Boxing Day in the Xavier Woods:
Those who thought that the fires in the living and rec room fireplaces were temporary one-day things for Christmas might just have another thing coming. Dr. Grey and Professor Logan disappeared into the woods for a couple hours bearing axes, and returned, not with the dismembered remnants of the last student to barge into their rooms uninvited, but instead with a lot of freshly-chopped firewood. The woods are, it appears, possessed of one less fallen tree.
X-Men: Movieverse 2 - Wednesday, December 26, 2007, 8:39 PM
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=XS= Path to the Lake - Xavier Woods - Xavier's School
The overhanging canopy of trees eventually gives way to dirt, and leaves to tall grasses as this particular path emerges from the forest into a meadow overlooking Breakstone Lake. At the top of the bluff, a clump of slender silver birches rings a Japanese garden, with a pathway in careful gravel splitting off the main path to lead towards it. Another path curls off and slopes down into a clearing that houses the stables. The meadow turns to a small and sandy cliff, anchored both by the matted roots of the grass and by the sloping trail cut into it that leads down to a large wooden dock, and a quaint little two story boathouse with chalet on top and storage and a boat launch on the bottom.
[Exits : [F]ront [Y]ard, [J]apanese [G]ardens, [T]o [T]he [D]ock, and [T]he [S]tables]
For some, Boxing Day is for sleeping. For some, it is for shopping. For others, it is for trying not to go insane over whatever noisy electronic thing the kids have been given. Young Nate Grey-Summers has been gifted several such toys. Thus, given crisp, clear air outside and repetitive beeping and shrieking noises in, Jean has opted for an old down-filled coat, warm work gloves and other accoutrements, the woods, and a wood axe. There is a tree. It has fallen. It needs to be burned in fireplaces now.
It is worth noting that one such noisy toy might have been given to the young Grey-Summers by Logan. But as all of Logan's gifts went out without a 'from' tag, the truth of this is only revealed by the occasional grin on Logan's face this season as his eyes caught the youngling zooming about with the migraine inducing plastic monstrosities. Outside in the crisp air, a lot of the scruffy man's edge has eased off, his steps light, his lips relaxed, and a certain bit of joy in his eyes. As his own axe work on the smaller branches with the ease years of practice brings, he grins wide and says "I think it went pretty well this year."
Beneath the poofy warmth of the down jacket, a glimpse of an emerald green sweater can be spotted, a touch too large for Jean, but worn happily all the same. Possessed neither of adamantium claws 'nor upper arm strength to actually section the trunk, and not daring the small chainsaw sitting to one side, Jean seems content to set pre-cut sections atop a stump that's serving as a chopping block, and then attack them with overhand swings of the wood axe. A lumberjack she is not -- it's averaging about four strokes per piece to split it. Jean, with satisfied noises like 'Hah.' escaping each time she splits one, doesn't seem to mind. "I'd say so," she agrees. "Although I'm finding myself buying gift cards for more and more of the students, because every year it seems I know less and less of them personally. I hope Tim likes that notebook, though," she muses. "Moleskine's supposed to be popular with writers."
Logan's eyes glaze with a touch of nostalgia as Jean fells another hunk of the tree and his own chops pause. "I'm sure its fine. It's just 'cause theres more of the brats every year." he tries to console as he sinks the hand axe into the deceased deciduous. "I'm still not sure I've got all their names right, and we keep gettn' more of 'em. Still its better I did, just got the whole lot of 'em a stack of tokens for the arcade, just don't let any of 'em catch ear of it. My reputation has already taken enough abuse this year."
Up on her toes rises Jean, swinging the axe in concert with the movement to get the most force behind it that she can. Alas that axe heads take some practice aiming, and thus instead of off-center to split the section of trunk it lands square in the middle. And sticks. Jean says an impolite word, and then sets about trying to pull the axe loose. "I heard about some incident involving Walter and snowballs," she prompts, giving up on the axe momentarily to give Logan a flash of a fond smile.
It isn't often you get the chance to come to the rescue and open the jar (or in this case, the axe) when your girl friend is a telekinetic, so Logan waste no time in strolling over to lend his hand. As he does though, his grin turns slightly embarrassed and he shakes his head dismissively "Him, the Hall kid, and Yvette. I'm sure the story has gotten past the truth of it, by now." Logans do occasionally get to have a little bit of fun. Occasionally. "This keeps up they might start thinkin' I'm human. I'll have to take care of that next year."
