OOC: Recruited!
From: drgrey@x-school.edu
To: "Charles Xavier"
Subject: Emergency Recall
-----------
Charles, I just had a visit from a pair of government agents. They want my help on something I really can't discuss even in an encrypted email, but it's big and it's deathly serious, and it will take up a lot of my energy. Is there any chance you could take over the school again? If not, I suppose I can see if Ororo will do it.
Best of luck, and I'll try and contact you more privately soon,
Jean
--------------
X-Men: Movieverse 2 - Friday, February 06, 2009, 4:44 PM
--------------------------------------------------------
=XS= Jean's Office - Lv 1 - Xavier's School
Just another step in the grand tradition of renovation that dogs all great and old houses, Jean's office has been snuck nearly seamlessly into the footprint of the mansion library. Despite the headmistress' taste for clean lines and light colours, rich oak panelling and footstep-muffling carpet in a venerable shade of forest green are the order of the day. Light is freely admitted by a large leaded glass window that looks out over the Victorian garden and its fountain, although hanging curtains in the same emerald as the carpeting can be drawn to turn the room dark enough for presentations to be shown. The central feature of the room is an imposing desk, stained dark to match the paneled walls. A modern ergonomic office chair is positioned behind it, with two uphoulstered chairs in front. A laptop rules the desk, two filing cabinets, several framed diplomas and a bookshelf hug the side wall behind it. One corner holds a thriving ficus plant, and the central piece of art in the office is a framed representation of DNArt, a small brass plaque informing observers that this is the genome of Dr. Jean Grey.
[Exits : [Li]brary]
The piles of paper on Jean's desk are getting higher in mirror image of the snowdrifts outside her windows. Alas that spring will have no effect on melting -these-. But, despite how much the once-more-headmistress of Xavier's schedule might squeal at the thought of having to accomodate one more meeting, one space has been pried out of it and wedged open all the same. Coffee and tea have been delivered and left on a discreetly elegant cart, along with a selection of nibbly pastry treats, and Jean is in the process of trying to shovel at least a few of the piles onto the floor beside her desk. Despite the neat charcoal skirt and champagne blouse she wears, hallmarks of a day's labour at cultivating young muant minds, her hair is escaping from the butterfly clip holding it, and she vents a long sigh in the all-too-brief emptiness of the office. "Bermuda after exams. I swear."
There isn't a student escort to give Jean prior warning of the imminent arrival of her guests, so the knock on the door, followed so swiftly by the door being flung open might make a few more hairs escape. "Jeanie!" The voice is smoother and older than the last time she heard it, but there can be no mistaking the red head that accompanies it. Dresses in dark gray slacks and an untucked dress shirt, Theresa Cassidy, one Xavier Alumn, strolls into the office with very little ceremony, but a very large grin. Behind her, a gentleman, though not a recognizable one.
Jean straightens abruptly in a flurry of blouse and strayed auburn hair, even telepathy giving only a bare warning, distracted as she is by her construction of floor-piles. One hand lingers at the small of her back, another lifts to her temple, and there's a moment of pure bemusement before her own grin blossoms, and the hands transfer firmly to the younger woman's shoulders. "Terry Cassidy! If it turns out that Agent Drake is Bobby in disguise, I'll kill you."
Will, dressed in a suit, minus the tie, walks in behind Terry. He smiles slowly, watching the exchange, before shaking his head. "Peter Drake, everyone calls me Will," he says simply. Finding his pockets, he moves further into the office.
Terry shoot Will a glance from the corner of her eyes, lips trapped into a near permanent smirk, though one of amusement at the moment. She returns the hug fiercely and pulls back to note the changes that've creep into Jean's face over the course of the last five or so years. Green eyes meet green, and Terry wills the pleasure of the meeting to surpass the nervousness and tension in her thoughts. "Ach, but it's good ta see you," she drawls, letting her accent thicken with the surge of nostalgia. "Sorry for mussin' up your schedule, but it /is/ important."
