OOC: Logs! Autumn (Missing) and Tobias
Autumn/Jean should go here, but my work computer is a HOBAG and I can't find where it was saved.
X-Men Movieverse 2 - Saturday, August 02, 2008, 2:43 PM
-------------------------------------------------------
=XS= Front Porch - Xavier's School
The porch of the mansion is sweet and simple with the serene beauty of a country postcard. A friendly little brass placard proclaims 'Welcome' beside the front doors that are kept open in the summer, a screen door deparating the formalness of the interior from the wide sweep of the outside. A swing sways at one end and several chairs are set about the time warped floorboards. Little flower beds nestle against the steps and sit neatly beneath the brick walls and railings, and several weather-hardy chairs have been set about on the somewhat time warped floorboards.
A path leads off from the side steps into a traditional Victorian garden that favours strong, geometric shapes and bright colours. Roses in reds, whites, pinks and yellows steal the show and are stolen in turn by many a lovesick teenager, but tulips, daffodils, irises, columbines and all the other best-loved bulbs grow as well, in steady succession through spring, summer and fall. A tall marble angel surrounded by a long rectangular fishpond is the garden's centerpiece, rather ostentatious and slightly ugly, but kept in deference to whatever Xavier ancestor first commissioned the thing to resemble his wife. Grey slate pathways radiate from that center point with one path leading towards the back patio of the mansion, another to a corner of the garden where a well-loved tree and bench are, and a last that loops and spiders out in small connecting paths around the cultivated area.
[Exits : [F]ront [Y]ard, [F]ront [D]oor, [B]ack [P]atio, and [A]ncient [O]ak [T]ree]
Traditionally, offices are where one sits to get work done, await phonecalls, fire off emails and conduct all the multitasking that goes into the modern workday. Dr. Grey happens to have quite a fine office to do all this in, in point of fact. Yet, with the cicadas humming and the summer sunlight warm on the grass, there's just something lacking in being indoors. And so here is Jean Grey, in the company of laptop, cell phone, and a stack of papers and file folders, colonizing the front porch just off to the side of the front door. A small flowerpot has been pressed into service as a paperweight.
Offices are also good places to find the people that are usually in them. Unfortunately for Tobias in his hunt for Dr. Grey, she apparently wasn't in when he went looking. When the stables also proved fruitless, he resigned himself back to the mansion. So his surprise with catching Dr. Grey on the porch is a good one. A brief look of relief upwards and he jogs towards the porch. "Dr. Grey!" he calls out while tromping up the steps, "I talked to Stark."
"Oh?" is Jean's answer, head jerking up from her papers in mild surprise about a half-beat before Tobias calls out, as relief and surprise mingle and brush against thoughts that are centered equally on matters celestial and terrestrial alike. (A letter has arrived regarding kindergarten registration for one Nate Grey-Summers.) "That's great, Tobias. How did he like your idea?"
Tobias nods, pushing his sliding glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "He likes it. But," and there's always a but, "He's going to need a hand with it." He pauses and takes his glasses off to wipe off on his shirt, a nervous fidget from the teen. "Those people that you're talking with, think you can get him and them to talk?"
"Tony Stark, defense contractor to the stars," Jean murmurs, lips curved with an erratic line of humour as she awards this title to the absent man. At Tobias' glasses-polishing, her own pair are slipped off her nose and cleaned as well, unconscious and contagious as a spreading yawn. "I think it can be done. I'll see if I can talk to him first to get some details on what things can and can't do -- I may not be an engineer, but I can at least take notes to pass on and hum attentively."
"Good, good," Tobias says with a nod and a little smile of accomplishment. "I should have called him before I went home this past weekend. I didn't expect there to be that meteor slamming into Grand Central," he tries to excuse the lateness of his following Jean's advice. He adds, "I should've been here. I could have done something after the crash," he a quietly angry tone.
