OOC: Church Plots and Chicken Pots (Pies, that is.)
Message left on Rossi's cell phone for him:
"Detective Rossi? It's Dr. Grey. Look... I don't have any hard evidence, but I think I might be about to step into some kind of abuse case, and I... Well, there's a pastor of a church called Westchester Family Faith, Jack Brighton. I've got students telling me there's something up between him and a girl named Autumn Clarke. One of them's Detective Hall's son, Timothy, and... Look. Can you call me back?"
X-Men Movieverse 2 - Tuesday, December 11, 2007, 12:39 PM
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=XS= Kitchen - Lv 1 - Xavier's School
A relic of Victorian times, this kitchen is vast, with more than one oven and several stainless steel work surfaces taking the space once claimed by coal hoppers, cooking hearths and cast-iron stoves. Walls still done in period plaster and tile, and the floor still the original fieldstone, fluorescent lights have been installed overhead to bring the lighting up to modern level. At meal times, kitchen workers scurry to and fro with pans and food and various other sundry items, under the watchful eye of the aging head cook, but once past, order is restored, with copper-bottomed pans hanging above the kitchen island, and a tray of cold snacks left out for foraging students and staff alike. Folding wood doors screen off a pantry capable of holding food for an large household's weekly meals -- or three days' worth of teenager food.
[This room is set watchable. Use alias XSKitchen to watch here.]
[Exits : [H]allway and [B]ack [P]atio]
[Players : Tim ]
It's a bowl. That is easy to see. And inside it is lots of crunch granola and fruit with yogurt poured over top of it and a spoon leaning against the side. A big spoon, that shovels bite fulls into Tim's mouth, the boy having broken away from the main lunch group to fix the bowl, having taken a page from Dr. Grey's cookbook. But he hasn't really learned too much from that book, as beside the bowl sits a plate over full with the standard lunch items of the day, a glass of milk, and a glass of juice. Baby steps.
At least Tim's arteries will be a little less atherosclerosed. We hope. Slightly. Into the kitchen heads Dr. Grey herself, collecting a passing admonition from Madame Vargas about how she was not seen at breakfast, and how does she intend to keep up with the young whelps if she won't take the time to -eat-. "I'm getting lunch now!" Jean protests, with a hint of a teenager in her thirty-something tones as she lifts her hands wardingly in fear f the cook. There is a volcanic sort of rumble, and information is imparted about the location of a chicken pot pie. Jean collects it from where it's been warming, and settles herself beside Tim's seat with a sigh. "Ah, it's good to be off your feet for a bit."
Tim can't help but grin wide, spoon still in mouth, at the exchange between Madame Vargas Jean, holding back a chuckle as Jean moves closer. He scoots his stool to the side and moves his plate around to give the professor more space. He gives Jean's statement a sharp nod and definite agreement. "Yup, specially in here. Its kinda nuts in the other room right now. Kinda worried I'd get trampled." The exhaustion in his voice is highly exaggerated, but the statement is no less true.
"Madame Vargas' home-made chicken pot pies are worth a little rioting over," Jean muses, eyes twinkling, and if her tone is loud enough that the cook can overhear and be shamelessly flattered, well, one -does- have to take steps to let the cook know she is loved and appreciated. "But I see you've decided to give the fruit and granola a try?"
"Fewer calories than the same amount of cake," Jean agrees, tone carefully politic as she surveys the remains of Tim's lunch, and plucks up her fork to start breaking into her own. "And better for you. It was a good call,"
Tim's fork pokes into his own pie too, as Jean begins her lunch, his bright mood dampening as he shifts the peas from one side to the other. "Dr. Grey." he asks after the pea had managed three laps, passing two carrots and finishing the race just a nose ahead of a bit of crust. "Can I ask you a question?" Its a particular tone of his, pointing to not just any question, and low enough to very much /not/ be overheard by Madame Vargas if he can help it.
Jean's eyes go vague for a moment, and result in Madame Vargas giving the back of her head a sharp look, a sharper nod, and then bustling over to go do something noisy involving a food processor and the conversion of hazelnuts and mushrooms into stuffing for the night's meal, taking the form of sole courtesy of sharp dealing at a fish market managed by a younger Vargas scion. And Jean her attention to Tim with a steady little nod. "Always, Tim."
And the pea is off again, making another lap around the crust as it receives the boy's full attention. "Uhm, how did you decide to... um..." he drolls out as the pea slows to a stop. "...decide I should get a new set of stairs?" Tim is a bit hesitant bringing the rickety things up again.
Jean takes a moment to answer, both out of good manners in finishing her mouthful of pie, and out of a slow considreationof Tim's words, translated from spoken code to plain intention. "When I learned that you were being put in danger by the old ones," is her answer, simple after the silence.
"There are many different ways to hurt people," Jean reflects, with a wry glance down at her chicken pot pie, followed swiftly by the violent stabbing death of a chunk of succulent chicken meats. She munches it thoughtfully, sips at a tall glass of juice, and then speaks once again. "If someone is getting hurt, and it's in a place or with people with whom they ought to be safe, then they need to leave that set of stairs and come away to less dangerous ones."
