OOC: Logs
With so much RP crammed into one teeny-tiny day yesterday, there's no way all the logs are fitting in one entry. So, continued chronologically from the entry above:
< NYC > The White Room < NYC >
A small, comfortable little place, this - a minuscule cafe of little fame and ridiculously good coffee. The main room is small and rather inordinately comfortable, prevented from being claustrophobic by a theme of whites in the decor and the fact that the regulars - a sundry bunch of academics, artists, lawyers, workpersons, and every other group New York has to offer - are generally quietly occupied with coffee and good, solid plates of food. There is no theme, no specialized and exotic varieties of coffee or tea - the atmosphere is thick with cigarette smoke and comfort, not desperate sophistication.
[Exits : [O]ut]
Sketch has arrived.
Sketch comes toddling in, her hand gripped tightly by her nanny. They saw Jean yesterday, and she invited them out for lunch. The master of the house said it was fine, so of course they went. Jean is, after all, rather high society. The nanny continues to hold onto Sketch's hand, looking around for the redhead.
Ah, status. It opens so many doors, even if it means having to listen to her mother rattle off a list of nicely eligible bachelors within her reach. Jean's mentioned what's happened with the nice Summers boy, vaguely. Somehow she's had it slip her mind to mention the replacement. Thanksgiving dinner should be a lot of fun... Settled at a table with a convenient line of sight on the entrance, Jean is sipping at a mug of coffee and leafing over a few student reports as she waits, glancing up to give a smile and a beckoning nod at spotting her lunch meeting arriving. "Hello, Asiah." she greets, still not having been told the nanny's name.
Sketch tugs her nanny towards Jean, waving happily. "Hi." she says, then looks up at the nanny, who then introduces herself. "Rosmerta Putin." she says, holding out a hand for Jean to shake while nudging Asiah towards a seat. "It was kind of you to invite us to lunch, although I was surprised that you had met the child." Rosmerta comments, with a glance down at Asiah.
"A pleasure, Ms. Putin," replies Jean with a warm tone and a handshake surprisingly firm for a thin woman whom one might think from the papers spends most of her day either wearing a lab coat or a politician's smile. "And it was more curiosity than kindness, I have to admit in all honestly. One of my colleagues and I met Asiah down in Chinatown last week, and I wanted to get to know her a little better." is explained, before Jean passes a menu over to the girl. "And how are you today, Asiah? Keeping up with your drawings?"
Sketch sits as she is directed, then takes the menu from Jean, beaming up at her. "Yes. Have lots of drawings." she replies, carefully not looking at her nanny as she says it, for Rosmerta is shaking her head. Having seated herself, the nanny says in a conversational tone, "Asiah is a remarkable artist for one her age. Her guardian and I have thought about sending her to classes, but she really must improve her English first. She and her guardian only came to the US about a year ago, and she didn't speak a word of it then."
"The rose you drew for me was gorgeous, Asiah," Jean praises. "In fact, I still have it in my lab." Being studied minutely, of course. She pretends not to see the headshaking, and merely taps the menu with a fingertip. "They've got a wonderful mixed appetizer plate here... and have you considered sending her to a school for the gifted?" she wonders of the other adult. "Quite often, their curriculae are designed to be a bit more free-form than those of the regular school system, so ESL students usually do really well at them. At least that's what we've found at our school." The prestigious Dr. Jean Grey teaches at a school? How interesting, no?
Rosmerta shakes her head briefly at Jean, then nods to Asiah as the girl points out on the menu what she wants. "I tutor Asiah myself. She is a bit behind in most subjects, with the exception of science. This, of course, is because she has trouble with English. I'm quite sure that once she gets up to speed with that, she will improve rapidly. Private tutoring is what her guardian prefers." she murmurs firmly. Of course, we all know WHY said 'guardian' wants to keep her at home. Asiah looks up at Jean. "What you having?" she asks brightly.
"Considering that she's emigrated so recently, you're doing a perfectly creditable job, from what I've seen." Jean offers to Rosmerta with another warm smile, and a slight projection of positive emotion. Nothing too formed, just the sort of barest hint that Jean is a woman to be relaxed around and trusted. The redhaired doctor is careful to arrange her body language to match, in case the nanny is a perceptive sort. "And I'm sure I understand her guardian's concerns, but as I said, I teach at a school for Gifted children." A subtle use of capitalization, a subtle glance at Asiah, and then it's covered by Jean addressing the girl again and giving the Nanny time to think. This is always the tricky bit, and more than a few short-term memory wipes have been required over the years. "Me? Well, I'm having the mixed platter and my coffee. I think you're too young for the coffee, though."
Rosmerta is as dull as a doorknob when it comes to perceiving things, so she merely finds Jean an interesting acquiantance, for now. "You would have to discuss that with her guardian. I am in no position to make a decision like that about Asiah." she repeats, a little firmer than before. Asiah, however, wriggles in her seat and smiles at Jean. "I have the sandwich, and chips." she mutters, practically bouncing in her seat before her nanny tells her to settle down.
