OOC: Logs of Recovering Jean
X-Men: Movieverse 2 - Sunday, March 02, 2008, 6:00 PM
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=XS= Jean's Room - Staff Wing - Lv 3
Large and airy this end of the hall room; the door from the hallway bisects one wall. To the right, an office area complete with overstuffed bookshelves and a desk with computer, docking stations for peripherals, and piles of papers both research and student. To the left, privacy screens in black lacquered wood and white rice paper enclose a sleeping area containing a bedside table and lamp, and a double futon with many pillows and an addictively comfortable duvet. The outer wall features two bay windows with cushioned window seats on either side of a small fieldstone fireplace. An oriental rug stands in front of the hearth, with a small cream coloured sofa perfectly placed for a quiet evening in. There are two additional rugs in the sleeping and office areas, otherwise the parquet floor is bare. Walls hung with gray-blue wallpaper and with acccents in black and white, the simple empty space allows for both visual and mental tranquility, aided and abetted by candles scattered about on black worked-metal stands. A door on the left wall leads to a fairly nice bathroom, and a matching one on the right opens into a large walk-in closet.
[Exits : [O]ut]
[Players : Logan ]
Jean Grey is, all things taken together, a really terrible patient. While she is in her own room, and thus sparing the rest of the medical staff constant grumpines over the fact that she is stuck in bed while there are things to do, this does not lessen the fact that she is -stuck in bed-, while there are -things to do-. Nate has taken his leave since the morning, and Jean has currently found herself a copy of a trashy romance novel gifted to her by the author as a result of the character being a thinly-disguised tribute to her. Dr. Jenn Gray indeed! "Oh, for the love of--" echoes from the room, as she turns a page right into another hackneyed romp.
Logan does not knock, Logan does not ask 'can I come in?' Logan simply turns the handle on Jean's door and opens it. All said and done, he hasn't spent a lot of time hovering over the comatose Dr. Grey, though not for lack of a want to. But someone had to brunt the responsibilities of dealing with a panicked student body, and someone had to make sure they didn't destroy the gym. The effort was mostly successful, but the gym will be home to a few scars this week that paint won't /quite/ cover up for some time to come. And some of them even inflicted by students! Eyes going to Jean, he simply greets "Hey, Red."
"I would -not- say that!" says Jean, apparently to the romance novel, as she sits upright and looks about ready to toss it out of exasperation with the dialogue. Fortunately, there is a Logan suddenly in the book's possible trajectory, and she stops her arm in mid-arc. (Just as well. There's enough weakness still about her that the book would fall embrassingly short.) Instead she sighs, looks up at Logan, and shakes her head slightly. "I don't think I'll ever refer to anything as a throbbing speculum of hot beef," she informs him. "If I do, please find Charles and have him take a look at my brain." This somewhat disconcerting greeting is paired with a hopeful pat of her bedside.
Logan's eyes arch at the quotation, amusement smearing itself across his grin wide. "Now I'm disappointed. I take it I don't measure up?" he teases as he approaches Jean's bed. His steps are careful, cautious, restrained. As if the impact of boots on floor would somehow cascade into direct harm for the good Doctor. He settles down on the bed where he's supposed to as gently as adamantium weighted bones will allow.
"Speculums," Jean notes, "Are not sexy at all. You don't have that problem." With that, and something much more pleasantly distracting than the romance novel presenting itself, she puts the book away and rests her hand lightly on Logan's knee, palm up and inviting as she takes a moment to look him over with a smile much more quiet and contemplative than the joking of a moment ago would suggest. "How are you holding up?" is what she finally wonders.
A rough hand accepts the invitation, palm pressing against palm with affection and worry. "A lot better now that you and Casper decided wake up for breakfast." Logan answers, his face ditching the humor in favor of more honest care. And he has been doing better, things like actual sleep and the return of luxuries such as sanity. "But I'm kinda hope'n for you to answer that question."
Jean's hand may feel more delicate than it was before, a touch of the flesh of her palms no longer -quite- where it was before, but her touch is firm and sure as she clasps his hand right back. "You still look tired," she murmurs, her free hand lifting to trace fingertips against the side of his face and along his jaw. "I guess you must be getting tired of watching me unconscious like this," she quips, but weakly. "I'll have to try and stop doing it. But I'm fine," she assures, perhaps just a little too quickly, a little too firmly. "Nothing a couple days of boredom until Hank rules me fit to walk around on my own won't fix."