"And we couldn't be having that, now could we?" Jean questions, a laugh on her voice as she leans in to award the noble axe-rescuer with a kiss for his brave deed. And, on a certain level, just because she can, they're in the middle of the woods, alone, and how often does -that- happen? Hefting the freed axe but not yet swinging, she suggests that "If you're worried about your increasing humanity in their eyes, just drag them off on another camping trip."
And there is something of a laugh in his kiss as Logan gladly accepts it. "Actually, I had something different in mind." he leads and teases as Jean readies the axe. His hand digs deep into his jacket's pocket and pull out a small slip of paper with a bow on it. Inside the folded scrap of wrapping are two round trip tickets, first class, to Alaska, the departure dates open. "Was saving this one. For when things calm down."
It's fortunate that Jean has the presence of mind to put down the axe first. Healing factors aside, it would really ruin the moment for the laughing armful of redhead that wraps itself around Logan's neck upon looking at the content of the folded paper to have been carrying something pointy and sharp along with her. "Oh, God, that couldn't have come at a better time," she pronounces, one hand clutching the tickets carefully.
Logan is careful to give an inch backwards as he suddenly finds a Jean wrapped around him. As his own arms wrap around Jean, in turn, ticklish sideburns shift up and down as he adds. "Any time you think your ready to use 'em, Red. A cabin in the woods, no one for miles around, and not a chance in hell that your phone will work."
"Better and better," Jean sums up, grinning far more girlishly than she really has a right to. "If it weren't probably too late to pack now, I'd say New Year's, but how does the spring break sound? That should be out of the absolute freeze-your-girlfriend-into-an-icecube part of the weather, right?"
"Sounds about right." Logan agrees as he steps back and paces back over to his axe and the tree that was. Kiss and Hugs? Logan is a happy Logan. "Wonder if I should actually schedule it, or do you think Chuck will pass out if I actually told him before taking off for once?" The joke is only slightly pointed. And with a familiar grunt the axe begins to hack away another chunk for the pile. Sure the saw, or heck even the claws would be faster, but there is something therapeutic and relaxing as quick blows slowly chip their way through the whole of it.
Were it not rather -cold- out, there might be more, by the gleam in Jean's eye. However, frostbite in embarassing locations is not a thing she cares to explain to Big Brother Hank, and thus she merely kisses Logan again before retrieving her own axe and returning to the chopping block. Telekinesis floats another round of wood over, dropping it into place, before she hefts the axe to swing it again. "He might, at that," she predicts. "Although even if you didn't, I'd have to." THUNK goes the axe again. THUNK. And then a clatter of smaller pieces falling apart. Jean looks pleased. "Only two hits, this time."
Jean's pleased look is matched with an approving nod from Logan, and another log tossed onto the pile to take its place. To keep certain emotions that do not go very will in snow and freezing weather at bay, Logan opts for a subject change. "I was telling him I didn't think any of the kids were ready." Logan's definition of what 'ready' means for the wide world out there quite a bit different than most. "I guess I was wrong about that. How's Wallace holding up, you think?"
"He's... carrying a lot," is Jean's judicious answer, as she concentrates a moment to bring another log over for the chopping. Swinging the axe through a practice strike, she winces once as her back begins to tell her that hi, we have just chopped up a quarter of a birch tree, thank you, and then decides to deal with this via a slow and spine-twisty seies of stretches. "It's the first time he's been in a situation like that. I'm still half holding my breath to see how he settles it within himself. I need to talk with him," she sums up, with a rueful curve of her mouth as she hears herself repeating a common plaint.
"I think he'll pull through it." Is Logan's assessment of the situation, however ill informed he may be. Another set of violent strikes land into the tree again, neither his stamina or back complaining. Regeneration is entirely unfair, sometimes. "If he was going to break, I think he already would have. Kept his head on straight. Just wish we had more time with 'em." And so Logan comes to the realization that their time with the students is not endless, and there isn't always tomorrow to make it all better.
Entirely unfair. Jean finishes her stretching and opts to see about stacking up some of the chopped and fire-ready wood atop a glaringly orange tarp spread out for that purpose. Because she's not without unfair advantages of her own, she does this by hunkering down on the chopping block, legs and arms drawn in to conserve body heat, and -thinking- at the fire logs. "You and me both," she sighs. "Whoever decided that kids should grow up in four years of high school... I don't know."
"Probably the same person that decided we couldn't protect 'em from all the ugly out there until they did." Logan adds as he finishes off another chunk, and tosses it onto the stack again. A judging eye finds Jean's posture and thoughts go to earlier stretching. "Why don't you head on up and get warm? I can finish up here."
"Naw," Jean replies, as more wood bobs over to join its fellows on the tarp. "It's nice out here. I'm far enough from the mansion that the only mind bumping into mine is yours," she explains, making one kindling log go tumbling end over end just because she can. "And that, I don't mind so much."