Jean nods aquiescence, and doesn't press the point at picking up the firmness. "Would it be possible to arrange a meeting, then?" she wonders. "Either with myself, or with one of my male colleagues, whatever her guardian's cultural beliefs would allow him to be the most comfortable with." See? Nice, reasonable, accomodating Dr. Grey. Flagging down a waitress, Jean places her order and lets Rosmerta and Asiah make theirs before picking up the conversation once the gum-chewing forty-something is gone again. "So, has Ms. Putin been your nanny for very long, Asiah?"
Sketch watches the conversation earnestly, aware that something important is happening, but not sure what. Rosmerta pulls a small piece of paper out of her bag and jots down a number. "This is the home phone number. He is usually home in the early evening, and I think it would be best if you were escorted to our home. Asiah's guardian is very traditional." Meanwhile, Asiah has made a lovely mess of her napkin, but she immediately shoves it into her lap as she is addressed. "Since came here." she says, smiling at her nanny.
< NYC > The Sanctuary < NYC >
Accessible through one of the nondescript doorways from the filthy, unpopulated alleyway outside, those who find their way to The Sanctuary usually have been pointed in the right direction. The single room of the coffee joint is deceptively large, despite the only natural lighting being from a pair of windows almost too grimy to see through. The remaining dimness is cured effectively, however, by a series of well-placed wall sconces amidst bookshelves and abstract paintings by little-known local artists. The main counter with its impressive menu of caffeinated goodness dominates most of one wall, but arranged in the still plentiful leftover space are any number of seating arrangements from small, iron-wrought tables and chairs to a battered old couch and stained table as well as patched and repatched beanbag furniture.
But the focus of The Sanctuary is not so much its comfortable atmosphere as the eccentric crowd it runs with. A crowd so eccentric, in fact, that it's no secret to the patrons of this joint that the majority of them are mutants. No doubt the owners and operators of the shop are mutants themselves, and in this easygoing crowd it's not uncommon to have your double espresso served to you by a fellow with three eyes and a tail.
As the day draws into evenings, those who linger in the shop at this hour may begin to detect a rhythmic pulse of music from underfoot. Not loud or obtrusive, per say, but present nonetheless, and wanting of investigation.
[Exits : [D]ownstairs, and [B]ack [O]utside]
[Players : Sabby]
[Things : Cork Messageboard]
Sabby comes to this meeting prepared, yes she does. When she enters the Sanctuary, eyes already scanning the room to see if Dr. Grey has arrived before her, she's got her satchel at her side and a pen already stuck behind one ear. Doing some prepartory work before hand, maybe? There's no line to order, so she steps up to absently ask for an iced mocha, white, with raspberry as her fingers tap spastically against the counter. Nervous? Excited? Who knows.
Jean is indeed already here, but not in the main room. Nope, Jean's on time, but emerging from one of the small rooms in the back of the coffee shop, a leather satchel with a discreet medical cross embroidered on it hanging from her hip. She drops a pair of latex gloves in a nearby garbage bin, and then slides into a seat at the table she'd reserved earlier, well laden with a laptop and neat stacks of journal articles. Strangely, she was able to leave the expensive equipment completely unattended and in perfect safety. It appears that Dr. Grey is well known enough around the Sanctuary that stealing her stuff is considered a no-no. "Sabby!" she greets with a grin. "Over here."
Of course it has nothing to do with just how very bad an idea it would be to nick Dr. Grey's stuff, huh? Not good for the health. Sabby starts at her name, but quickly replaces her startled expression with an answering grin as she pays for her mocha and wanders toward Jean with it in hand. "Wow. Fully prepared, huh?" she questions with a wave toward the table. "And here I just brought my notebook."
Oh come now, it's not like Jean advertises her asskicking abilities to everyone, you know. She's just got Prestige. Or, more important in certain segments of the mutant community, a medical bag. And the knowledge of how to use it. Sabby's question prompts a wry chuckle at her piles of work and a little shake of her head. "No, no, don't worry... I was just working on a paper I'm trying to write earlier on today. No students equals me actually being able to concentrate on my research for a couple hours." An even more wry look, and a sip of her own coffee, some mocha latte concoction as opposed to the black-as-sin blend she drinks when not in coffee shops. "But, now you're here... what do you want me to dish on first?" she wonders.
Dangerous things, those scalpels. "Behold the wonder of the weekend, eh?" Sabby replies as she drops into her seat casually, notebook making and appearance and pen dropping from ear to hand with speed. "I feel that. I'm even caught up on my reading tonight, wonder of wonders - and that /never/ happens." The college student takes the time to grin and then slurp and her mocha - with raspberry, did we mention? - before shrugging slowly. "To be honest, I'm not sure. I don't know if we ever got around to the 'what's your major' bit of conversation, but mine's history - and I was just thinking the other day about how we.. how /mutants/ have gotten by. Y'know. I mean, we explain things, we write it down in books, we accept it as true, but that doesn't /make/ it true. I was thinking about how much of what we dismiss... could have been us." And how's /that/ for an opener?