Five years does leave its marks, even on such a fine genetic specimen as Dr. Jean Grey: faint little crinkles at the corners of her eyes don't go away when her smile does, proof that willpower makes up for neither sleep 'nor time, in the end. "Good to see you too -- the latest rumour amongst the alumni was that you'd disappeared into the wilderness of Patagonia with someone your father disapproved of... but forgive my rudeness, Agent Drake," she offers belatedly, releasing Terry to offer him a hand and an apologetic flash of a smile. "It's been a while since I've seen Terry. Please, come in and sit, both of you. I've had a tea cart brought in."
"It's a pleasure to meet you," Will replies with a nod. He shakes Jean's hand once, then glances at the cart. Seeing nothing he likes, or perhaps avoiding temptation altogether, he moves toward a chair and seats himself. Crossing one leg over the other, he focuses on the older woman.
"Oh, now you /know/ we're visitors when she brings out the tea cart," Terry teases, tossing her strawberry-colored hair as she cranes her neck to look for the nearest chair, which she promptly falls into with less than her usual grace of movement. She's comfortable here, apparently. Terry braces her elbow on the chair arm and curls her hand against her temple as she picks up the thread of the conversation. "No, not quite Patagonia. I was in Europe, mostly. At least until about a year ago. Sean knows, mostly." She looks aside at Will, then back to Jean. "I cannae talk much about it just /yet/, but maybe after we've told you why we're here. You see, Will an' I work for the government in a sort o' round about way, and we're needing your help."
Jean rounds her piles o' paper with a rustle of her skirt, and a soft snort of laughter for Terry. "Cultural programming," she notes. "If I didn't have the tea cart or something similar to offer, generations of ghosts of Grey women past would materialize to rap my knuckles. Tea or coffee?" she wonders, taking her seat and preparing to suit caffeine to words, the better to study both of her supplicants with the slightly-unsettling focus of a telepath. An encouraging noise suggests 'Go on'.
Will continues to watch the exchange quietly, his eyes set on Jean. "Several individuals have been recruited into a government funded agency for top secret and top priority missions." He uncrosses his legs. "We're looking to expand. We need your help, your connections, to find mutants capable of joining the agency. First for the purpose of finding the individuals on this flash drive," he removes it from his pocket and sets it on Jean's desk. He looks toward Terry.
Terry nods back at him in the silent language of teammates communicating without words. Not quite as effectively as a telepath, but it works! Terry flutters her fingers at the offer of tea or coffee, intent on seeing Jean's reaction to the words.
Jean's reaction takes the form of her eyebrows lifting abruptly, while the rest of her face retreats into cool thoughtfulness. "I see," she says, with a look from Will to Terry to the flash drive on the desk. She makes no move to take it just yet, instead wondering "What department are you drawing your funding from?"
"Classified," Will explains. "We're part of the bullshit branch, if that helps." He rubs his chin. "It's in our interest to work with established members in the mutant community. We have already spoken with three individuals whom you may know. Miss Frost, Doctor al-Razi, and Mister Talhurst."
"-Emma's- in on this?" So much for cool thoughtfulness, as an open expression of distaste flickers escapes her before she clamps down again, folds her hands on her lap, and attempts a cool reply of "I have little interest in helping Ms. Frost establish another mutant hit squad for herself."
Terry winces and shoots a tiny glare at Will before leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees. Her voice is soft and slightly pleading. "Jeannie, it's no' like that. This is much bigger than her. Look at the drive. Look at what we're doin'."
"This organization isn't a hit squad. The government is using Miss Frost's resources as well to discover mutants capable and interested in working for the organization." Will waits calmly, nodding at the drive.
"And what precautions are you taking that she isn't getting as much or more out of you than you are out of her?" Jean wonders, one eyebrow raised in a touching display of trust in her government's capabilities, before she sighs and reaches over to the tea cart to pour herself a coffee. "Several of Terry's classmates got lured into Sigma Iota Nu. Forgive me if I'm leery of underestimating the woman's ability to metastasize." She does, however, take the flash drive and plug it into her computer.