Logan's hand gives Jean's another squeeze, the brief moment of the unfamiliar sharpening that touch of worry in the back of his eyes that just refuses to go away. "Darl'n, the only thing I'm tired of right now is putting up with the 50 runts that I've been bunking with for the past week." Grabbing onto the not so subtle hint, however, he asks: "Don't suppose Hank has any rules against you walkin' around when you're not on your own?"
"I'll admit I'm not that sad to have missed that," says Jean, with a quick smirk at the images conjured up. "I was expecting the overnight camping to be trying enough. Especially since we'd have to have had the police in to see about that body... did they find out if it was someone from the neighbours' cottages?" she wonders, eyes gone vague as she tries and fails to recall getting an answer about that from someone else at some earlier time. Her clasp of Logan's hand remains not vague at all, and his catching of the hint soon brings a smile to her eyes. "He didn't really specify, come to think of it."
Logan's hand remains in Jean's, but Logan himself slips of the edge of her bed to better help her to her feet, a light chuckle in his chest. "It wasn't anyone." He informs purposefully downplaying the body. "Just some pig wearing a T-shirt. But the police still stopped by, I called 'em when we found you."
"Oh, I bet they loved that," grumps Jean, rising with a grimace and rather more of her weight thrown back against Logan's hands than she'd like. But she does end up on her feet, if unsteady as a newborn filly and clinging unselfconsciously to Logan to keep herself there. She converts it to a hug for the sense of her own dignity, and for comfort as she rests his head against his shoulder and offers a quiet "I'm sorry you had to find that. I was... well, it was Xorn. I didn't read him as a threat. If I had..."
Whether the hug is a cover or not, it is not refused, and is returned with a gentle pat and a good dose of gratitude. "Red, when I saw you layin' there, my world dropped out beneath me. Scariest moment of my life." Relaxing the hug an inch, he tests a step, leading her one step away from the bed with full intention of putting her right back in it if this doesn't go well. "And none of us though he was. Even when we went outside to get him... guy threw me 'cross the yard like a rag doll. Right into Slim." Despite frustrations of losing Xorn, toppling Scott over wasn't /completely/ unenjoyable.
By the gritting of Jean's teeth, and the renewed clinging to Logan as she takes that first tentative step, there is absolutely no way she's going right back down. She will just, she decides, move very -slowly-, taking the time to rebalance after each shift of her feet, bare and with toes peeking out beneath the edges of the scrubs pants she's wearing as pyjama bottoms. "I'm sorry I put you through that," she says again, quietly, and her hand loosens from its death grip to pat once at his arm. Another step is carefully taken, and brings no tumbling down, before she pauses and looks up at him with narrowed eyes and a "Wait... he threw you across the yard? How did-- that's not supposed to be part of his mutation--"
"Jeanie..." Logan stops the slow shuffle, turning his head and eyes firmly on the red head as his arms squeezes back against her reassuringly. "You didn't put me through anything. Xorn put me through that, and I'm gonna put him through a hell of a lot worse if I ever get the chance." With that very important correction in the air, he resumes the careful effort to help mobilize Jean. "Yeah, was standing there in front of him and that damned horse, then my insides decided they would rather be on top of Scott in the snow, and so I was. Hurt like hell, and I'm sure Scott felt the worst of it."
"We'll just have to make sure you get the chance, then," says Jean, and for a frozen moment her eyes blaze with something dark and terrible, before the flame flickers out from a lack of energy to sustain the emotion longer than that moment. One foot in front of the other she goes, focusing on the slow and the methodical, and with a slight wince at the image. "Well, he didn't seem to have broken ribs when he brought Nate by," she offers, and pauses to rest one hand against the side of her desk as they near it. "But... that's distinctly worrying. I suppose there's no reason for him -not- to have lied about his abilities, though."
"There is no reason for him -not- to have lied about anything. Jean, we've got to screen the next one a little more careful." Logan replies, trying again to downplay the incident as much as possible, remembering a particular blue fuzzy doctor's orders about who's shoulders things should not be on. And to further put behind thoughts of former teachers who will soon be eviscerated. "Where are we goin', Red?"