We meant in a -good- sense. Y'know, Hippocratic Oath and all that jazz. But all that aside... "Oh, for sure. I think the highlight of the day is that I got to eat breakfast in bed and watch cartoons for an hour before heading out to run all the errands and make all the meetings I couldn't make during the week." the older woman offers with a quirk of a smile. Jean stirs a chocolate swizzle stick in her coffee a few times, and the sucks gently on the end of it as she listens to Sabby talk. "So you're wondering about the possibility of certain historical figures and events dismissed as myth or miracle actually having a real-world basis? Joan of Arc was psychic and all that?"
"Cartoons? For real?" Sabby questions with a grin, notebook flipping open past several pages of notes and more than a few printed and copied versions of articles. Sab /has/ been doing her research, it seems. Sabby shrugs at Jean's question, and then nods, slowly. "Yes.. and no. I'm not saying every event that we chalk up to superstition is really a mutant gene at work. But I /do/ wonder... well. Ok. We've got mutants that are at least a century and going, right? And yet it's only really this last generation that we started to recognize, and acknowledge them. How did they survive before that? When /was/ the first mutant? Did they hide, or did they exploit? And /was/ Joan of Arc psychic and the Salem witch hunts searching for a few folks with genuine power?" So basically, the answer is 'yes'.
"Well, what else are you going to do for an hour on a Sunday morning?" Jean replies in kind, looking innocent. "Well, without giving all the teenagers something to overhear and gossip about, that is." Elegant, refined Dr. Grey didn't just -say- that, did she? From the serene smile over her coffee as she glances into the middle distance for a moment, Jean's not going to say it again. She taps a few commands into her laptop and turns it around so that Sabby can see the screen as the college girl comes to the end of her questions, though. "Well, the first thing to understand is that about the only way we have of telling just how far back mutants date is through evolutionary genetics and a few theories and formulas from that field. Currently, about one out of every hundred people has an active copy of the X-Factor gene. That's 60 million people world wide. Most of them will live their entire lives not knowing that they're mutants. But even though that's only one percent of the population, that's still a highly-visible fraction, in genetic terms. To give some contrast, cystic fibrosis shows up one in every couple ten thousand people. To get that number of people expressing something whose precursors are recessive genes, the initial mutation that lead to the development of the X-Factor probably happened millennia in the past." A pause and a sheepish look. "Thwack me with something if I get too scientist."
Sabby is a college student. She can handle it. She regards Dr. Grey with a knowing smirk and makes a mental note to inquire about her studly centurian of a boyfriend. She leans in as the screen of Jean's laptop is turned her way, peering inquisitively. Jean gets a glance of surprise, and she questions, "People can actually do that? I've never thought about the possibility of.. not knowing. And it seems like mutants are around the corner even /without/ factoring them in.." She trails off, falling silent to continue listening. She snorts and lifts a hand, as if in warning. "No worries, I'm ready for the thwacking. But basically, it seems like what you're saying is - we could have had mutants, in limited number for /centuries/, if not millenia? And it's just that no one.. noticed? Or at least, put the right name to it?"
Centenarian, actually. Although Logan would probably look yummy in a Gladiator-style outfit too. Mmmm... Ahem. Where were we? "Oh yeah." Jean agrees. "The thing to remember is that most mutations -aren't- physical. So if you're, say, a low-grade empath, you'll probably just write off your mutation as being able to 'read' people, or being 'sensitive'. The human mind is wonderful at rationalizing things." Dr. Grey continues her lecture. "And basically, yeah, that's it. Mutants would have been extremely rare in earlier times, because the odds of two recessive precursor-alleles running into each other would've been so small, but they'd have been around. Joan of Arc is a logical candidate, because the psionic mutations are some of the oldest there are. Psi adepts actually predate the widespread manifestation of the X-Factor.
Hey now, no making fun of Sabby (or her player's) lack of spelling ability. And it's centuri/o/n, because I looked it up. Hmph. Sabby muses over this new bit of information with a slow nod. "That's true - I'd never thought of that. Makes me wonder how many really great politicians and self-help gurus have some sort of ability," she notes with a grin. Her fingers tap against the edge of the table, and she regards Jean curiously. "Ok, back up - psi adepts meaning what, exactly? And why aren't they part of.. I assume the X-factor refers to the, y'know, mutant bit?"