The contents are the same as were contained in the Inner Circle folders, though with perhaps a little more documentation on the organization itself. Including some of the results of the missions undertaken by the pair sitting before her. "Don't you think /I'm/ aware o' what the woman is?" Terry asks, her accent rising to harshen her voice. "But the fact o' the matter is we need her. We need you, too. /They/ need you. Isn't /this/ what you've been doing alone all along?"
"This isn't my first time around the block, Doctor Grey," Will replies. "Besides, considering the situation, it matters very little." The flashdrive opens and reveals a list of names, pictures, and biographical information. One reads, Name: Joseph Wells; Age: 12; Location: Chicago, Illinois. "We've received intelligence of a slaving ring, located internationally, that's been abducting children with mutations. This is happening globally. We don't have a fixed number on the total missing." He pauses.
"Jesus..." Reading glasses produced and settled on the bridge of her nose without more than a reflexive thought, Jean is soon subsumed into the files. Looking up at last, she stares at the pair of them over the edge of the monitor and asks "What can I do to help?"
"We need to know if any of the kids here are missing, first, or if they go missing. We need to know if you /hear/ of any. We need names of individuals that you know of who might be of use. Basically, Jeannie, we need you ta be our eyes an' ears." Terry exhales her gathered worry in a large breath and settles back, reaching up to tuck a bit of hair behind her ear.
"Any kind of military record, police training, or tactical experience is also favorable. Reconaissance, computer skills, etc." Will clenches his jaw. "The objective is to find those kids, extract them, and take down the sick fucks that abducted them. I think it's something everyone can get behind."
"Fun for the whole family," offers Jean in a mixture of grim and bland and with a glower at her coffee cup, before she opens up computer files of her own, and turns her monitor to share them. "All right. First of all, I should be able to tap a few contacts over here... and if I can get Charles to come back from DC and take over his school again..." Plans, nebulous and gossamer, but with the tensile strength of the same metaphor's spider-silk, begin to be spun.
Wherein Jean discovers she'll have to play nice with the Devil in a White Dress. For the children!
To: "Charles Xavier"
Subject: Emergency Recall
-----------
Charles, I just had a visit from a pair of government agents. They want my help on something I really can't discuss even in an encrypted email, but it's big and it's deathly serious, and it will take up a lot of my energy. Is there any chance you could take over the school again? If not, I suppose I can see if Ororo will do it.
Best of luck, and I'll try and contact you more privately soon,
Jean
--------------
X-Men: Movieverse 2 - Friday, February 06, 2009, 4:44 PM
--------------------------------------------------------
=XS= Jean's Office - Lv 1 - Xavier's School
Just another step in the grand tradition of renovation that dogs all great and old houses, Jean's office has been snuck nearly seamlessly into the footprint of the mansion library. Despite the headmistress' taste for clean lines and light colours, rich oak panelling and footstep-muffling carpet in a venerable shade of forest green are the order of the day. Light is freely admitted by a large leaded glass window that looks out over the Victorian garden and its fountain, although hanging curtains in the same emerald as the carpeting can be drawn to turn the room dark enough for presentations to be shown. The central feature of the room is an imposing desk, stained dark to match the paneled walls. A modern ergonomic office chair is positioned behind it, with two uphoulstered chairs in front. A laptop rules the desk, two filing cabinets, several framed diplomas and a bookshelf hug the side wall behind it. One corner holds a thriving ficus plant, and the central piece of art in the office is a framed representation of DNArt, a small brass plaque informing observers that this is the genome of Dr. Jean Grey.
[Exits : [Li]brary]
The piles of paper on Jean's desk are getting higher in mirror image of the snowdrifts outside her windows. Alas that spring will have no effect on melting -these-. But, despite how much the once-more-headmistress of Xavier's schedule might squeal at the thought of having to accomodate one more meeting, one space has been pried out of it and wedged open all the same. Coffee and tea have been delivered and left on a discreetly elegant cart, along with a selection of nibbly pastry treats, and Jean is in the process of trying to shovel at least a few of the piles onto the floor beside her desk. Despite the neat charcoal skirt and champagne blouse she wears, hallmarks of a day's labour at cultivating young muant minds, her hair is escaping from the butterfly clip holding it, and she vents a long sigh in the all-too-brief emptiness of the office. "Bermuda after exams. I swear."
