OOC: Log Catchup March!
X-Men: Movieverse 2 - Sunday, March 16, 2008, 4:43 PM
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=XS= Staff Lounge - Lv B3
Covered in 60's-style fake wood panelling and a carpet of robin's egg blue and turquoise shag, the staff lounge is done up in a retro style full of mod couches and occasional lava lamps, guaranteed to induce relaxation. Of course, if the lava lamps aren't enough, a kitchenette with fully-stocked bar is located to the right of the staircase from above. To the left of the stairs is a sunken lounge area containing two sleek white ultrasuede couches, a faux fireplace, an egg chair and a coffee table, all arranged around a large flatscreen TV. At the back of the room and up a couple of steps, there's a hot tub with a half-height partition of glass bricks curving between the tub and the lounge area. The hot tub itself can fit up to 8 people at once, the area around it tiled in white and blue stripes. A triangular sauna fills the corner opposite the hot tub, more glass bricks forming the outer wall. There is an exit to the main hallway between the sauna and the hot tub, through a small sliding door with a discreet thumbprint scanner beside it.
[Exits : [H]idden [S]taircase and [M]ain [H]allway]
Sunday afternoon, as good a time as any to hide in the lounge, and that's what Scott is doing. Though he's not hiding with a book, or watching a movie, or using the hot tub. He's sitting with plots and information about the asteroid problem that fell to the wayside with more immediate concerns, like kidnapped students. A spread out 11x17 sheet that is a multiple view angle of the asteroid, with dimensions and plot points.
Sunday afternoon, and someone -else- is watching the Magneto in the subbasement. The switch-off is a recent one, though, for Jean has not yet taken the elevator aloft, and instead has wandered her way into the staff lounge, following after the distinct signature that is Scott's mind at work. Asteroids being somewhat unmistakeable, she cants her head while en route to the bar. "Did they finally get a space telescope pointed at it?"
"Not that I know of, I just have plots from what radar extrapolations they've been able to do. Kind've fragmentary and partially guess work in a lot of spots, but it's the best information I have so far. Hank might have more, or the Professor," Scott says as he looks up from the plots toward Jean. "How are you today, Jean?" he asks, trying to distract himself for the moment from unsolvable problems
"I'll have to go bother them," says Jean, with the absent tone of someone making a note for later. Bottles clink gently as she rifles through the bar's supplies, settling eventually on the ingredients for a blue martini. "Get you anything?" she wonders, before, as the alcohol is poured, giving a more useful response of "Hanging in there. I'll be glad to get 'Xorn' off our hands."
"What are they planning to do with him?" Scott asks absently, his eyes going back to the current problem even though he's trying to distract himself. He's not doing too well at it really, "I think there's a Coke in there, really don't think I need any alcohol right now."
"Charles is doing a lot of things and not showing his cards." Jean's tone is even enough, but one skilled at the reading of Jeans might still winkle a faint thread of frustration out of it as she turns to aquire the Coke and pour it into a glass with ice. The snap-hiss of the pull-tab popping fills her corner of the room. "So I'll probably find out when you do."
"Or likely before, seems I'm never around when the interesting stuff comes to light," he jokes lightly. Most of the time it's because Scott is off on some errand, but the irony of it always seems to catch him as slightly amusing. With lives like they have, take the amusement where youc an find it. "I'm sure with being gone so long he has a large number of things to catch up on, not counting Xorn," the name is said with bitterness not able to be suppressed.
"You know," says Jean, with a flash of black humour and a grin to match. "Even despite the fact that he was ultimately a questionably-sane terrorist hiding behind an elabourate disguise who eventually descended into twisted head games and vile pranks... we at least didn't have to pick up teaching Social Studies on top of everything else."
"Which I would bet will now be fit into my class schedule," Scott says simply, since he's one of the teachers that has the most time in his schedule compared to the others. "Unless you and the others have more time than I think you do," he dds with a slight smile, looking over at her with curiosity in his gaze, hidden behind his glasses
"We might see about giving it to Michael," Jean reflects. "Assuming he's not going to be giving me his resignation after this somewhat eventful first few weeks."
"Assuming he doesn't tender his resignation, I would think he already has enough classes to teach," Scott says with an amused note in his voice. "Unless you think he should teach classes till about six pm every night?" Scott asks, since he surely already has more classes than what Scott has as far as number of courses.
"He's also one of the faculty members that isn't also trying to save the world from a giant space rock," Jean points out, but does dip her head in rueful acknowledgement of the poor man's limits. "If you want to pick it up, though..."