Doesn't detract from the fact that Logan would be sexy in a Roman footsoldier's outfit. Ooooh, Halloween... "It's a question I've often wondered about. I'd -love- to get a blood test run on a few of the most charismatic anti-mutant speakers." Jean replies, looking darkly mischievous. She settles back comfortably in her chair, and cradles her coffee mug as she backs up as ordered. "Psi adepts. Those people who have development in the psi sector of their brains beyond that of the average human. We've all got one, it's just that in 80% of the population, it's limited to being the thing that gives us hunches and deja vu. In the other 20%, it can be developed towards the varient forms of telepathy, towards telekinesis, clairvoyance, psychometry... all those Twilight Zone freaky mental powers. But without the X-Factor, it's only enough for... parlour tricks. If you're lucky. What the presence of the psi varient of the X-Factor does is -amplify- it. That's why I can hear a thought in Boston, when my great great aunt was lucky to be able to guess what card someone was holding."
Don't make promises unless you intend to keep them, now. And invite Sabby to that Halloween party? The college student laughs at that and replies with a "Don't I wish," before falling silent again. "So all those things that'd get someone labeled a 'witch' or 'shaman' or 'wise man' or even 'god', really, if you knew how to work it?" she questions slowly. "Right. So... it's likely that quite a few folks in the days of yore might have premonitions or maybe a good danger sense, but that only a very, very few would be getting clear precognitions and the ability to hear thought or bend spoons?" She pauses, pen flicking at the table in a spastic ryhthm. "All right, then. So when does our definition of 'mutant' start to become common enough that it's /not/ a one in a million find?"
It's a date... if Logan himself can be convinced, of course. Perhaps visions of Jean dressed as Venus might sweeten the deal? Although -not- from the 'Birth of Venus' painting. Kids around! To answer Sabby's question, Jean sits forward again, and clatters and clicks away at her computer, jumping into an Excel spreadsheet and bringing up a few charts. "Pretty much. Not to mention that it takes a lot of concentration and focus to use such abilities. Theoretically one reason why such unknown-mutant miracle workers might appear among the pious, as they already had traditions of meditation and prayer in place to act as focusing aids." But historical theory isn't Jean's bag... genetic theory is, so she's quite content to get back to giving harder answers, which involve pretty charts. "Well, it's a somewhat exponential curve, really, with plateaus reflecting generational gaps. Starting back in the 1800s, we have a handful of mutants born in one generation. Then, skip ahead to the 1920s and 30s, and you get a small spike. This is the generation that brought forth both Eric Lensherr, head of the Brotherhood of Mutants, and also Professor Xavier. They were the first generation to really recognize what they were, given the proper education to fit it into a framework. Another plateau, and then another exponential spike upwards as that generation reproduces. Around the 1960s, you start getting the mutants of my generation. I'm sort of near the tail end of that, 1975. Then we get the teenagers we're seeing now, who are a massive blob of them right -here-. You and the other, older college age mutants are sort of the odd ones out. There's less of you, since you're between generations, but that's neither here 'nor there."
Sabby blinks at that and leans backward, as connections go sparking through her brain. "So.. all those pious women who went into raptures and levitated and saw visions and even experienced stigmata... it's possible that they actually /did/. At least in their minds and the minds of those around them? I mean, if intense fasting and days and weeks of prayer isn't focus, I don't know what is..." Sabby leans forward again, studying the charts, though it takes a great deal longer for her historically focused brain to assimilate them. "Huh." And isn't /that/ an enlightening response. A long moment of pondering follows, and then Sabby continues. "So starting in the early nineteenth century, we're talking maybe several hundred worldwide? Damn. I knew it. Charles Stuart /had/ to be a telepath or empath." That thought's left to simmer in her own brain as she questions again. "Which means that before that, we're talking... one in several thousand? Less? And if they had any grasp of their abilities, it wouldn't be unheard of for those one in a million to also be the one in a million who were the scientific or literary or political - especially political, and probably religious, too - genuises of their time?"
"It's very likely," confirms Jean, swirling her chocolate swizzle stick again and smiling a little as the heat of the coffee begins to melt it, leaving the chocolate rather... bendy. And fun to fidget with. "And that number's also right. I'd strive more towards political and religious rather than literary, since while empathy can make a person sensitive to the human condition, it doesn't help them transcribe those feelings." A snort of laughter. "To be honest, I find it almost impossible to describe how I see things with my telepathy. Tasting colours and feeling sounds, all that. While I'd love to say that Shakespeare was a mutant, we also need to be careful not to say that all things good and right come from mutants."
Sabby takes the time for a long slurp of her mocha - caffiene helps her focus, right? Or maybe it's just the white chocolate-raspberry combo. Sabby snorts at Jean's statment, and then shakes her head, slowly. "Oh, no - trust me, I'm just as likely to say the /bad/ things came from them. Ok. Take these medieval nuns, for example - they become convinced they're talking to God and obtaining piety because they can float, and so as a result they stop eating and mutilate themselves because they believe that's what's going to keep them there. Or.. or Charles Stuart. Just a wild guess, you know, speculation, but take a man who's incrediably gifted empathically, who can read emotions and work with them and maybe even feed them back.. and give that gift to someone with misguided and dangerous political ideals. He convinced half of Scotland to march against the Hanoverian crown and got an army massacred for their efforts and forever changed the culture of Scotland." She slows, thoughts now coming out one by one instead of in a unchecked flurry. "Especially when people didn't understand what was what. As a matter of fact, I'd almost say that the chance of mutants abusing their powers, or misusing them, would have been greater, percentage wise, then than they are now - nothing to check them, no one to teach them, and either this building up of their accomplishments as great or this tearing down of them as evil..."