"Hey," says Jean, apparently aiding and abetting the keep-things-light decision, "This one was -Charles'- pick, not mine." But after a moment's thought, further leaning, and a glance around for where her blue silk dressing down has gotten off to (To wit, peeking out of her closet with slippers beneath it.) she comes up with a more geographically useful "The Rec Room, I think. Let the troops see the assistant-commander still on her feet," she allows. "Or, ah, sitting down sensibly and watching Jeopardy."
"Alright, still. I know how you and Chuck feel about poking around in peoples heads uninvited... but the next one who is completely immune to taking a small glance inside... I say we just pass on 'em. Thanks but no thanks." Logan jokes as he continues his best impersonation of a pair of crutches. "Alright, Jeopardy."
OH NOES, I LOST A POSE! Jean wanted to borrow one of Forge's modified versions of Professor X's wheelchair.
"Maybe not /that/ one, Jeanie... but lets see what we can get for ya." Logan offers with raise of his eyebrows and a strong grip on the unsteady telepath. He isn't self-conscious at all, and woe be to the unfortunate student who would dare say anything about the wobbling teacher right now. "We're wantn' ya to get better, not put ya right back in the medbay." Oh he has so much faith in Forge...
"All right, you test it first then," says Jean with a quick laugh, and a firm grip on Logan's arm, enough to leave bruises on anyone else at times. The elevator is just down the hall and 'round the corner, but seems apallingly far, and Jean looks relieved when they 'round the corner to see it, and the couple of small loveseats beneath the Xavier family portraits. "...and I'm thinking maybe I actually want to sit there, for a bit," she decides, with a point towards one as her knees threaten to buckle.
Logan obliges and leads Jean in that direction. Despite his healing factor getting an exercise, he doesn't even let a hint of discomfort head Jean's way for the effort. His arm shifts position, grip growing stronger as he feels her steps failing, and puts enough muscle into it to remove any possibility of a tumbling Dr. Grey. Carrying her isn't out of the question. "Alright Jeanie. You sure you're up for this?" he asks at length, the protector in him overriding for the moment.
"Let me just sit down for a bit," Jean decides, and lets one hand find the wall for added support. Target aquired in the form of one of the loveseats, she paces for it with slow and grim determination, and is all of three steps away when her knees finally decide that's enough, and her weight is abruptly all Logan's to bear.
Even with Logan expecting it, it doesn't make for a gentle transition. Logan's grip pulls in tight as soon as he feels the drop, and his other arm wraps quickly around to pick the red head up. This couldn't have been comfortable for Jean, however. The last three steps are taken by Logan, and with a grunt, he sets her down in the loveseat as gently as he is able. "Sorry 'bout that. You alright?" he apologizes, his gaze turning around to size up the short distance back to Jean's room.
Indeed, it's a Slightly Squashed Redhead that's deposited on the loveseat, looking distinctly woozy and waving in place a moment, before her hand finds the arm of the sofa and clings. "I really wish I was Tim's age again," says she.
Logan laughs lightly at the comment, and settles down in the seat beside Jean, hands that were once gripped around shoulders and waist now reaching gently for Jean's hands instead. "You're doin' 'bout as well as Casper was when Kitty took him out for his first walk." Logan explains, though this is mostly a lie. "So don't worry 'bout it. Besides, you can't honestly tell me you want to be one of these 'runts again?"
"Nineteen Eighty-Five wasn't such a bad year," Jean reflects, a touch absent as she takes his hands and leans in to rest her head on his shoulder. "And I had it a hell of a lot easier at their age. Still four years until the world heard about mutants from Moira, Magneto was still Professor Lensherr, and the biggest worry on my mind was whether I was going to pass Trig."
"Yeah, and I was stumbln' out of a bunker into the snow wondern' who the hell I was and why my bones were burn'n." Logan counters before tactful thought could catch the words at his lips instead of the air. "Things might'a been simpler back then, but you're givn' these kids a lot better chance than they would have had without 'ya."
Jean winces slightly. "I think I'll take my version of 1985," she decides, hands clasping tightly at his for a moment.
Logan nuzzles his head against the top of Jeans with a long breath. "Y'know, Jeanie... I think I will, too."
The invalid gets a very tentative airing, and some much-needed reassurance.
There is a log with Amp that should go here, but I only have the last six or so poses.