"Do I want to, no. Will I if there are no other options that are realistic, yes," Scott says with more than a little of that old duty first attitude in word and mind. The plots are shifted on Scott's lap, "With Nate getting older and so many students willing to watch him, I could take the class onto the list."
"I realized something truly terrifying the other day," says Jean, walking over to set Scott's glass of Coke before him, and to take a seat opposite him with her own more alcoholic drink in hand. It is very, very blue. "Nate's old enough to be starting kindergarten this fall. We're going to need to register him now."
"He's growing up fast," Scott says with a nod, taking the coke and a small sip of it, not really needing that much soda right now. "Kindergarten, then dating, then college," Scott says, wishful thinking perhaps considering the dim prognosis for Nate, but that doesn't stop the hopes of a father from coming to his mind. Hopes for Nate beyond the reality that is Xavier's.
"Dating... oh god," Jean hadn't thought that far ahead, and the mild panic in her expression for a moment is only partially feigned. She takes a steadying sip of her drink, closes her eyes, and sighs before speaking again. "I was thinking I might like to go in and meet the teachers at the public school. Pequenaconck Elementary," she names it. "Six hundred students, K-5, five different kindergarten teachers... hopefully there will be one who'll look past who Nate's mother is."
"Or more importantly, the kind of life that Nate has dealt with in his short years. We don't need a teacher who calls us every five minutes because Nate is, shall we say, more adventurous and braver than most students?" Scott says as he listens to her, trying to remember the long name of the elementary, settling in his brain simply as 'PE'. "Or one that won't freak out if you, I, Logan, or one of the more known students show up to pick up Nate from school."
"I'm thinking before we send Nate off, we make it clear that we're proud that he can Think At Things," says Jean, using their son's terminology with a smile, "That's behavior for at -home-, not at school. He's able to understand that it's not for out in public already. But I'm hoping that in terms of freak-outs, the fact that these will be -Salem- people will help a little. I mean..." Jean trails off then, staring at her violently blue drink as if seeking answers. "Well, I -hope-, at least, that the fact that we rub elbows with at least some of the PTA down at Harry's will help."
"I was actually meaning just regular stuff, wasn't even thinking about that," though that concern piles on top of all of the other worries with Nate going to school. The coke is raised to his lips, "I worry more about what other parents will freak out about than the teachers. What they might say when they storm into a classroom about our son that Nate might hear and have it hurt," Scott admits, looking at the bubbles in the coke. "People are even less rational when it comes to their kids, so they may not care whether they know us or not."
"Well, the alternative is we home-school him here," says Jean, and swirls the blue drink in her hand a little more. It might turn into a magic eight ball if she does it enough, perhaps. "And... we've got to let him out some time. The fact that kids don't generally manifest so young might help. But if you're really worried, it's a two-parent decision, sending him off to school."
"You know me, Jean, I overthink everything," Scott admits, that one aspect of himself well known. "I don't think home schooling him is really the right option. He needs to have at least some friends that are his own age, rather than teens and pre-teens. He needs to have some peers," is said slowly, raising the Coke to his lips and taking a long drink, and wondering if he should have asked for something harder. "I doubt any of my fears aren't any different than any other parent through the last few hundred years, just a little more added to them."
"We'll just have to face things as they come," Jean sums up, giving Scott's leg a friendly nudge with her toe beneath the table before keeping her toes to herself thereafter. "And... I guess just make sure we take the time to talk with him," she adds, more thoughtful and more solemn. "He's still young enough that he's not started to hide things."
"Lord help us when that happens," Scott says of the time when Nate starts trying to keep secrets from his parents. Especially in the house that Xavier built where there are a few telepaths with a long mental ear. "I hope he'll be able to make friends though. When are you planning to go check out the school?" he asks
"I'm thinking... next week?" Jean offers up, the date a tentative one by her tone. "I want to make sure we've got the Magneto out of the basement first, and then there's finding a time to schedule a visit. Want to come with?" she wonders.
"If you don't mind me tagging along. That way who you are isn't the only focus," Scott says, trying to be helpful. "Maybe by then I'll be able to pronounce the name of the school." A lame joke but t least an attempt at one, which is more than he generally does. "Just let me know when is best."
"You're Nate's father," Jean sums up, with a firm look behind her smile. "There's no 'tagging along' about it."
Scott chuckles, "True, but I wasn't sure if you wanted to meet the teachers alone or you minded if I was there. You might have wanted to see how the teachers reacted to you, and to your reputation, before I was even brought into it," Scott notes with a small smile. "But I'll be there, whenever it is."