There isn't a student escort to give Jean prior warning of the imminent arrival of her guests, so the knock on the door, followed so swiftly by the door being flung open might make a few more hairs escape. "Jeanie!" The voice is smoother and older than the last time she heard it, but there can be no mistaking the red head that accompanies it. Dresses in dark gray slacks and an untucked dress shirt, Theresa Cassidy, one Xavier Alumn, strolls into the office with very little ceremony, but a very large grin. Behind her, a gentleman, though not a recognizable one.
Jean straightens abruptly in a flurry of blouse and strayed auburn hair, even telepathy giving only a bare warning, distracted as she is by her construction of floor-piles. One hand lingers at the small of her back, another lifts to her temple, and there's a moment of pure bemusement before her own grin blossoms, and the hands transfer firmly to the younger woman's shoulders. "Terry Cassidy! If it turns out that Agent Drake is Bobby in disguise, I'll kill you."
Will, dressed in a suit, minus the tie, walks in behind Terry. He smiles slowly, watching the exchange, before shaking his head. "Peter Drake, everyone calls me Will," he says simply. Finding his pockets, he moves further into the office.
Terry shoot Will a glance from the corner of her eyes, lips trapped into a near permanent smirk, though one of amusement at the moment. She returns the hug fiercely and pulls back to note the changes that've creep into Jean's face over the course of the last five or so years. Green eyes meet green, and Terry wills the pleasure of the meeting to surpass the nervousness and tension in her thoughts. "Ach, but it's good ta see you," she drawls, letting her accent thicken with the surge of nostalgia. "Sorry for mussin' up your schedule, but it /is/ important."
Five years does leave its marks, even on such a fine genetic specimen as Dr. Jean Grey: faint little crinkles at the corners of her eyes don't go away when her smile does, proof that willpower makes up for neither sleep 'nor time, in the end. "Good to see you too -- the latest rumour amongst the alumni was that you'd disappeared into the wilderness of Patagonia with someone your father disapproved of... but forgive my rudeness, Agent Drake," she offers belatedly, releasing Terry to offer him a hand and an apologetic flash of a smile. "It's been a while since I've seen Terry. Please, come in and sit, both of you. I've had a tea cart brought in."
"It's a pleasure to meet you," Will replies with a nod. He shakes Jean's hand once, then glances at the cart. Seeing nothing he likes, or perhaps avoiding temptation altogether, he moves toward a chair and seats himself. Crossing one leg over the other, he focuses on the older woman.
"Oh, now you /know/ we're visitors when she brings out the tea cart," Terry teases, tossing her strawberry-colored hair as she cranes her neck to look for the nearest chair, which she promptly falls into with less than her usual grace of movement. She's comfortable here, apparently. Terry braces her elbow on the chair arm and curls her hand against her temple as she picks up the thread of the conversation. "No, not quite Patagonia. I was in Europe, mostly. At least until about a year ago. Sean knows, mostly." She looks aside at Will, then back to Jean. "I cannae talk much about it just /yet/, but maybe after we've told you why we're here. You see, Will an' I work for the government in a sort o' round about way, and we're needing your help."
Jean rounds her piles o' paper with a rustle of her skirt, and a soft snort of laughter for Terry. "Cultural programming," she notes. "If I didn't have the tea cart or something similar to offer, generations of ghosts of Grey women past would materialize to rap my knuckles. Tea or coffee?" she wonders, taking her seat and preparing to suit caffeine to words, the better to study both of her supplicants with the slightly-unsettling focus of a telepath. An encouraging noise suggests 'Go on'.