"To be honest," says Jean with a wry look indeed, "The meteor put a bit of a damper on my plans too. I wouldn't have had time for you to follow up with me anyways, since I was down at the site... and to be honest, you'd probably have found it an exercise in frustration to be there."
Tobias does not look convinced. "Yeah, well, I," he snorts and crosses his arms. "I could've done something. Anything would have been better than just being at home with the Captain." Anyone with telepathy, or really any knowledge of Tobias could guess with fair accuracy that once again his father has had some part in a not grand weekend for the teen.
"Well, I can't whistle up another meteor fragment for you," Jean offers, with a crook of her lips and a look in her eyes that understands, as she studies him, but does not pry. "But, I -can- promise to take you along some time to put some shifts in down at my clinic, if you want some hands-on first aid. Provided you sign up for one of my classes in it, it could be a first step towards that SAR career you were thinking about."
"I don't want you to," Tobias states flatly, "But when you /can/ do something like I can, then you should." He laughs a bit, an awkwardly bitter one. "At least, if my dad is to be believed. What I'm saying, is yeah. I'd like that a lot. Even if I end up just going back to the hotel, I'd be someone you could call on in an emergency."
"Well then, let's make sure you have the background tools needed to be of use in an emergency," says Jean, with a dust of her hands and a reach for her laptop to bring up some scheduling software. "Unfortunately, my schedule is likely to be very full soon -- I'll be going out of town, along with some of the other staff," Very much out of town. Also out of atmosphere. "But if the world hasn't descended into chaos when we get back, or perhaps especially if it has, I'll take you along, and see about talking to Scott about a few little what-if scenarios for you. No dinosaurs."
Tobias exhales slowly, nodding. "What're you going out for?" he asks off hand. "But yeah," he continues without really waiting for an answer, "I guess I will. Usually professor Logan is the one that I train with. Should I let him know too?"
"Classified," says Jean. "For now. And I think so. Professor Summers is good at coming up with really fiendish environmental challenges, so it could be interesting to see how you handle them."
"Alright then," Tobias says with a slow nod. "Let's hope he he does. Can't get anywhere if you don't push yourself after all, right?" he says with a growing smile of his own personal pride.
"True that," Jean confirms, with a quick and quiet laugh before she replaces her reading glasses and gets down to the business of scheduling. "I'll probably be out here for another hour or so, unless it turns out I can't get work done. I'll give Mr. Stark a call this evening."
Tobias walks on to the door of the mansion. "Then I'll leave you to it," he says, grabbing the handle of the door and looking back to the professor. "Good luck stopping that thing. I kind of like it here, want to keep it that way," he says with a laugh, pulling open the door to walk into the school.
Unorthodox office spaces.
=XS= ComSys Room - Lv B3 - Xavier's School
The Communications Systems are located just off to the side of the infamous Danger Room, a plethora of beeping, flashing, ever-working computers used as the X-Men's unofficial headquarters and briefing room, as well as linking into the Danger Room master control. A well-oiled grid of collected global information concerning and helpful to the mutant activist team, and even mutants themselves, displayed in enormous monitors stretched across the walls linked into television broadcasts, with smaller rows of viewscreens stationed between them for relaying security camera images. The whole of the unit seems to run just fine on its own, although occasionally a staff member runs to and fro checking the systems with the area being totally off-limits to students, and most anyone but the X-Men.
[Exits : [M]ain [H]allway and [D]anger [R]oom]
Sunned and caught up on emails both, Jean Grey is currently to be found deep down below ground, and thus with 'found' only applying to a very select handful of people around the school. Her task of the moment involves puttering around beneath a viewscreen station, well-buried in tangles of wire as she attempts to get the video link up and running. There are shapely legs poking out of a cabinet, and a bevy of curse words leaking out in a muttered tone to join them. Things are, apparently, not going that well.