"I'll try and work the meeting in around your classes... and the training sessions," Jean promises, and eases more comfortably down into her seat with this behind them and on the to-do list.
Scott picks up the information he was working on before she came in, not able to deflect the duty for long, and goes back to looking at them as the multitude of new plans and concerns weigh down on him. Maybe his codename should be Atlas and not Cyclops, "You should get some rest while someone is watching Xorn for you, Jean."
Jean's answer to that is to lift the violently blue concoction in her martini glass. "I'm considering hiding out down here, away from students, with a drink in hand to be a worthy rest," she assures with a laugh. "I don't want to bitch my sleep schedule by getting an afternoon nap. But if you want to work in peace, I'll go bother someone else," she promises.
"Rest, Dr. Grey, could just be sitting somewhere with a good book, curled up by the fire, or sitting in yon hot tub," Scott notes with a chuckle, gathering up his materials after finishing his Coke. "However, I do need to use the computers to try some things, so I'll get out of your hair and let you rest here."
"Fires," Jean notes with a laugh, "Attract -students-. But let me know if you want a hand with anything -- 'rest', Professor Summers, can also mean helping out a friend and teammate with things."
"No, Jean, you've been dealing with Xorn and everything else, rest. Want me to send munchkin down with a book for you?" Scott asks with a slight smile. Not planning on taking any rest himself, too much to do before he sleeps and all of that.
Jean looks for a mulish moment as if she's going to argue with this... before good sense comes along a moment later and points out that she is not still on bed rest. "I'd like that," she allows, and rises to go settle herself in the egg chair. "What's the book of the week? Are we still on Horton Hears a Who?"
A chuckle, "Actually I meant a book for you with Nate being the delivery boy," Scott says with a small grin, "But if you want to read him one you could."
"I'd be glad to. In fact," Jean reflects, and abandons the quest for the egg chair. "I think I'm going to go find a corner of the library and do just that." The martini glass comes with her. Why be the headmistress, after all, if you can't bend the occasional rule?
There are advantages to being the student of the mansion there first, people let you get away with things. "Have a good read," Scott says, heading for the hall and the comsys room to continue his work
Asteroids, Xornetos... and Nate starting Kindergarten. One of the above is terrifying for Jean and Scott.
X-Men: Movieverse 2 - Monday, March 17, 2008, 8:11 PM
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=XS= Library - Lv 1 - Xavier's School
Light from bay windows gleams off glossy plastic dust jackets snugged over an assortment of old books, while volumes less delicate peek out from high oak bookshelves in a multicolored array of bindings and sizes. Stretching twelve feet high, ladders on rolling tracks are needed for access to the highest shelves, bearing the oldest books. On lower shelves, the bright colours of paperbacks catch the eye, along with binders of academic journals. A few marble busts compete with the potted plants scattered here and there to rid the room of any qualities of stagnation and Victorian must, Long wooden tables serve as group work spaces, or even teaching space in a pinch, but the majority of the furniture consists of comfortable armchairs and overstuffed sofas, with coffee tables in position for tired feet or coffee cups. The darkness of the wood panelling and the rich green carpeting is relieved further by a plethora of reading lamps, lighting the room where the tall windows leave off. Around a corner narrowed by two offices, doors lead out of the genteel history of the library and into the cool future of the main computer lab.
[This room is set watchable. Use alias XSLibrary to watch here.]
[Exits : [G]reat [H]all, [C]omputer [L]ab, [X]avier's [O]ffice, and [J]ean's [O]ffice]
While the off-duty staff have yet to decamp for Harry's Bar and obnoxious amounts of beer, there is a hint of St. Paddy's in the air. Dr. Grey is demonstrating this, in the form of a pair of truly ridiculous shamrock antennae that have been paired with a completely ordinary and reserved black skirt and faux-vested blouse. She is marking. The antennae are bobbing gently.
Stickers so count. And while Amp's hesitation is far off enough not to disturb on the physical plane, the approaching mind causes Jean to look up from marking one of a set of Q&A responses about lazy Roman boys and their distaste for classes. "Amp," she greets, quiet in deference to the hush of the large and open space. "Hi."
"Hi." Rather than get to her point, Amp stands there with her hands in her pockets for a while. At length, she says "Thanks for not grounding me. It won't be happening again."