X-Men: Movieverse 2 - Thursday, March 06, 2008, 1:39 PM
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=XS= Jean's Room - Staff Wing - Lv 3
Large and airy this end of the hall room; the door from the hallway bisects one wall. To the right, an office area complete with overstuffed bookshelves and a desk with computer, docking stations for peripherals, and piles of papers both research and student. To the left, privacy screens in black lacquered wood and white rice paper enclose a sleeping area containing a bedside table and lamp, and a double futon with many pillows and an addictively comfortable duvet. The outer wall features two bay windows with cushioned window seats on either side of a small fieldstone fireplace. An oriental rug stands in front of the hearth, with a small cream coloured sofa perfectly placed for a quiet evening in. There are two additional rugs in the sleeping and office areas, otherwise the parquet floor is bare. Walls hung with gray-blue wallpaper and with acccents in black and white, the simple empty space allows for both visual and mental tranquility, aided and abetted by candles scattered about on black worked-metal stands. A door on the left wall leads to a fairly nice bathroom, and a matching one on the right opens into a large walk-in closet.
[Exits : [O]ut]
Tuesday morning, and while Jean is up and walking again, she has not yet been given the go-ahead to get back to work. It is possible that there is a plot afoot to get Dr. Grey to actually take a holiday. It's also possible that 'walking' does not equal 'recovered'. Nevertheless, Jean is most emphatically not in bed any more, having claimed one of her window seats instead. There she's nestled, with a cat an an afghan equally draped across jeans and a sweater, and seems to be in the middle of both a Continental breakfast and a good book. Her door is half open, suggesting that visitors are welcome.
Dressed as formally as she dresses, in a knee length black skirt and T-shirt combo topped with her fedora hat, Cassy marches towards Jean's door. The telekinetic terror balances a large covered tray on one hand and clutches a note in the other. Telekinesis knocks before she even gets close, while her mind most definately tries avoid worrying about pulling a Jubilee and interupting Jean and Logan....
Jean may have issues with -locking- her bedroom door, but she is, at least, familiar with the idea of -closing- it during private moments. "Come in, Cassy," is what comes forth from the room, along with sunlight spilling through the door as it swings the rest of the way open at the telekinetic knock. Jean, book now caught in one hand, offers a wave with a bagel half in hand.
Cassy eyes the bagel, then pouts. "I brought you brunch," she informs solemnly. "And a note from Madame Vargas confirming it is both safe to eat /and/ meets her standards. The second part is the tricky bit to achieve, but I get extra credit in Home Ec so it's not all bad."
Jean looks from her bagel to the ruins of the breakfast tray, to the newly-arriving tray that Cassy has brought with her. She may or may not go slightly pale. It -could- be a trick of the sunlight. "Oh, goodness," says Jean faintly, but with a hand reaching, bagel set down, for the tray anyways. "I'm beginning to wonder if Operation Feed Dr. Grey is actually Operation Get Dr. Grey So Fat She Can't Fit Out Her Door, And Thus Classes are Cancelled. But I'm impressed," she offers, with a small flash of a smile. "Madam Vargas' standards are difficult to hit -- what is it?"
"Venison stew," Cassy says with an impish grin. "And home made bread, nothing too special." She hands Jean the tray, then glances around for somewhere to put the note. "It'll taste nice cold too, I figured you might leave it on one side in favor of work you'd snuck in."
"Mmm, Bambie's mother. Delicious," Jean pronounces, with a crooked smile that adds crinkles to the corners of her eyes and still looks just a little stretched across her cheekbones. Being too morbidly obese to leave a room does not seem too immediate of a fate. But, that little sally given, and space made on her little breakfast stand to make room for it, she lapses into silence and studies not Cassy's food, but Cassy herself instead.
Cassy scuffs the toe one combat boot nervously against the back of the other. "You'll be pleased to know I totally did not /command/ an angry mob of students while you were out of it," she quietly notes. < < I just gathered one and put Amp in charge, oh crap telepathy? > > She blushes slightly and adds "And I didn't mean to knock Professor Summers out."
<< From the sounds of things, Amp seems to feel she put herself in charge. >> Jean's mindvoice, neither too loud 'nor too soft, 'nor too wavery, speaks of returning energy even as it speaks, briefly, to Cassy's strayed thoughts. Spoon taken up and a corner of bread torn loose, she makes an initial foray upon the venison stew, and a pleased sound escapes at the taste. "Cassy, this is really -good-. And I'm going to assume you're going to tell me how Professor Summers got knocked out, since he's neglected to tell me?"