Talk of students and plans for escape. And the hitting of innocent trees with axes.
X-Men: Movieverse 2 - Wednesday, December 26, 2007, 8:39 PM
-----------------------------------------------------------
=XS= Path to the Lake - Xavier Woods - Xavier's School
The overhanging canopy of trees eventually gives way to dirt, and leaves to tall grasses as this particular path emerges from the forest into a meadow overlooking Breakstone Lake. At the top of the bluff, a clump of slender silver birches rings a Japanese garden, with a pathway in careful gravel splitting off the main path to lead towards it. Another path curls off and slopes down into a clearing that houses the stables. The meadow turns to a small and sandy cliff, anchored both by the matted roots of the grass and by the sloping trail cut into it that leads down to a large wooden dock, and a quaint little two story boathouse with chalet on top and storage and a boat launch on the bottom.
[Exits : [F]ront [Y]ard, [J]apanese [G]ardens, [T]o [T]he [D]ock, and [T]he [S]tables]
For some, Boxing Day is for sleeping. For some, it is for shopping. For others, it is for trying not to go insane over whatever noisy electronic thing the kids have been given. Young Nate Grey-Summers has been gifted several such toys. Thus, given crisp, clear air outside and repetitive beeping and shrieking noises in, Jean has opted for an old down-filled coat, warm work gloves and other accoutrements, the woods, and a wood axe. There is a tree. It has fallen. It needs to be burned in fireplaces now.
It is worth noting that one such noisy toy might have been given to the young Grey-Summers by Logan. But as all of Logan's gifts went out without a 'from' tag, the truth of this is only revealed by the occasional grin on Logan's face this season as his eyes caught the youngling zooming about with the migraine inducing plastic monstrosities. Outside in the crisp air, a lot of the scruffy man's edge has eased off, his steps light, his lips relaxed, and a certain bit of joy in his eyes. As his own axe work on the smaller branches with the ease years of practice brings, he grins wide and says "I think it went pretty well this year."
Beneath the poofy warmth of the down jacket, a glimpse of an emerald green sweater can be spotted, a touch too large for Jean, but worn happily all the same. Possessed neither of adamantium claws 'nor upper arm strength to actually section the trunk, and not daring the small chainsaw sitting to one side, Jean seems content to set pre-cut sections atop a stump that's serving as a chopping block, and then attack them with overhand swings of the wood axe. A lumberjack she is not -- it's averaging about four strokes per piece to split it. Jean, with satisfied noises like 'Hah.' escaping each time she splits one, doesn't seem to mind. "I'd say so," she agrees. "Although I'm finding myself buying gift cards for more and more of the students, because every year it seems I know less and less of them personally. I hope Tim likes that notebook, though," she muses. "Moleskine's supposed to be popular with writers."
Logan's eyes glaze with a touch of nostalgia as Jean fells another hunk of the tree and his own chops pause. "I'm sure its fine. It's just 'cause theres more of the brats every year." he tries to console as he sinks the hand axe into the deceased deciduous. "I'm still not sure I've got all their names right, and we keep gettn' more of 'em. Still its better I did, just got the whole lot of 'em a stack of tokens for the arcade, just don't let any of 'em catch ear of it. My reputation has already taken enough abuse this year."
Up on her toes rises Jean, swinging the axe in concert with the movement to get the most force behind it that she can. Alas that axe heads take some practice aiming, and thus instead of off-center to split the section of trunk it lands square in the middle. And sticks. Jean says an impolite word, and then sets about trying to pull the axe loose. "I heard about some incident involving Walter and snowballs," she prompts, giving up on the axe momentarily to give Logan a flash of a fond smile.
It isn't often you get the chance to come to the rescue and open the jar (or in this case, the axe) when your girl friend is a telekinetic, so Logan waste no time in strolling over to lend his hand. As he does though, his grin turns slightly embarrassed and he shakes his head dismissively "Him, the Hall kid, and Yvette. I'm sure the story has gotten past the truth of it, by now." Logans do occasionally get to have a little bit of fun. Occasionally. "This keeps up they might start thinkin' I'm human. I'll have to take care of that next year."
"And we couldn't be having that, now could we?" Jean questions, a laugh on her voice as she leans in to award the noble axe-rescuer with a kiss for his brave deed. And, on a certain level, just because she can, they're in the middle of the woods, alone, and how often does -that- happen? Hefting the freed axe but not yet swinging, she suggests that "If you're worried about your increasing humanity in their eyes, just drag them off on another camping trip."