"The stables were cleaned up, there were no injuries, and no-one broke curfew," is Jean's answer to that, lifting her head and setting the shamrocks to wobbling. Beneath them, green eyes are steady on Amp's face, and serious despite the comical headgear and the ease of her tone. "I see no reason why I should."
"Oh," Amp says, and then lapses into silence again. "Cassy seemed to think it was her way or the highway."
"Cassy," Jean notes mildly, "Is not faculty here." Her pen scratches, correcting a slip into nominative case when dative was what was being looked for. The pen is red. Jean will have no wishy-washy worries about crushing precious snowflakes with the colour of her ink! "Although," she admits, "I'm glad that she's got Logan overseeing her plans."
"Well, anyway. You don't have to worry about overseeing mine. I mean, Tobias'll probably accuse me of fucking giving up, but he didn't like the way I was running it anyway, so it doesn't matter what he thinks, just because he fucking can't keep his mouth shut and let something slip by mistake--" Jean is apparently...incidental to the conversation Amp is having with herself. This may be news to her. "I mean, I'm not really leader material anyway, it just proves it, I don't have whatever Jason had--he could just--so it's not actually giving up--"
Jean listens to the conversation all the same, head slightly cocked, expression one that would not be out of place on an alert collie, and the shamrocks rocking away. "If you -did- want oversight," she notes. "I would be happy to."
"Ha. Yeah, it'll be fucking--maybe me and Walter you'd be overseeing. And he can get training right from Summers and like it better." Amp glares bitterly at the floor.
"From the brief glimpse I got, Blink seemed to be enjoying herself," Jean offers up, studying Amp still more.
Amp shrugs, not really listening. "And now Cassy's fucking--off her meds or whatever the fuck is wrong with her and is campaigning against me--"
"Oh?" says Jean.
Amp gestures, jerkily. "She's made some official annoucement on her journal how she official hates me now. With you know, the usual assortment of names." Sticks and stones, of course, but something in Amp's mind still is very raw.
"I imagine it's less about you, and more about the fact that you both had an idea at the same time," Jean reflects. "Coupled with the fact that -- for once -- Cassy is trying to do it by the book, while you're now the one who's freewheeling and irrepressable. Panty twisting happens."
"That's a all very well, but I'm not /fucking/ listening to everyone and their dog tell me how much I suck for something I was doing out of the goodness of my heart." Anger not belonging to Jean leaks out around the edges, and Amp's shoulders hunch.
There's silence from Jean, and then a sudden very wry snort. "Welcome to the club," says Dr. Grey.
"Well, it's not like you guys want me doing it either." The sense of bonding encouraged by the comment flickers, but fails to fully grow.
"I don't want to be churning out child soldiers," Jean offers a bit of clarification. "I don't want to be churning out students who can -only- rough and tumble. I don't want people running around with delusions of becoming mutant ninjas. But I see nothing wrong with the idea of self defence, or being able to handle odd situations."
"Well. Cassy's got that covered." Amp's jaw is clenched. "You don't have to deal with me forgetting myself."
"I didn't see any 'self' that needed forgetting, down at the barns," says Jean, before she cocks her head slightly again at Amp's jaw-clenching. "But would you hear some advice?"
"I won't promise I'll pay attention to it," Amp says, with a weak flash of humor.
"Cassy's intentions are good, but she lacks staying power," Jean says simply, hand spread before her. "Don't go head to head with her with competing groups, let her have her try, and spend your time working over tactics and approaching people carefully rather than grabbing up everyone who'll hold still. Unless you actually had a reason for Tobias..."
"Not particularly. I offered to everyone I thought wouldn't squeal, and I guess I thought wrong." Amp shrugs. "Even if it was an accident or whatever was confusing things."
"Well, now squealing's not a concern," says Jean, and finally removes the shamrock antennae after a belated realization that it's probably not helping her be taken all that seriously.
"I don't wanna fucking /deal/ with it for a while," Amp says, sinking her chin again, but some part of her mind it turning over the idea and liking it. "I'm going away for a while. Let Cassy spot something shiny and go torment that instead."
"Spring Break -is- coming up," Jean allows. "Got plans for it yet?"
"My parents what to take me out earlier. Because of when Dad--her father--can get his vacation days. I'll do my homework. They want to get to know me, they have some idea to adopt me or whatever the fuck--he said he wanted to explain it to me in person." Sneer, say Amp's lips, and 'please, /please/' say her thoughts.
"Well, I'll be expecting to hear from them, then," says Jean, to Amp's thoughts rather than Amp's lips, and with her tone a matter-of-fact one. "We have parents coming to collect their children on a fairly regular basis, so if I can get dates and times, I'll have your reading lists assigned for you."