This is a subject that Tims do not like to talk about, or think about. His nose crinkles, blood fills his brow, eyes, and edges of his cheeks tinting them red, and his lips push together as his heart picks up a little bit of pace. "I think I know why I don't like Pastor Jack anymore." is his simple statement up to Jean as he turns back to his pie.
"Is it anything you want to share with me?" asks Jean, setting down her fork after a final bite, and half-turning towards Tim, attentive without the glaring focus of a head-on look.
Tim's heart begins to beat harder and harder, and his hand shakes as he reaches out across his pie to grab his juice. He downs it in nearly one go as the boy tries to build up just an ounce more of courage. "I think he... and Autumn..." he begins, hoping against hope she doesn't make him finish the sentence.
"If you can't say it," Jean murmurs, eyes and mind alert to signs that the stress is building. "And you think I need to know, then just think it loudly for me so that I can see."
Thinking it loudly comes automatically in the form of a rather vivid flash of his run in with Amp near the music room, the image of Amp screaming Jack's intentions with Autumn rather crudely. Tim shifts uncomfortably in his seat as he tries to say "I always thought, but, it couldn't be... but... I think its true."
Jean's eyes narrow wonderfully, green eyed slits as she bristles, picks up her fork again, and then very, very calmly resumes eating her lunch. "I'm calling Detective Rossi," she says. "I need to get some insight... is there anyone else who's noticed?" she asks. "Jeremy? Jamie?"
"Jeremy, I think." Tim confirms as he pokes the pie in front of him, a bit more relieved. "But Jamie's acting completely weird now, and doesn't believe it..." The fork is retired into the pie, Tim just isn't hungry anymore. "...because Jack told him it wasn't true."
"Now that's interesting," mutters Jean, not so much darkly as gravely. "Although... not unheard of, for a charismatic preacher." Abruptly, she rises, but unlike Tim she's still hungry and opts to take her lunch with her. "Thank you for telling me this, Tim. I've got some phonecalls to make."
Plates are gathered, utensils stacked, and bowl piled on top of the whole mess in front Tim, to be carried where dirty things should go. The boy pushes a thin smile on his face as he nods to the departing professor and waddles away. "Thank you, Dr. Grey. Just... make sure she's safe."
"I'll do my best," Jean promises, one hand pressing briefly against her heart, before she's gone to go lock herself in her office and harass one overworked detective.
Lunch and disturbing speculation.
"Detective Rossi? It's Dr. Grey. Look... I don't have any hard evidence, but I think I might be about to step into some kind of abuse case, and I... Well, there's a pastor of a church called Westchester Family Faith, Jack Brighton. I've got students telling me there's something up between him and a girl named Autumn Clarke. One of them's Detective Hall's son, Timothy, and... Look. Can you call me back?"
X-Men Movieverse 2 - Tuesday, December 11, 2007, 12:39 PM
---------------------------------------------------------
=XS= Kitchen - Lv 1 - Xavier's School
A relic of Victorian times, this kitchen is vast, with more than one oven and several stainless steel work surfaces taking the space once claimed by coal hoppers, cooking hearths and cast-iron stoves. Walls still done in period plaster and tile, and the floor still the original fieldstone, fluorescent lights have been installed overhead to bring the lighting up to modern level. At meal times, kitchen workers scurry to and fro with pans and food and various other sundry items, under the watchful eye of the aging head cook, but once past, order is restored, with copper-bottomed pans hanging above the kitchen island, and a tray of cold snacks left out for foraging students and staff alike. Folding wood doors screen off a pantry capable of holding food for an large household's weekly meals -- or three days' worth of teenager food.
[This room is set watchable. Use alias XSKitchen to watch here.]
[Exits : [H]allway and [B]ack [P]atio]
[Players : Tim ]
It's a bowl. That is easy to see. And inside it is lots of crunch granola and fruit with yogurt poured over top of it and a spoon leaning against the side. A big spoon, that shovels bite fulls into Tim's mouth, the boy having broken away from the main lunch group to fix the bowl, having taken a page from Dr. Grey's cookbook. But he hasn't really learned too much from that book, as beside the bowl sits a plate over full with the standard lunch items of the day, a glass of milk, and a glass of juice. Baby steps.
At least Tim's arteries will be a little less atherosclerosed. We hope. Slightly. Into the kitchen heads Dr. Grey herself, collecting a passing admonition from Madame Vargas about how she was not seen at breakfast, and how does she intend to keep up with the young whelps if she won't take the time to -eat-. "I'm getting lunch now!" Jean protests, with a hint of a teenager in her thirty-something tones as she lifts her hands wardingly in fear f the cook. There is a volcanic sort of rumble, and information is imparted about the location of a chicken pot pie. Jean collects it from where it's been warming, and settles herself beside Tim's seat with a sigh. "Ah, it's good to be off your feet for a bit."
