Xavierites and 21 years of one Miss Pryde. And karaoke.
X-Men: Movieverse 2 - Sunday, November 25, 2007, 10:38 PM
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=XS= Logan's Room - Lv 3 - Xavier's School
A fairly large room this, with a queen sized bed in lieu of twin student ones heightening the illusion of space. There's a mahogany dresser and armoire to match, with a small entertainment stand, containing a TV, stereo, and DVD player, rounding off the furnishings. Through a door flush with one side wall is the bathroom, equipped with a bathtub and separate shower stall, as well as a large closet. The outside wall features a wide bay window, letting in outside light. Several items in the room stand out from the otherwise hotel-room-bland decor; an old WWI knife, a conquistador's helmet, and a polished set of Japanese daisho, or wakasashi and katana. On the nightstand is a deceptively ancient looking book, a collection of Japanese haiku written on delicate rice paper.
[Exits : [O]ut]
[Players : Logan ]
It's late. It's some time after 2 AM and sometime before 3. And there's a knock at Logan's door. Rather, it's an attept at a knock, followed by what sounds like the fist missing and rapping on the plaster beside the door, followed after that by a snicker. -That- happens to be followed by the door opening, and a Jean still dressed for the outside and smelling lightly of gin and tonic and Harry's Bar letting herself in with a bright beam, and the announcement of "It was Kitty's 21st birthday." The announcement may actually be more of an explanation. Or, knowing Jean and her White Anglo-Saxon Protestant raising, an apology. With another snicker.
Only the desk lamp is on in Logan's room. Its shaded bulb not quite able to spread light into all of the room's corners, but it does well enough. And while Logan was not quite expecting a wobbling Jean to come through his door, he has already been sitting on his bed waiting for the chances to say goodnight when she did eventually come back from town. When the door opens, he rises and paces quickly over to Jean offering an amused affectionate grin and a steadying arm. "From the looks of it, you sure it wasn't your 21?"
Jean is not -wobbling-. She is merely having some small problems with -fine motor control-. All the same, from the chill to the surface of her coat and the colour to her cheeks and nose, and the scent, detectable to senses such as Logan's, of evergreen trees and the night air, it seems likely that she opted to walk back from the bar, rather than risk driving. "I had," she notes solemnly, lifting a finger and pressing it to his lips. "To be supportive. And there was karaoke. And an asteroid's trying to hit earth."
Scent isn't the only enhancement in Logan's senses, and the prospect of exceptionally tuned ears being subjected to tipsy X-Men sing-a-longs is a special kind of torture. Logan lets out a humming sound that might have been the beginnings of a laugh, lightly stubbed lip shaking beneath Jean's fingertip. His hand goes up to her wrist to push it in slightly, giving the finger a little kiss before he lets go. But mention of the asteroid puts a small halt to light feelings and joyed expression. The conversational equivalent to a wet towel. "Couldn't even quit talking about it with two fifths in you to lighten things up?" he lets out in a joke thats slightly cynical. The giant damned rock: the ultimate realization of Logan's frustration at Xavier's, a feeling of uselessness thats driven him from mansion more than once before.
"Pfft," Jean waves a hand, which settles eventually on Logan's shoulder as she leans in and leans up to kiss him with the lazy thoroughness of someone just drunk enough that time's dilating a bit. "We didn't talk about it in the -bar-," she corrects, once she's drawn back to get her breath. "But I figured, why not get a little bit drunk with Kitty. It's her birthday, and the world might end. No sense going all morose about it," she says, quite serious as she steps aside and begins shedding her hat, her scarf, her coat as she angles towards the bed. "I'm tired of it being a reason for us all to run around angry and scared. Can we skip to the -fun- parts of 'and tomorrow we may die'?"
The kiss helps. The old dog settles back into amused affection, letting his smile creep back on lazy as he follows close behind Jean, putting his arm around her back once the winter wear is safely away. "Finally, a plan that makes sense." Head craning down, he gives Jean's shoulder a kiss from behind, chin pressing against her shirt enough for stubble to poke through the weave and scratch on the skin bellow. "But there are a few more tomorrows where we won't die between now and then."
"Good," murmurs Jean, with a flicker of light shifting in her eyes and a slow smile curving her lips. Brushing her cheek against his briefly, she tilts her head and nips lightly at one earlobe, before she wanders the rest of the way to the bed, one hand still claiming his. "That means we have plenty of time to practice."
Rough hand holds on to one much softer as he lets Jean down to the bed, a gentle squeeze on half extended fingers as he lets them go to turn around and make sure the door is closed. Grin shifting to a tooth bared smile, Logan offers no retort, witty or otherwise, simply taking two steps over to the lone desk lamp and laying his hand on the switch.
Traditionally, it's the man who turns up drunk and amourous from the bar. Jean is a modern and liberated woman, however.