"They're gonna call." Amp's shoulders slump a little in relief at the not a no just yet. "If Autumn does okay, and they want to do things that way, I might just pick up my GED rather than coming back." This has less strength behind that it might have at the beginning of the conversation, just testing reactions now.
"I'd miss you if you did opt for that," says Jean, and although it's a simple remark and perhaps an expected one, there's a quality of the genuine to her voice. "But... I suppose I could understand it."
"You're not lying." Amp sounds, not disbelieving, but like she's not quite sure what to do with that.
"Xavier's is people rather than place," is Jean's explanation, paired with a tappity-tap of her pen against her papers. "You bring something to the equation that I can't quite put my finger on, but that I'd miss if it weren't here."
"Xorn said I need purpose. Here, I almost--" Amp shakes her head. "And then I fuck it up."
"Work in progress," Jean disagrees, setting the antennae headband on her lap and idly fidgeting with one shamrock. "I don't expect perfection. I just expect persistence. You don't seem to have a problem with that."
"Okay," Amp says. "I don't want to fuck it up with her parents."
"Speaking as a parent myself, you're going to find that hard to do, if you so much as meet them halfway."
Amp grins, images of little Nate flickering up. "Well. Okay. They should call soon. I don't want to leave Walter all fucked over because of stuff I did, though." She appeals to Jean with her eyes. "It's not his fault, but now Cassy's digging up old grudges as an excuse to hate him, and Tobias picked up to blame for someone narcing..."
"Cassy's had it in for Walter for long before you came here," says Jean, with a little tip of her chin. "How -much- she has it in for him seems to be cyclical, but don't pin that on yourself regardless. Go on and enjoy your family, and let things pass over."
"Okay," Amp says again, and then hesitates, making sure she's said everything she needs to while Jean is apparently in a good mood.
"Anything else up?" Jean wonders obligingly, and settles the antennae around one knee.
"You're not mad?" Amp still seems to have trouble wrapping her head around that.
"No damages, no injuries, no broken curfew," Jean reiterates.
"'K," Amp says, once more. It's a good answer. "Thanks." And with that, she does head out.
Jean attempts to be encouraging. She also has shamrock antennae.
X-Men: Movieverse 2 - Monday, March 17, 2008, 10:39 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]
Tim is happy. Tim is healthy... well... as healthy as Tim usually gets. So heralds the return of his more normal eating schedule. Bedtime will be soon, and that means the bedtime snack is now. There are apple slices, there is peanut butter, there is marshmallows. Assembled on a plate in front of him, he muches down one of many pre-assembled stacks of the combination, leaving different amounts of it on the edges of his mouth as he runs his finger down the passages of his social studies text book. For now at least, things are normal. This is good.
At least there are apple slices. Jean will count her blessings and make her advances on the field of Tim-health with slow care. Indeed, here is Jean now, turning up in the kitchen in a neat black skirt and faux-vested blouse, perfectly conventional. If, of course, one ignores the cheerful green shamrock antennae wiggle-waggling above her head. Normal? Pah!
Tim's only acknowledgment of the holiday is a small cardstock clover pinned to his breast pocket, a left over borrowed from the library's display. As Tim looks up to take notice of Jean's bold display, his usual warm smile that he gives the doctor is replaced by an exceedingly amused grin and laughter only held in check by the silencing power of a mouth full of peanut butter and marshmallow. "-Mw-hi-roct-or-ray" he eventually mumbles out, before turning the tray full of... um... treats in her direction.
"Professor Wagner delivered these with my breakfast," Jean explaints the antennae, and takes a moment to lift a hand and waggle one at Tim. The tray full of incipient diabetes is studied, and then, carefully, she claims one of the creations to nibble on. "Thank you, and a happy St. Patrick's Day to you."
Tim chews some more, and begins to wipe his mouth. This move is traditionally with his sleeve, and indeed, it makes it half way up to his face before he stops it and reaches for a napkin instead. "You too! You should wear 'em all the time." the lad offers now that the gooey stuff is clear. Reaching for another one for himself, he adds. "So um, I, um, am gonna take Mr. Logan's self defense next year." Fulfilling an earlier promise.
"Ah, but if I wore them all the time the novelty would wear off," Jean predicts with a crooked grin and a careful munching that seeks to avoid excess loss of goo. Swallowing a touch noisily thanks to dry crumbs, she wanders next for the friges to get a glass of milk assembled, pausing midway to look over her shoulder at Tim and smile. "Oh, I'm glad to hear that."