"I think you've hit it right on the head there, Sabby," Dr. Grey allows, as the discussion turns (To her mind) philosophical. "The whole philosophy behind Xavier's is to teach understanding and control of mutant abilities because the pattern seems to be that very few people manage to master their powers on their own, and those powers end up destroying them." A pause for more of her own coffee, the woman getting a distinct buzz as much from the academic discussion as well as the caffeine. Logan, while wonderful, -will- tune out to affectionate smiling and nodding as soon as she starts getting really Dr. Grey on him. "So, you sound like you're gearing up towards a thesis or something... am I way off base on that?" she wonders. "I should introduce you to my Dad some time... he's a history prof up at Bard College in Annadale-on-Hudson."
Sabby manages a small, tenative smile at that. "Well, I admit that the thought had crossed my mind, but to be honest, I'm not sure if it's not an insane project for an undergrad to attempt. But it's just so.. it's so /obvious/, y'know?" Her fingers twirl the straw in her mocha around, sending ice clanking against the sides. "Not who, and when, and what, but that /some/ of them were. They had to be. That when we're trying to figure out motivations and understand the past, we /have/ to take that.. X factor? That X factor into account. Along with the low level empathy and telepathy and all that jazz. It's just blind to /not/, y'know?" She leans forward, mocha forgotten, to confide to Jean, "If I can just prove /that/ point - if I can just make a case for the consideration of the possibility of mutation affecting major players in history - /that's/ a thesis right there. I'm hoping I can track down someone, somewhere, who's maybe working on something a little more.. complete."
"Well, if not an undergrad, how about a PhD or Masters thesis?" Jean suggests. "Nothing to say you can't do a little research on your own time now, with an eye towards the future. Heck, I'd like to get my PhD some day, although at this rate, it'll probably have to wait 'til I'm in my fifties." A glance at the piles of research she's got sitting in front of her. "Although hell, I've probably got material enough for five doctoral theses just sitting on my lab computer. But however you decide to do the project, I'll be happy to help you with the genetics stuff as needed." the good doctor promises. "Hell, Moira's my scientific mentor and she got her Nobel because she practically wrote the book on human mutation in the early years of the field." Congratulations, Sabby, you had a Nobel Laureate give you painkillers! "So if Dr. Jean Grey, MD, Hon. B.Sc. isn't a good enough name to have in your footnotes, perhaps Dr. Moira Kinross-MacTaggart, PhD, Nobel Laureate will do better. I think it's a neat project."
"I've considered it," Sabby admits slowly. "But I'm still a good year and a half away from graduation, and I've got to scrounge the money from grad school from somewhere, if I decide to do that..." Mental note: she really /must/ see what can be done about all that money Succubus Enterprises has lying around. Her brows rise, and awe is written quite clearly across her face for a moment before she wipes it off and replaces it with a dry smile. "I think both will do quite nicely, really. Hadn't realized it before, but your name's come up more than once in the stuff I was reading earlier. I don't suppose.. I mean, if I had a question, once I get /really/ into the nitty gritty, do you suppose Dr. MacTaggart would be willing to answer it for me?" she questions tentatively.
Jean, fotunately, has her mental barriers raised to polite levels, and so doesn't catch that mental note. "If you need some help finding a decent-paying internship or anything, don't hesitate to let me know," she offers. "I've got the contacts at my disposal, and none of my own students are old enough to need them yet." Ergo, she gets to relive her college years vicariously through Sabby? Something like that. Downing enough coffee to lower the level in her mug to 1/3rd, she swallows twice and then gives a crooked smile. "Me? Just remember where I work... it's no great feat of research to get the data that went into those papers, just the daily needs of playing doctor to fifty people with some very strange biochemistries in the mix. And I think Moira would probably love it. I also think you and she would probably either butt heads non-stop, or get along famously. Also, Professor Xavier has a fair amount of research expertise... he and Moira have been colleagues since -they- were college students. Among other things." A discreet cough, and Jean returns to her drink.
Sabby blinks in surprise at that, and she leans backward abruptly. "Really? I mean.. you're serious?" She pauses, stirring at her mocha. "Well.. yeah. I'll give you a call, then." Hey, contacts are /so/ not something to be discarded. "Well, y'know.. if they ever get really bored in their copious free time, feel free to give them the email add or phone number of a curious undergrad," Sabby hints broadly before the 'among other things' offers a perfect segue and she grins, looking for all the world like a girl up late with her roommate dishing. "Speaking of other things and ancient mutants - I believe I recall some references to getting the dish on this geriatric boyfriend of yours. Are you /honestly/ dating someone over a hundred years old?" Sabby is quite obviously having trouble believing this, and apparently has absolutely no compunction about asking Jean. Dr. MacTaggart may give her pause for awe, but Jean /LJs/. That means her personal life is fair game.