And 'found' she is. Smelling distinctly of sawdust, Logan makes his way in a slight hurry. His appearance matches the oder, wearing a brown leather work jacket still specked with wood chippings. In his hands, however, is a small black toolbox who's contents are not exactly suited for lumber work. "I brought Slim's box, Red, why did you want... Red... Red?" Expecting... well more exactly not expecting to find Jean under the viewing equipment, it takes Logan awhile to spot the legs underneath and turn his expression puzzled.
The cursing stops. The legs kick a little, scrabbling on the smooth tile of the floor until enough traction is found for Jean to emerge fromt he cabinet, with her namesake hair tousled and styled with a few unnoticed cobwebs. She runs a hand through it, missing the cobwebs, and favours Logan with a wry look and a "Thanks. I think one of the connector cables fried, and I don't know which... and with Grand Central still causing traffic fallout, I don't want to have to go into the City every time someone wants a face to face meeting."
With the rattle of metal on plastic, the kit is sat down next to Jean on the floor, and Logan crouches down to be more 'eye to eye' so to speak. "You know, you could just blow 'em off instead. 'Too busy, saving the world.'" Logan jokes with yet another one of his not so subtle hints for Jean to slow down. But... his heart isn't entirely behind the sentiment this time and his attention instead is turned to cobwebs, his hand extending rough fingertips to scrape through ruby locks and pull them away. "Wanna trade places? Promise I won't stab it this time."
"Can't blow 'em off," Jean replies, with yet another one of her denials of slowing down, albeit paired with a grin and a kiss as he crouches before her. "These are the people who want us to save the world. And possibly Tony Stark," she adds on, fingertips lightly kissed with dirt smudges running through his hair before she shuffles aside. "Well... If you -promise-," she drawls.
"You're taking calls from Playboy, now?" Logan asks with a now genuine look of surprise across his mug as he turns around on his back and shuffles his way under the equipment. "Don't tell me. He's recently found out he got a kid and it needs to attend? Well, at least we know that one'll be able to pay it's way." The sarcasm echoes out from bellow, but the echo doesn't blunt it.
"Well, actually I'm calling -him-," Jean corrects, stretching up, up, up to shake out a few vertebrae that had been complaining about being stuffed into a storage cabinet. "Although given his reputation, and the increasing frequency of the X-Factor manifesting..." However, further speculation on that note is left to the Daily Bugle, and Jean merely settles in to pacing about the comsys room like a great and auburn-haired cat. "Tobias had an idea after taking that tour he was offered, I encouraged him to call Mr. Stark about it, and Stark liked it so much he wants to talk more. Repulsor technology or something."
"Repulsors?" Logan asks curiously, but the question's tone doesn't hint that it really needs an answer. A hand reaches out to grab the tool box. It is snapped open and more metal rattles from inside. Wires shake, fastens clink, Logan curses once followed by 'Ow!' "You're right, something definitely smells burnt out in here. Alright, try it now." comes a moment later.
"I swear, if we save the planet, we should move on to something smaller, like hurricane recovery efforts," Jean grumbles, prodding at a floating display of possible future impact points, pockmarking the globe like a celestial hole punch has run amuck. She wanders a little more, and pokes a few buttons on the console, which light a heartening green, and flicker importantly through initialization cycles.
"After you're done with that?" Logan, to this day, has yet to use the word 'if' about their success in front of Jean, even if his stray thoughts betray his doubts. "A hurricane would just be a school trip to Florida. Hell, flying the jet's not even gonna hold up after you get your turn behind the wheel on a shuttle." Hearing beeps and seeing lights, Logan shuffles his way out again and leans up on his elbows.
"Assuming they let me play with it." By the gleam in Jean's eye's, in opposition to her diffident tone, the proper emotion assigned to the idea of her flying a shuttle is: WANT. Waiting for the vidscreen to go through initialization, she sinks down to her knees beside Logan to rest her hand on his shoulders and give a slow rub. "After I'm done with Stark, want to go waste some gas and take the bike out? I could use some wind in my face."