And there is something of a laugh in his kiss as Logan gladly accepts it. "Actually, I had something different in mind." he leads and teases as Jean readies the axe. His hand digs deep into his jacket's pocket and pull out a small slip of paper with a bow on it. Inside the folded scrap of wrapping are two round trip tickets, first class, to Alaska, the departure dates open. "Was saving this one. For when things calm down."
It's fortunate that Jean has the presence of mind to put down the axe first. Healing factors aside, it would really ruin the moment for the laughing armful of redhead that wraps itself around Logan's neck upon looking at the content of the folded paper to have been carrying something pointy and sharp along with her. "Oh, God, that couldn't have come at a better time," she pronounces, one hand clutching the tickets carefully.
Logan is careful to give an inch backwards as he suddenly finds a Jean wrapped around him. As his own arms wrap around Jean, in turn, ticklish sideburns shift up and down as he adds. "Any time you think your ready to use 'em, Red. A cabin in the woods, no one for miles around, and not a chance in hell that your phone will work."
"Better and better," Jean sums up, grinning far more girlishly than she really has a right to. "If it weren't probably too late to pack now, I'd say New Year's, but how does the spring break sound? That should be out of the absolute freeze-your-girlfriend-into-an-icecube part of the weather, right?"
"Sounds about right." Logan agrees as he steps back and paces back over to his axe and the tree that was. Kiss and Hugs? Logan is a happy Logan. "Wonder if I should actually schedule it, or do you think Chuck will pass out if I actually told him before taking off for once?" The joke is only slightly pointed. And with a familiar grunt the axe begins to hack away another chunk for the pile. Sure the saw, or heck even the claws would be faster, but there is something therapeutic and relaxing as quick blows slowly chip their way through the whole of it.
Were it not rather -cold- out, there might be more, by the gleam in Jean's eye. However, frostbite in embarassing locations is not a thing she cares to explain to Big Brother Hank, and thus she merely kisses Logan again before retrieving her own axe and returning to the chopping block. Telekinesis floats another round of wood over, dropping it into place, before she hefts the axe to swing it again. "He might, at that," she predicts. "Although even if you didn't, I'd have to." THUNK goes the axe again. THUNK. And then a clatter of smaller pieces falling apart. Jean looks pleased. "Only two hits, this time."
Jean's pleased look is matched with an approving nod from Logan, and another log tossed onto the pile to take its place. To keep certain emotions that do not go very will in snow and freezing weather at bay, Logan opts for a subject change. "I was telling him I didn't think any of the kids were ready." Logan's definition of what 'ready' means for the wide world out there quite a bit different than most. "I guess I was wrong about that. How's Wallace holding up, you think?"
"He's... carrying a lot," is Jean's judicious answer, as she concentrates a moment to bring another log over for the chopping. Swinging the axe through a practice strike, she winces once as her back begins to tell her that hi, we have just chopped up a quarter of a birch tree, thank you, and then decides to deal with this via a slow and spine-twisty seies of stretches. "It's the first time he's been in a situation like that. I'm still half holding my breath to see how he settles it within himself. I need to talk with him," she sums up, with a rueful curve of her mouth as she hears herself repeating a common plaint.
"I think he'll pull through it." Is Logan's assessment of the situation, however ill informed he may be. Another set of violent strikes land into the tree again, neither his stamina or back complaining. Regeneration is entirely unfair, sometimes. "If he was going to break, I think he already would have. Kept his head on straight. Just wish we had more time with 'em." And so Logan comes to the realization that their time with the students is not endless, and there isn't always tomorrow to make it all better.
Entirely unfair. Jean finishes her stretching and opts to see about stacking up some of the chopped and fire-ready wood atop a glaringly orange tarp spread out for that purpose. Because she's not without unfair advantages of her own, she does this by hunkering down on the chopping block, legs and arms drawn in to conserve body heat, and -thinking- at the fire logs. "You and me both," she sighs. "Whoever decided that kids should grow up in four years of high school... I don't know."
"Probably the same person that decided we couldn't protect 'em from all the ugly out there until they did." Logan adds as he finishes off another chunk, and tosses it onto the stack again. A judging eye finds Jean's posture and thoughts go to earlier stretching. "Why don't you head on up and get warm? I can finish up here."
"Naw," Jean replies, as more wood bobs over to join its fellows on the tarp. "It's nice out here. I'm far enough from the mansion that the only mind bumping into mine is yours," she explains, making one kindling log go tumbling end over end just because she can. "And that, I don't mind so much."
Talk of students and plans for escape. And the hitting of innocent trees with axes.