Tim's mouth opens to say more on the subject, but he closes it quickly enough to keep from, and passes on it with a shake of his head. But another question pokes its way forward when he opens it again. "I know there itn' a lot of choices or nothing... but do you know who is gonna teach social studies now that... now that we need someone?"
"Professor Summers and I were discussing that yesterday, in fact," supplies Jean, finishing her treat with a last bite and a careful dab at her mouth. "At this point, we're probably going to keep up the rotating-substitute amongst the other teachers that we have going now, but Professor Summers has offered to pick it up, among others. Next staff meeting will settle it."
"It was one of the classes I wasn't actually worried 'bout, guess that's why I'm worried 'bout it." Tim explains with a grin again as he considers the apple contraption. "And... I guess I was worried 'bout another... well, you know. It's Silly."
"I don't know," says Jean, pouring first one glass of milk, and then looking over her shoulder with an inquiring eyebrow to see if Tim wants one too. "If it's enough to worry you, it's probably not silly."
"Well, I liked Mr. Xorn. He was a good teacher, and kinda funny sometimes... or I think he was." Tim explains as he nods at the offered milk. "I spent a lot of time at the station, I've seen a lot of bad guys. I thought I would know who was one... and even when he... I still couldn't think that Mr. Xorn was a bad person." Tim's finger pushes down on the marshmallow, squishing the aple and peanut butter together even more before he adds. "I just don't know if the next one is gonna be a bad person too."
"Mr. Xorn..." But Jean trails off, looking troubled. "Well, it turns out he was someone that Charles and I already knew, who'd snuck back in wearing a mask that could block a telepath's thoughts. That person... -was- a good teacher, in the past. And kind of funny. He just happened to--" But Jean shakes her head, and looks wry now, instead of troubled. "It's complicated. But you were right about Mr. Xorn, just... not all the way right. The next one we're going to take more care with, and you can be sure if I find any more people turning up with metal helmets, I'm going to demand a peek under them!"
The explanation and the hesitation are both noted, but this really isn't Tim's favorite topic of conversation, and the explanation is more than enough for him. "I guess that explains some of it. I guess he must not have liked to place very much." Tim manages a bit of a grin. But there is one last question he has, the boy's little guy on his shoulder insisting on it. "Is he, gonna be alright?"
"Well, since he obligingly fell on some of the same darts he shot us with and ended up as my patient, he's safe from -me-, at least," says Jean with a flash fo a black grin. "I think it's best if we never let Kitty near him. She keeps muttering about how you only really need -one- kidney."
"I didn't even think he needed the first kidney..." Tim answers back confused, having not quite gotten the whole Mask and secret identity might mean he was lying about the rest, too. "Um... besides the bad teacher Dr. Grey, there is something you might be able to help me with, if that is alright? Nate told me you helped him find a volunteer spot when he was looking for one? I'm... not gonna have a lot to do this summer, and I... don't really wanna try and help out with the church again."
"Under the mask he's a perfectly normal older mutant male," Jean clarifies, before letting the matter of Xorneto rest and turning a thoughtful glance on Tim. "Nate wasn't so much looking for a volunteer spot as I assigned him six weeks of volunteering for being verbally abusive to Amp, but if you -wanted- a spot, I could always use volunteers down at the Mustart Seed Clinic."
Tim's mouth cracks as he hears the counter point to what he thought about the other student, his eyes touched with just a dash of disappointment and disillusionment. After a brief moment he reigns it back in and nods. "I'm sorry... I didn't know. I... I just wanna help out like I used. My old school used to require every student do 20 hours of, you know, community service and stuff every year and... well, I kinda liked doing it. Being useful."
"Hey," says Jean, gently. "Nate isn't a horrible person, he's just a bit of a class snob. I was hoping work down at Hell's Kitchen might help with that. Shades of grey," she offers, and crooks a smile at him. "And you are -very- welcome to help out. I don't consider volunteering just a punishment, and I can think of a lot of places that could use one."
Tim's tongue pokes out of the side of his mouth as he puts the little hamster inside him to work, and at length he nods his head. "Thanks Dr. Grey." He answers before a yawn takes over. He begins the motions that eventually will clean up the mess he's made and excuses. "I think I need to be heading for my pillows."
"Enjoy them," Jean bids, unleaning from the countertop with her glass of milk in hand. "I'm off to my lab."
Jean attempts to be reassuring. She still has shamrock antennae.