Context? NAH.
X-Men Movieverse 2 - Saturday, August 02, 2008, 2:43 PM
-------------------------------------------------------
=XS= Front Porch - Xavier's School
The porch of the mansion is sweet and simple with the serene beauty of a country postcard. A friendly little brass placard proclaims 'Welcome' beside the front doors that are kept open in the summer, a screen door deparating the formalness of the interior from the wide sweep of the outside. A swing sways at one end and several chairs are set about the time warped floorboards. Little flower beds nestle against the steps and sit neatly beneath the brick walls and railings, and several weather-hardy chairs have been set about on the somewhat time warped floorboards.
A path leads off from the side steps into a traditional Victorian garden that favours strong, geometric shapes and bright colours. Roses in reds, whites, pinks and yellows steal the show and are stolen in turn by many a lovesick teenager, but tulips, daffodils, irises, columbines and all the other best-loved bulbs grow as well, in steady succession through spring, summer and fall. A tall marble angel surrounded by a long rectangular fishpond is the garden's centerpiece, rather ostentatious and slightly ugly, but kept in deference to whatever Xavier ancestor first commissioned the thing to resemble his wife. Grey slate pathways radiate from that center point with one path leading towards the back patio of the mansion, another to a corner of the garden where a well-loved tree and bench are, and a last that loops and spiders out in small connecting paths around the cultivated area.
[Exits : [F]ront [Y]ard, [F]ront [D]oor, [B]ack [P]atio, and [A]ncient [O]ak [T]ree]
Traditionally, offices are where one sits to get work done, await phonecalls, fire off emails and conduct all the multitasking that goes into the modern workday. Dr. Grey happens to have quite a fine office to do all this in, in point of fact. Yet, with the cicadas humming and the summer sunlight warm on the grass, there's just something lacking in being indoors. And so here is Jean Grey, in the company of laptop, cell phone, and a stack of papers and file folders, colonizing the front porch just off to the side of the front door. A small flowerpot has been pressed into service as a paperweight.
Offices are also good places to find the people that are usually in them. Unfortunately for Tobias in his hunt for Dr. Grey, she apparently wasn't in when he went looking. When the stables also proved fruitless, he resigned himself back to the mansion. So his surprise with catching Dr. Grey on the porch is a good one. A brief look of relief upwards and he jogs towards the porch. "Dr. Grey!" he calls out while tromping up the steps, "I talked to Stark."
"Oh?" is Jean's answer, head jerking up from her papers in mild surprise about a half-beat before Tobias calls out, as relief and surprise mingle and brush against thoughts that are centered equally on matters celestial and terrestrial alike. (A letter has arrived regarding kindergarten registration for one Nate Grey-Summers.) "That's great, Tobias. How did he like your idea?"
Tobias nods, pushing his sliding glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "He likes it. But," and there's always a but, "He's going to need a hand with it." He pauses and takes his glasses off to wipe off on his shirt, a nervous fidget from the teen. "Those people that you're talking with, think you can get him and them to talk?"
"Tony Stark, defense contractor to the stars," Jean murmurs, lips curved with an erratic line of humour as she awards this title to the absent man. At Tobias' glasses-polishing, her own pair are slipped off her nose and cleaned as well, unconscious and contagious as a spreading yawn. "I think it can be done. I'll see if I can talk to him first to get some details on what things can and can't do -- I may not be an engineer, but I can at least take notes to pass on and hum attentively."
"Good, good," Tobias says with a nod and a little smile of accomplishment. "I should have called him before I went home this past weekend. I didn't expect there to be that meteor slamming into Grand Central," he tries to excuse the lateness of his following Jean's advice. He adds, "I should've been here. I could have done something after the crash," he a quietly angry tone.