Cassy whistles innocently. "I was hiding up a tree," she explains. "And there were all these noises comming from the mansion, then I heard something lurking in the bushes and threw a rock at it. I might have /accidentally/ TK'd boosted it a little and hit professor Summers in the head." She chews at her lip for a moment, then shrugs. "Guess she forgot me asking her to do it then, but if it makes her happy who cares?"
"Well, I wasn't precisely digging," says Jean, and then falls silent to chew away at a particularly persistent chunk of deer meat. There's a moment of closed eyes, and the question of "What did you use for the stew base? This is good." before more bread disappears, and a soft snort follows her processing the explanation about Scott. "I'm sure he'll deal with that in his own time," she pronounces, officially not making it her problem. "But how are you, Cassy?"
"I made a stock out of the bones and stuff, then used it instead of water," Cassy explains proudly. "Pretty angry to be honest, I was totally looking forward to your eyes popping out at the size of our cheque." She sighs. "Plus everyone proved how lame they are at following good suggestions, which is why I asked Professor Logan if he'll start a team based uhm.. pro-active self defence class."
"Cheque...?" Jean, apparently, did not read the paper or watch the local news while comatose.
"For just over a million dollars," Cassy notes innocently. "You /did/ say to go fundraising after all."
There is the sound of a spoon hitting a bowl, dropped from careless hands. "I... did at that," Jean agrees, the faintness come back to her voice.
"They've already presented the oversized novelty cheque," Cassy laments. "I have the newspaper clipping if you wanna see?"
"I..." says Jean, and distractedly tears her piece of bread into smaller bits. "I... yes, I think I would. I imagine that puts you and... Mira, you worked together, yes?" she questions. "In, um, first place. Although I realize a hundred dollars..."
Cassy pulls her purse out, digging around for the right scrap of paper. "You are banned from thinking about that," she notes. "It's work related, remember?" The clipping is presented to Jean for her inspection.
"Technically, so is the clipping," Jean notes right back, and reaches for it anyways. The sectioned bread is left on her tray for later munching, which is just as well once she's skimmed it enough to realize "-Emma Frost- gave you the money? Emma? Frost? Of Frost Industries and Scott's ex?"
Cassy blinks, then blinks again. "Professor Summers dated Ms Fr... Professor Summers /dated/?"
"Emma Frost," says Jean faintly, and presses one hand to her temples. "And yes."
Cassy shudders. "Okay that's just weird, even by the schools standards," she replies, sounding baffled. "And she seemed pretty nice, we were /only/ aiming for a quarter of a million dollars after all."
"Oh, she's... always a fan of charities," says Jean, and seems to be working through her plague of ellipses at last, although the hand remains pressed to her temples. "Not to mention she's probably desperate to have -someone- at the school think well of her. I'll make sure she gets a tax receipt, but... good work, Cassy." (All right, so we lied about the ellipses ending.)
"I think that'll have been taken care of already," Cassy says sternly. "And if not I'll make sure someone else does it for you."
"I'm not -dead-," Jean grumps. She proves it by eating some of the bread.
Cassy puts her hands on her hips. "But I /will/ be if Professor Logan thinks I've made you start working too soon! He'd have me running laps in a minefield before you can say cranky boyfriend."
"We're somewhat short on minefields around here," Jean points out. Logically.
"Like that'd stop Professor Logan," Cassy points out, with equal logic. "He'd just make me march all the way to the nearest one."
"Speaking of which," reflects Jean, head tilting to one side and her spoon paused midway between stew and mouth, "I think that with such a -large- fundraising amount that you and Mira have brought in, we'll have to award you something more than just the gift certificates. Would you like to be involved in picking which third world country we'll be taking a school volunteering trip to, with Habitat for Humanity? There are several options, some with or without minefields."
"Whichever one has a legal drinking age of sixteen!" Cassy suggests hopefully. "We could help to rebuild beach side dwellings and then spend the evenings with cocktails and swimming."
"Unfortunately," Jean notes dryly. "Most areas with beach side dwellings in need of rebuilding are a little short on the cocktails. But beachside could be done," she assures, and belatedly eats the spoonful of stew.
Cassy sighs. "Couldn't we have the cocktails instead?" she wonders. "And it'd have to have access to vegetarian food, because I'm mostly okay cooking meat. Just not eating it."