Jean, for her part, seems to be enjoying herself thoroughly. In another world, she'd probably be a grad student instead of an evil-fighting lady doctor who teaches by day and saves the world at night. Hence, it's nice to shrug off that mantle of premature responsibility and just hang out with younger academes over coffee once and a while. "Oh, completely serious. And will do. As for Logan?" Here Jean gives a grin. "Well, I -did- say that he doesn't seem to have aged physically past thirty. Here, take a look for yourself." she directs, mousing over and through a folder of digital camera images taken on her Canadian excursion, pulled from a directory labeled, tantalizingly, 'Unclassified'. A particular picture is selected and shown full size: Logan, thumbs hooked through his belt loops, leaned back against his motorcycle against a backdrop of a dawn prarie sky. It's a pretty evocative shot for an amateur photographer.
Sabby is an academe? Oh, be still Sabby's heart! As the undergrad leans in, her brows rise at the directory, but she doesn't comment until Logan appears, motorcycle and all, and her jaw drops. "Holy /fuck/, Dr. Grey. I'd never have pegged you as the type!" she states with a slow exhale, leaning a bit closer. "Hot damn. I don't think 'not past thirty' quite captures that one." Ahem. That'd be the 'Dr. Grey has hooked herself a damn fine hottie' voice, there.
"I take it you approve?" inquires Jean with a puckish look and a sip of her coffee covering a smirk, but not her dancing eyes. "And what? Never thought the good girl would go for a bad boy? Although he's got a heart of gold." she assures, expression going a little soft before she snorts another laugh. "Not that he'd thank me for letting that get out. Testosterone demands that he maintain the badass exterior when out in public as much as possible. Although..." Another picture is clicked up, of Jean and Logan all dolled up for an evening out at the Tavern on the Green. "He -does- clean up well."
"Hey now. Badass in public isn't neccessarily bad," Sabby replies before shooting a smirk at Jean. "Or other places, come to think of it, in the right context." She peers at the screen as the pictures change, and her brows rise. "Wow," she remarks. "Badass, hot, and you've got him /whipped/. Not bad, Dr. Grey, not bad at /all/." She leans back slightly and shoots a grin at Jean. "And if he, y'know, ever gets too badass for you, feel free to drop /him/ a certain undergrad's number too, eh?" Her voice is friendly and teasing - after all, Sabby doesn't make a habit out of stealing friend's boys, now matter /how/ hot.
"Funny, that's what the kids all said," replies Jean with a thoughtful cant of her head at the 'whipped' pronouncement. "And none of them'll believe it was his idea to go out. I'd have the Week From Hell, and he decided I needed to get the hell out of Dodge for a night. Although in all fairness, he didn't think of the dress code when he made the reservations... Partially-whipped?" she wonders, before chuckling at the teasing and shaking her head. "Hell no. I just finally got him. I'm not letting him up for a good long time. But if he has a younger brother in his eighties show up, I'll let you know." is promised, before Dr. Grey turns a little more serious and, well, Dr. Grey. "So how -is- college going for you, what with everything that's happened and all?"
Sabby looks a tad surprised at that, but she shrugs easily and sips at her mocha, ice cubes now dwindled to nearly nothing. "Even better then, I'd say. Sounds.. and believe me, looks... like you've roped yourself a winner. I'd be a bit worried if you /weren't/ hanging onto him," she states before Jean's last question earns a nice long silence, in which Sabby nearly empties her glass in one go. Finally, she replies, "Classes are good."
"You'll have to meet him, one of these days," Jean decides, draining the dregs of her own mug and shutting the screen of her laptop. She rustles her papers a bit, stacking and unstacking them, as she lets Sabby keep the silence 'til she cares to break it. And then Jean ventures, gazing idly in the middle distance that "That's a clear code for 'I don't wanna talk about it' if I've ever heard one. And hey, I can respect that. But if you ever -do- want to talk about it, I've been through my own crises of identity."
"Just give me a bit of warning. But hey, anytime you want to cut loose and hit up a party on campus, give me a shout," Sabby shoots back before she falls silent again. Jean's last words earn an interested glance, and a "Really?" before the college student thinks better of it and coughs, then shrugs nonchalantly. "There's nothing to talk about, really. It happened. I deal. Live goes on." So easy, really. Really.
"Campus parties... I -think- I'm getting a little old for that." Jean is forced to admit. "I wouldn't want to be taken for some lost specimen of alumni trying desperately to stay cool and with it." There's a good dose of humour to Jean's words, but a tang of truth regardless, as there usually is with jokes. "Thanks for the offer, though. And it happened, and you deal, but you don't have to deal alone. Give me a call or an email if anything comes up there, huh?" she asks, starting to stow her papers away in her satchel.