"To be honest," says Jean with a wry look indeed, "The meteor put a bit of a damper on my plans too. I wouldn't have had time for you to follow up with me anyways, since I was down at the site... and to be honest, you'd probably have found it an exercise in frustration to be there."
Tobias does not look convinced. "Yeah, well, I," he snorts and crosses his arms. "I could've done something. Anything would have been better than just being at home with the Captain." Anyone with telepathy, or really any knowledge of Tobias could guess with fair accuracy that once again his father has had some part in a not grand weekend for the teen.
"Well, I can't whistle up another meteor fragment for you," Jean offers, with a crook of her lips and a look in her eyes that understands, as she studies him, but does not pry. "But, I -can- promise to take you along some time to put some shifts in down at my clinic, if you want some hands-on first aid. Provided you sign up for one of my classes in it, it could be a first step towards that SAR career you were thinking about."
"I don't want you to," Tobias states flatly, "But when you /can/ do something like I can, then you should." He laughs a bit, an awkwardly bitter one. "At least, if my dad is to be believed. What I'm saying, is yeah. I'd like that a lot. Even if I end up just going back to the hotel, I'd be someone you could call on in an emergency."
"Well then, let's make sure you have the background tools needed to be of use in an emergency," says Jean, with a dust of her hands and a reach for her laptop to bring up some scheduling software. "Unfortunately, my schedule is likely to be very full soon -- I'll be going out of town, along with some of the other staff," Very much out of town. Also out of atmosphere. "But if the world hasn't descended into chaos when we get back, or perhaps especially if it has, I'll take you along, and see about talking to Scott about a few little what-if scenarios for you. No dinosaurs."
Tobias exhales slowly, nodding. "What're you going out for?" he asks off hand. "But yeah," he continues without really waiting for an answer, "I guess I will. Usually professor Logan is the one that I train with. Should I let him know too?"
"Classified," says Jean. "For now. And I think so. Professor Summers is good at coming up with really fiendish environmental challenges, so it could be interesting to see how you handle them."
"Alright then," Tobias says with a slow nod. "Let's hope he he does. Can't get anywhere if you don't push yourself after all, right?" he says with a growing smile of his own personal pride.
"True that," Jean confirms, with a quick and quiet laugh before she replaces her reading glasses and gets down to the business of scheduling. "I'll probably be out here for another hour or so, unless it turns out I can't get work done. I'll give Mr. Stark a call this evening."
Tobias walks on to the door of the mansion. "Then I'll leave you to it," he says, grabbing the handle of the door and looking back to the professor. "Good luck stopping that thing. I kind of like it here, want to keep it that way," he says with a laugh, pulling open the door to walk into the school.
Unorthodox office spaces.
=XS= ComSys Room - Lv B3 - Xavier's School
The Communications Systems are located just off to the side of the infamous Danger Room, a plethora of beeping, flashing, ever-working computers used as the X-Men's unofficial headquarters and briefing room, as well as linking into the Danger Room master control. A well-oiled grid of collected global information concerning and helpful to the mutant activist team, and even mutants themselves, displayed in enormous monitors stretched across the walls linked into television broadcasts, with smaller rows of viewscreens stationed between them for relaying security camera images. The whole of the unit seems to run just fine on its own, although occasionally a staff member runs to and fro checking the systems with the area being totally off-limits to students, and most anyone but the X-Men.
[Exits : [M]ain [H]allway and [D]anger [R]oom]
Sunned and caught up on emails both, Jean Grey is currently to be found deep down below ground, and thus with 'found' only applying to a very select handful of people around the school. Her task of the moment involves puttering around beneath a viewscreen station, well-buried in tangles of wire as she attempts to get the video link up and running. There are shapely legs poking out of a cabinet, and a bevy of curse words leaking out in a muttered tone to join them. Things are, apparently, not going that well.