"I'm sure that can be arranged," says Jean, and scoops up a last bite of the stew. A few moments of chewing and swallowing later, she explains that "I imagine Habitat for Humanity has dealt with vegetarian volunteers many times before. And really, it's logistically easier to ship food without meat as well."
"Well, let us know when you've got some destination ideas in mind," Cassy says with a grin. "Have your people call our people and we'll arrange brunch sometime."
"Will do," promises Jean with a laugh. "...or I will as soon as I can either be cleared to get my laptop back, or organize a daring raid to free it."
Cassy glances around, then in an exaggerated whisper replies "Want me to track it down for you? Off the record that is."
"I'm sure it's down in my office where I left it," Jean replies, with a solemn nod. "But feel free to look in on it and see."
"If anyone mistakenly leaves it by your door it most definately won't be me," Cassy points out. "It would probably just be one of those power mishaps which makes weird stuff happen."
"Stray teleporter," Jean agrees. "Perfectly plausible explanation."
Cassy beams. "Does this mean I have offical mandate to pick locks?"
"For that," Jean notes. "You'll have to talk to Professor Munroe when she's back from Africa. She's our in-house expert on the subject, after all." But on that bit of tantalizing fact about the elegant and composed regular Social Studies teacher, Jean says nothing more. There is -bread-.
Cassy most definately does not look guilty. "Well I sure haven't been teaching myself. Perish the thought!"
"Consider it perished," says Jean, with a lift of an eyebrow. "After all, I'm not supposed to be working."
<< Thank god I didn't mention the smoke bombs >> "You won't I'm sure," Cassy agrees. "You need to update your anti-virus software and do some online shopping."
"Defrag the hard drive, upload some pictures of Nate from my camera..." Jean may make a note of that strayed thought, however, eyebrows twitching slightly. "And if I just happen to browse past the Habitat for Humanity website and just happen to send you an email with some links, well..." One shoulder shrugs.
"Well I best get off," Cassy declares, grinnng. "I have to be somewhere that isn't near your office for a while. Perhaps the library to study chemistry." < < Stinkbombs for the win > >
"Ask Dr. McCoy for some pointers," Jean offers idly, and bids Cassy off with a little nod and a lift of one hand. "And... thank you for the visit, Cassy."
"Just make sure you don't do it again okay?" Cassy asks. "Everyone was kinda worried."
"I'll take that under advisement," says Jean with a crooked smile indeed. But, for this is Xavier's, it may be noted she makes no promises.
Cassy nods. "Well, cya laters! I'll have the sweet course sent up in an hour or two, so as to give you time to finish the stew."
"...Sweet course?" is what can be heard in the wake of Cassy. In the empty room, Jean solemnly looks down, and gives her stomach a judicious poke. And then she eats some more bread.
Cassy brings food and news of fundraising success from an unlikely source.
X-Men: Movieverse 2 - Friday, March 07, 2008, 8:13 PM
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=XS= Jean's Room - Staff Wing - Lv 3
Large and airy this end of the hall room; the door from the hallway bisects one wall. To the right, an office area complete with overstuffed bookshelves and a desk with computer, docking stations for peripherals, and piles of papers both research and student. To the left, privacy screens in black lacquered wood and white rice paper enclose a sleeping area containing a bedside table and lamp, and a double futon with many pillows and an addictively comfortable duvet. The outer wall features two bay windows with cushioned window seats on either side of a small fieldstone fireplace. An oriental rug stands in front of the hearth, with a small cream coloured sofa perfectly placed for a quiet evening in. There are two additional rugs in the sleeping and office areas, otherwise the parquet floor is bare. Walls hung with gray-blue wallpaper and with acccents in black and white, the simple empty space allows for both visual and mental tranquility, aided and abetted by candles scattered about on black worked-metal stands. A door on the left wall leads to a fairly nice bathroom, and a matching one on the right opens into a large walk-in closet.
[Exits : [O]ut]
[Players : Hank ]
A week after awakening, and Jean Grey can once more be spotted taking meals with the rest of staff and students alike. She can also be seen here and there around the ground floor of the mansion. She has -not- been seen in her office, 'nor in her lab, 'nor even teaching classes. And she has been very pointedly kept from any poking around certain collapsed areas of the roof, or certain undisclosed locations currently holding Xorns. Thus, there is little for Jean to be doing on this particular Friday night except to curl up on her couch with her cat, and a book of Sudoku puzzles.