Tim can't help but grin wide, spoon still in mouth, at the exchange between Madame Vargas Jean, holding back a chuckle as Jean moves closer. He scoots his stool to the side and moves his plate around to give the professor more space. He gives Jean's statement a sharp nod and definite agreement. "Yup, specially in here. Its kinda nuts in the other room right now. Kinda worried I'd get trampled." The exhaustion in his voice is highly exaggerated, but the statement is no less true.
"Madame Vargas' home-made chicken pot pies are worth a little rioting over," Jean muses, eyes twinkling, and if her tone is loud enough that the cook can overhear and be shamelessly flattered, well, one -does- have to take steps to let the cook know she is loved and appreciated. "But I see you've decided to give the fruit and granola a try?"
"Fewer calories than the same amount of cake," Jean agrees, tone carefully politic as she surveys the remains of Tim's lunch, and plucks up her fork to start breaking into her own. "And better for you. It was a good call,"
Tim's fork pokes into his own pie too, as Jean begins her lunch, his bright mood dampening as he shifts the peas from one side to the other. "Dr. Grey." he asks after the pea had managed three laps, passing two carrots and finishing the race just a nose ahead of a bit of crust. "Can I ask you a question?" Its a particular tone of his, pointing to not just any question, and low enough to very much /not/ be overheard by Madame Vargas if he can help it.
Jean's eyes go vague for a moment, and result in Madame Vargas giving the back of her head a sharp look, a sharper nod, and then bustling over to go do something noisy involving a food processor and the conversion of hazelnuts and mushrooms into stuffing for the night's meal, taking the form of sole courtesy of sharp dealing at a fish market managed by a younger Vargas scion. And Jean her attention to Tim with a steady little nod. "Always, Tim."
And the pea is off again, making another lap around the crust as it receives the boy's full attention. "Uhm, how did you decide to... um..." he drolls out as the pea slows to a stop. "...decide I should get a new set of stairs?" Tim is a bit hesitant bringing the rickety things up again.
Jean takes a moment to answer, both out of good manners in finishing her mouthful of pie, and out of a slow considreationof Tim's words, translated from spoken code to plain intention. "When I learned that you were being put in danger by the old ones," is her answer, simple after the silence.
"There are many different ways to hurt people," Jean reflects, with a wry glance down at her chicken pot pie, followed swiftly by the violent stabbing death of a chunk of succulent chicken meats. She munches it thoughtfully, sips at a tall glass of juice, and then speaks once again. "If someone is getting hurt, and it's in a place or with people with whom they ought to be safe, then they need to leave that set of stairs and come away to less dangerous ones."
This is a subject that Tims do not like to talk about, or think about. His nose crinkles, blood fills his brow, eyes, and edges of his cheeks tinting them red, and his lips push together as his heart picks up a little bit of pace. "I think I know why I don't like Pastor Jack anymore." is his simple statement up to Jean as he turns back to his pie.
"Is it anything you want to share with me?" asks Jean, setting down her fork after a final bite, and half-turning towards Tim, attentive without the glaring focus of a head-on look.
Tim's heart begins to beat harder and harder, and his hand shakes as he reaches out across his pie to grab his juice. He downs it in nearly one go as the boy tries to build up just an ounce more of courage. "I think he... and Autumn..." he begins, hoping against hope she doesn't make him finish the sentence.
"If you can't say it," Jean murmurs, eyes and mind alert to signs that the stress is building. "And you think I need to know, then just think it loudly for me so that I can see."
Thinking it loudly comes automatically in the form of a rather vivid flash of his run in with Amp near the music room, the image of Amp screaming Jack's intentions with Autumn rather crudely. Tim shifts uncomfortably in his seat as he tries to say "I always thought, but, it couldn't be... but... I think its true."
Jean's eyes narrow wonderfully, green eyed slits as she bristles, picks up her fork again, and then very, very calmly resumes eating her lunch. "I'm calling Detective Rossi," she says. "I need to get some insight... is there anyone else who's noticed?" she asks. "Jeremy? Jamie?"
"Jeremy, I think." Tim confirms as he pokes the pie in front of him, a bit more relieved. "But Jamie's acting completely weird now, and doesn't believe it..." The fork is retired into the pie, Tim just isn't hungry anymore. "...because Jack told him it wasn't true."
"Now that's interesting," mutters Jean, not so much darkly as gravely. "Although... not unheard of, for a charismatic preacher." Abruptly, she rises, but unlike Tim she's still hungry and opts to take her lunch with her. "Thank you for telling me this, Tim. I've got some phonecalls to make."
Plates are gathered, utensils stacked, and bowl piled on top of the whole mess in front Tim, to be carried where dirty things should go. The boy pushes a thin smile on his face as he nods to the departing professor and waddles away. "Thank you, Dr. Grey. Just... make sure she's safe."
"I'll do my best," Jean promises, one hand pressing briefly against her heart, before she's gone to go lock herself in her office and harass one overworked detective.
Lunch and disturbing speculation.