And 'found' she is. Smelling distinctly of sawdust, Logan makes his way in a slight hurry. His appearance matches the oder, wearing a brown leather work jacket still specked with wood chippings. In his hands, however, is a small black toolbox who's contents are not exactly suited for lumber work. "I brought Slim's box, Red, why did you want... Red... Red?" Expecting... well more exactly not expecting to find Jean under the viewing equipment, it takes Logan awhile to spot the legs underneath and turn his expression puzzled.
The cursing stops. The legs kick a little, scrabbling on the smooth tile of the floor until enough traction is found for Jean to emerge fromt he cabinet, with her namesake hair tousled and styled with a few unnoticed cobwebs. She runs a hand through it, missing the cobwebs, and favours Logan with a wry look and a "Thanks. I think one of the connector cables fried, and I don't know which... and with Grand Central still causing traffic fallout, I don't want to have to go into the City every time someone wants a face to face meeting."
With the rattle of metal on plastic, the kit is sat down next to Jean on the floor, and Logan crouches down to be more 'eye to eye' so to speak. "You know, you could just blow 'em off instead. 'Too busy, saving the world.'" Logan jokes with yet another one of his not so subtle hints for Jean to slow down. But... his heart isn't entirely behind the sentiment this time and his attention instead is turned to cobwebs, his hand extending rough fingertips to scrape through ruby locks and pull them away. "Wanna trade places? Promise I won't stab it this time."
"Can't blow 'em off," Jean replies, with yet another one of her denials of slowing down, albeit paired with a grin and a kiss as he crouches before her. "These are the people who want us to save the world. And possibly Tony Stark," she adds on, fingertips lightly kissed with dirt smudges running through his hair before she shuffles aside. "Well... If you -promise-," she drawls.
"You're taking calls from Playboy, now?" Logan asks with a now genuine look of surprise across his mug as he turns around on his back and shuffles his way under the equipment. "Don't tell me. He's recently found out he got a kid and it needs to attend? Well, at least we know that one'll be able to pay it's way." The sarcasm echoes out from bellow, but the echo doesn't blunt it.
"Well, actually I'm calling -him-," Jean corrects, stretching up, up, up to shake out a few vertebrae that had been complaining about being stuffed into a storage cabinet. "Although given his reputation, and the increasing frequency of the X-Factor manifesting..." However, further speculation on that note is left to the Daily Bugle, and Jean merely settles in to pacing about the comsys room like a great and auburn-haired cat. "Tobias had an idea after taking that tour he was offered, I encouraged him to call Mr. Stark about it, and Stark liked it so much he wants to talk more. Repulsor technology or something."
"Repulsors?" Logan asks curiously, but the question's tone doesn't hint that it really needs an answer. A hand reaches out to grab the tool box. It is snapped open and more metal rattles from inside. Wires shake, fastens clink, Logan curses once followed by 'Ow!' "You're right, something definitely smells burnt out in here. Alright, try it now." comes a moment later.
"I swear, if we save the planet, we should move on to something smaller, like hurricane recovery efforts," Jean grumbles, prodding at a floating display of possible future impact points, pockmarking the globe like a celestial hole punch has run amuck. She wanders a little more, and pokes a few buttons on the console, which light a heartening green, and flicker importantly through initialization cycles.
"After you're done with that?" Logan, to this day, has yet to use the word 'if' about their success in front of Jean, even if his stray thoughts betray his doubts. "A hurricane would just be a school trip to Florida. Hell, flying the jet's not even gonna hold up after you get your turn behind the wheel on a shuttle." Hearing beeps and seeing lights, Logan shuffles his way out again and leans up on his elbows.
"Assuming they let me play with it." By the gleam in Jean's eye's, in opposition to her diffident tone, the proper emotion assigned to the idea of her flying a shuttle is: WANT. Waiting for the vidscreen to go through initialization, she sinks down to her knees beside Logan to rest her hand on his shoulders and give a slow rub. "After I'm done with Stark, want to go waste some gas and take the bike out? I could use some wind in my face."
Context? NAH.