News of this restricted activity has been very welcome to the ears of one furry blue mother hen. His Friday night is not precisely packed with plans either, except perhaps for a matching book of crossword puzzles down the hall in his own room. Before retiring to them and perhaps a whiskey though, Hank has made the trek along the carpeted hallway to Jean's door. Still in the neatly formal clothing of his day, even including his tie, he knocks softly and then stands listening carefully as he waits for a response.
A chirp from the cat is the first response that filters through the wood of the door, even before the knock, as Curie's sharp ears catch what Jean's mind, focused on her numbers and squares, does not. But Jean -does- catch the knock when it sounds, and her mind briefly sweeps out from behind its walls to first seek and then identify the supplicant. Her answer comes swiftly after that: "Hank! Come in!" Likewise behaving herself, she does not wave a hand to open the door for him.
The mental presence at the door is mostly colored with the contented tiredness of a productive day, with a few flickers of worry and anger pushed mostly to the back of Hank's mind. "Jean, good evening," he greets warmly as he opens the door for himself, a pleased smile on his lips at her restraint of that usual helping gesture. "I hope that I am not interrupting anything?" He stays just inside the doorway a moment longer, waiting for further invitation in.
"Nothing but my having to erase half a puzzle because of a misplaced seven," Jean assures, lifting the book of Sudoku puzzles as proof positive of her good behavior. Curie, with Hank now in the room, bounds to the top of Jean's couch in a floof of calico fur and then jumps off it to go twine about his ankles in approved human-tripping form. "I won't deny that the week off has been good for me, but it's starting to get a little thin. If you prescribe more, I'm going to have to take off to Aruba to follow it," she warns, before swinging her legs off her couch and wondering "Do you want tea?"
"I would be delighted to have some tea." Hank eyes the feline rubbing herself against his dark trousers somewhat warily, certainly not missing the trail of light hair left clinging to the fabric. It is a good natured wariness though, and when he steps further in, closing the door behind himself, he is careful to watch his step and only nudge her away gently. "The topic of rest is one of my motivations in visiting you this evening. I came to release you, provided you are recovering well enough. I have heard excellent things regarding your activity, or rather lack of it, this week."
A last trailing flick of Curie's tail leaves a final passport-stamp of tricolour hair across Hank's trousers, and with that his entry to the realm is pronounced complete. A second chirp heralds her disappearance beneath Jean's coffee table, the better to peer out at the world with glowing eyes as her person rises, with a great deal more of her usual grace in the movement, to go see about an electric kettle that rests on a corner of her desk. "I admit being weak as a kitten for the first couple days helped," says Jean, with frankness and a laugh. "That, and apparently the student body had decided that to bother me was to court the wrath and creativity of Logan."
"A prospect to strike fear into the heart of the boldest of students," Hank agrees with an answering chuckle. He throws the couch a brief look, considering all the advantages of sitting and soft cushions. But instead, his steps take him after Jean, to stand helpfully at hand, in case an opportunity to assist actually presents itself. "I hope that your strength and stamina have progressed on to something a little superior. If you can match Curie by now then I can be well satisfied."
"I'm not sure any cat owner can actually hope to -match- their animal," Jean quips, the kettle plugged in and a smile flashed to him over one shoulder as he follows after. "Although if I had her flexibility..." But she doesn't elabourate on this tangent, merely bestowing a fond look upon the pair of green eyes staring from beneath the coffee table. "You'll probably want to run through a physical to confirm it, but I think I'm pretty much recovered. How's Tim?"
"I spoke to him briefly, and he said that he felt well enough. Of more concern to him actually was the well-being of the library, considering the window breakage." Hank stuffs his hands in his pockets, jingling a set of keys and pocket change in the process and letting his posture relax a tad. "Hopefully this weekend, both of you will have an opportunity to visit me for a physical. Until then, I will lift my sentence of rest and let you return to as much work as you could wish. Have you tested out your telekinetic abilities at all since that delightful incident with the elevator?"
"-Excellent-," says Jean with some satisfaction, as she crosses the floor to collect a pair of mugs from the cabinet beneath her window seat. "On that note, what the hell happened with our roof, Xorn, and did you know that Cassy and Mira raised over a million dollars for Habitat for Humanity?" This spate of questions answered, she then belatedly chuffs a laugh and admits that "...and I did hear your question, honest."