Sabby snorts and waves a hand. "Bring him along," she notes with a nod toward the laptop, "And no one'll be looking at /you/, Dr. Grey." She snorts, and then nods oh-so-casually. "Yeah, sure. Thanks for the offer. And the help with the paper. It really gives me someplace to start. And you can be sure I'll bug you with questions and stuff, yeah?" Her own notebook heads for her own satchel as she speaks.
Jean snorts softly, and stows the laptop away too, with a dry "Good point." offered. "Although not everyone goes for his type." Madelyne, for one. Which suits Jean fine. "And it's nothing, Sabby. You're smart and you have a Big Idea. Only fair I do what I can to help out. What are contacts when not used, hmm?" she wonders rhetorically, shouldering her gear and noting that "I've got to get back to Westchester before it gets too late. 8:30 class to teach tomorrow."
"You'll notice my shamelessly exploiting mine, eh?" Sabby replies as she stands. Jean being the only contact she's got. Reaching for what's left of her mocha, she offers a smile. "Yeah, definately. Wouldn't want mutant-high to run you down too much. And thanks again. I really appreciate.. y'know. What you've done for me." That's about as close to a 'thank you for saving my life, by the way' as Sabby's ever gonna offer.
Jean turns on her way out and sketches Sabby an analyst's salute (Thank you, Miles Vorkosigan.) along with a grin. "All part of a day's work... now if you'll excuse me, I think my telephone booth is double parked." And so, with a joke and a laugh, away goes Dr. Grey.
< NYC > The White Room < NYC >
A small, comfortable little place, this - a minuscule cafe of little fame and ridiculously good coffee. The main room is small and rather inordinately comfortable, prevented from being claustrophobic by a theme of whites in the decor and the fact that the regulars - a sundry bunch of academics, artists, lawyers, workpersons, and every other group New York has to offer - are generally quietly occupied with coffee and good, solid plates of food. There is no theme, no specialized and exotic varieties of coffee or tea - the atmosphere is thick with cigarette smoke and comfort, not desperate sophistication.
[Exits : [O]ut]
Sketch has arrived.
Sketch comes toddling in, her hand gripped tightly by her nanny. They saw Jean yesterday, and she invited them out for lunch. The master of the house said it was fine, so of course they went. Jean is, after all, rather high society. The nanny continues to hold onto Sketch's hand, looking around for the redhead.
Ah, status. It opens so many doors, even if it means having to listen to her mother rattle off a list of nicely eligible bachelors within her reach. Jean's mentioned what's happened with the nice Summers boy, vaguely. Somehow she's had it slip her mind to mention the replacement. Thanksgiving dinner should be a lot of fun... Settled at a table with a convenient line of sight on the entrance, Jean is sipping at a mug of coffee and leafing over a few student reports as she waits, glancing up to give a smile and a beckoning nod at spotting her lunch meeting arriving. "Hello, Asiah." she greets, still not having been told the nanny's name.
Sketch tugs her nanny towards Jean, waving happily. "Hi." she says, then looks up at the nanny, who then introduces herself. "Rosmerta Putin." she says, holding out a hand for Jean to shake while nudging Asiah towards a seat. "It was kind of you to invite us to lunch, although I was surprised that you had met the child." Rosmerta comments, with a glance down at Asiah.
"A pleasure, Ms. Putin," replies Jean with a warm tone and a handshake surprisingly firm for a thin woman whom one might think from the papers spends most of her day either wearing a lab coat or a politician's smile. "And it was more curiosity than kindness, I have to admit in all honestly. One of my colleagues and I met Asiah down in Chinatown last week, and I wanted to get to know her a little better." is explained, before Jean passes a menu over to the girl. "And how are you today, Asiah? Keeping up with your drawings?"
Sketch sits as she is directed, then takes the menu from Jean, beaming up at her. "Yes. Have lots of drawings." she replies, carefully not looking at her nanny as she says it, for Rosmerta is shaking her head. Having seated herself, the nanny says in a conversational tone, "Asiah is a remarkable artist for one her age. Her guardian and I have thought about sending her to classes, but she really must improve her English first. She and her guardian only came to the US about a year ago, and she didn't speak a word of it then."
"The rose you drew for me was gorgeous, Asiah," Jean praises. "In fact, I still have it in my lab." Being studied minutely, of course. She pretends not to see the headshaking, and merely taps the menu with a fingertip. "They've got a wonderful mixed appetizer plate here... and have you considered sending her to a school for the gifted?" she wonders of the other adult. "Quite often, their curriculae are designed to be a bit more free-form than those of the regular school system, so ESL students usually do really well at them. At least that's what we've found at our school." The prestigious Dr. Jean Grey teaches at a school? How interesting, no?