Will continues to watch the exchange quietly, his eyes set on Jean. "Several individuals have been recruited into a government funded agency for top secret and top priority missions." He uncrosses his legs. "We're looking to expand. We need your help, your connections, to find mutants capable of joining the agency. First for the purpose of finding the individuals on this flash drive," he removes it from his pocket and sets it on Jean's desk. He looks toward Terry.
Terry nods back at him in the silent language of teammates communicating without words. Not quite as effectively as a telepath, but it works! Terry flutters her fingers at the offer of tea or coffee, intent on seeing Jean's reaction to the words.
Jean's reaction takes the form of her eyebrows lifting abruptly, while the rest of her face retreats into cool thoughtfulness. "I see," she says, with a look from Will to Terry to the flash drive on the desk. She makes no move to take it just yet, instead wondering "What department are you drawing your funding from?"
"Classified," Will explains. "We're part of the bullshit branch, if that helps." He rubs his chin. "It's in our interest to work with established members in the mutant community. We have already spoken with three individuals whom you may know. Miss Frost, Doctor al-Razi, and Mister Talhurst."
"-Emma's- in on this?" So much for cool thoughtfulness, as an open expression of distaste flickers escapes her before she clamps down again, folds her hands on her lap, and attempts a cool reply of "I have little interest in helping Ms. Frost establish another mutant hit squad for herself."
Terry winces and shoots a tiny glare at Will before leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees. Her voice is soft and slightly pleading. "Jeannie, it's no' like that. This is much bigger than her. Look at the drive. Look at what we're doin'."
"This organization isn't a hit squad. The government is using Miss Frost's resources as well to discover mutants capable and interested in working for the organization." Will waits calmly, nodding at the drive.
"And what precautions are you taking that she isn't getting as much or more out of you than you are out of her?" Jean wonders, one eyebrow raised in a touching display of trust in her government's capabilities, before she sighs and reaches over to the tea cart to pour herself a coffee. "Several of Terry's classmates got lured into Sigma Iota Nu. Forgive me if I'm leery of underestimating the woman's ability to metastasize." She does, however, take the flash drive and plug it into her computer.
The contents are the same as were contained in the Inner Circle folders, though with perhaps a little more documentation on the organization itself. Including some of the results of the missions undertaken by the pair sitting before her. "Don't you think /I'm/ aware o' what the woman is?" Terry asks, her accent rising to harshen her voice. "But the fact o' the matter is we need her. We need you, too. /They/ need you. Isn't /this/ what you've been doing alone all along?"
"This isn't my first time around the block, Doctor Grey," Will replies. "Besides, considering the situation, it matters very little." The flashdrive opens and reveals a list of names, pictures, and biographical information. One reads, Name: Joseph Wells; Age: 12; Location: Chicago, Illinois. "We've received intelligence of a slaving ring, located internationally, that's been abducting children with mutations. This is happening globally. We don't have a fixed number on the total missing." He pauses.
"Jesus..." Reading glasses produced and settled on the bridge of her nose without more than a reflexive thought, Jean is soon subsumed into the files. Looking up at last, she stares at the pair of them over the edge of the monitor and asks "What can I do to help?"
"We need to know if any of the kids here are missing, first, or if they go missing. We need to know if you /hear/ of any. We need names of individuals that you know of who might be of use. Basically, Jeannie, we need you ta be our eyes an' ears." Terry exhales her gathered worry in a large breath and settles back, reaching up to tuck a bit of hair behind her ear.
"Any kind of military record, police training, or tactical experience is also favorable. Reconaissance, computer skills, etc." Will clenches his jaw. "The objective is to find those kids, extract them, and take down the sick fucks that abducted them. I think it's something everyone can get behind."
"Fun for the whole family," offers Jean in a mixture of grim and bland and with a glower at her coffee cup, before she opens up computer files of her own, and turns her monitor to share them. "All right. First of all, I should be able to tap a few contacts over here... and if I can get Charles to come back from DC and take over his school again..." Plans, nebulous and gossamer, but with the tensile strength of the same metaphor's spider-silk, begin to be spun.
Wherein Jean discovers she'll have to play nice with the Devil in a White Dress. For the children!