"Your questions are rather more thrilling," Hank allows, amused. "Unfortunately as to the first, I am afraid that I cannot share much detail with you. I have not yet had a chance to speak to Charles for the full story, and I do not repose much trust in what information I receive through the student grapevine. All I know for certain is that there was a confrontation during which the roof was affected, and that we are currently holding Xorn in the basement." Surrendering to the fact that he is actually quite superfluous to the tea making process, Hank begins to meander his way back over to the couch. "I had in fact heard of our duo's success in their fundraising efforts. I believe we owe that to the support of Ms. Frost, oddly enough."
"I'll go bother Scott as to the details on -that-," Jean assures, vis-a-vis Xorn containment, and joins Hank back at the couch once mugs have been set out, with teabags dropped in, to await the boiling of the little electric kettle. Beneath the coffee table, eyes blink approvingly at the humans' return. "And... no doubt Emma has some sort of game in mind with donating that much to something I'm organizing. But if it helps out a charity..." Jean has been practicing. She sounds almost neutral and at peace as she says this, if one ignores the slight grit to her teeth.
"And yet you would infinitely prefer if it had been any of the many other absurdly wealthy residents of this city. Understandably so." As always concerned for the furniture, Hank restrains any urge to flop onto the couch and instead sinks decorously into one corner. One hand goes up to loosen the knot of his tie. "I admit I cannot immediately see how such a donation could lead to anything further, much less a 'game'. However, she is the one skilled in such manipulations, certainly not I."
"Cassy and Mira now think well of her," Jean ticks off on her fingers, one corner of her mouth quirked. "And because what she's actually -done- in the past is either very subtle, unprovable, or far too arcane to really trouble a teenager, I can't warn them that she's dangerous and untrustworthy without coming off as unreasonable. She has Illyana thinking she's wonderful as well," she ticks off further. "And so, if she's planning to, say, make another try for a fraternity full of mutants under her sway, she's already got preliminary hooks in that I can't counter." More and more grim go Jean's features, more and more gritted her teeth, until she ends her little foray into theorizing looking distinctly sour.
"Then it sounds as though there is no response we can make as of the moment." Hank puts out one large blue hand to lightly cover both of Jean's and prevent any further ticking off. "And you still have not answered my earlier question, which I do know for certain you heard," he delivers straight, though the twinkle in his eyes gives him away.
"It's just..." A noise of feral frustration escapes Jean, and her hands twitch beneath Hank's before she sighs, and concludes dryly that "The fact that Charles seems to want to save her from herself is of course not helping. But... to -not- talk about Emma Frost any more, I've done a little dabbling," she grants, schooling herself ruthlessly away from the topic. "Getting back into the usual routine of morning meditations generally involves at least a little. Both telekinesis and telepathy were all over the map in terms of strength of response for the first few days of the week, but it looks like as my system returns to homeostatic norms things aren't oscillating as wildly."
As soon as Jean's hands still, Hank drops his again with an almost apologetic little grimace. "That is very good to hear," he says with complete sincerity. "I had hoped that it would be as simple. Tim also seems to have regained what control he ordinarily has over his own abilities. In fact he seemed to be generally coping quite well with the experience." He pauses to look over Jean's face before asking, "You seem to be coping equally well?"
The kettle boils at this juncture, but Jean takes a moment to briefly reach over and squeeze at Hank's hand before she rises to deal with it, a little smile given in thanks and to counter the grimace. Hands busy and her voice pitched to carry from over by the desk, she offers up that "Tim and I both seem to favour internalizing rather than externalizing. He's probably not -quite- as settled with things as he might be letting on." What this implies about Jean is left for interpretation.
"I see," is perhaps more of a response to the unspoken portion of that than the spoken. "Do you feel strong enough that you will return to teaching your full load on Monday?" Hank turns the topic to more mundane things, relaxing back into the embrace of the couch cushions once more and unbuttoning first one, then the other shirt cuff. "Have you a sense of how well they have managed to struggle on without you?"
"Oh, I think so," says Jean, and seems quite content to focus on the mundane as she brings two mugs of mint tea, well-sweetened and with logos from two separate drug companies, back over to the couch and hands once over to Hank. "I got bored enough to do a little translation work, just to keep my mind occupied, and I think I now have a pretty decent conversion of the opening few paragraphs of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone for my Latin class to puzzle over. Do you want to see...?" Regardless of the answer, Jean reaches for a sheaf of papers to show off.
Jean is free!