Rosmerta shakes her head briefly at Jean, then nods to Asiah as the girl points out on the menu what she wants. "I tutor Asiah myself. She is a bit behind in most subjects, with the exception of science. This, of course, is because she has trouble with English. I'm quite sure that once she gets up to speed with that, she will improve rapidly. Private tutoring is what her guardian prefers." she murmurs firmly. Of course, we all know WHY said 'guardian' wants to keep her at home. Asiah looks up at Jean. "What you having?" she asks brightly.
"Considering that she's emigrated so recently, you're doing a perfectly creditable job, from what I've seen." Jean offers to Rosmerta with another warm smile, and a slight projection of positive emotion. Nothing too formed, just the sort of barest hint that Jean is a woman to be relaxed around and trusted. The redhaired doctor is careful to arrange her body language to match, in case the nanny is a perceptive sort. "And I'm sure I understand her guardian's concerns, but as I said, I teach at a school for Gifted children." A subtle use of capitalization, a subtle glance at Asiah, and then it's covered by Jean addressing the girl again and giving the Nanny time to think. This is always the tricky bit, and more than a few short-term memory wipes have been required over the years. "Me? Well, I'm having the mixed platter and my coffee. I think you're too young for the coffee, though."
Rosmerta is as dull as a doorknob when it comes to perceiving things, so she merely finds Jean an interesting acquiantance, for now. "You would have to discuss that with her guardian. I am in no position to make a decision like that about Asiah." she repeats, a little firmer than before. Asiah, however, wriggles in her seat and smiles at Jean. "I have the sandwich, and chips." she mutters, practically bouncing in her seat before her nanny tells her to settle down.
Jean nods aquiescence, and doesn't press the point at picking up the firmness. "Would it be possible to arrange a meeting, then?" she wonders. "Either with myself, or with one of my male colleagues, whatever her guardian's cultural beliefs would allow him to be the most comfortable with." See? Nice, reasonable, accomodating Dr. Grey. Flagging down a waitress, Jean places her order and lets Rosmerta and Asiah make theirs before picking up the conversation once the gum-chewing forty-something is gone again. "So, has Ms. Putin been your nanny for very long, Asiah?"
Sketch watches the conversation earnestly, aware that something important is happening, but not sure what. Rosmerta pulls a small piece of paper out of her bag and jots down a number. "This is the home phone number. He is usually home in the early evening, and I think it would be best if you were escorted to our home. Asiah's guardian is very traditional." Meanwhile, Asiah has made a lovely mess of her napkin, but she immediately shoves it into her lap as she is addressed. "Since came here." she says, smiling at her nanny.
< NYC > The Sanctuary < NYC >
Accessible through one of the nondescript doorways from the filthy, unpopulated alleyway outside, those who find their way to The Sanctuary usually have been pointed in the right direction. The single room of the coffee joint is deceptively large, despite the only natural lighting being from a pair of windows almost too grimy to see through. The remaining dimness is cured effectively, however, by a series of well-placed wall sconces amidst bookshelves and abstract paintings by little-known local artists. The main counter with its impressive menu of caffeinated goodness dominates most of one wall, but arranged in the still plentiful leftover space are any number of seating arrangements from small, iron-wrought tables and chairs to a battered old couch and stained table as well as patched and repatched beanbag furniture.
But the focus of The Sanctuary is not so much its comfortable atmosphere as the eccentric crowd it runs with. A crowd so eccentric, in fact, that it's no secret to the patrons of this joint that the majority of them are mutants. No doubt the owners and operators of the shop are mutants themselves, and in this easygoing crowd it's not uncommon to have your double espresso served to you by a fellow with three eyes and a tail.
As the day draws into evenings, those who linger in the shop at this hour may begin to detect a rhythmic pulse of music from underfoot. Not loud or obtrusive, per say, but present nonetheless, and wanting of investigation.
[Exits : [D]ownstairs, and [B]ack [O]utside]
[Players : Sabby]
[Things : Cork Messageboard]
Sabby comes to this meeting prepared, yes she does. When she enters the Sanctuary, eyes already scanning the room to see if Dr. Grey has arrived before her, she's got her satchel at her side and a pen already stuck behind one ear. Doing some prepartory work before hand, maybe? There's no line to order, so she steps up to absently ask for an iced mocha, white, with raspberry as her fingers tap spastically against the counter. Nervous? Excited? Who knows.
Jean is indeed already here, but not in the main room. Nope, Jean's on time, but emerging from one of the small rooms in the back of the coffee shop, a leather satchel with a discreet medical cross embroidered on it hanging from her hip. She drops a pair of latex gloves in a nearby garbage bin, and then slides into a seat at the table she'd reserved earlier, well laden with a laptop and neat stacks of journal articles. Strangely, she was able to leave the expensive equipment completely unattended and in perfect safety. It appears that Dr. Grey is well known enough around the Sanctuary that stealing her stuff is considered a no-no. "Sabby!" she greets with a grin. "Over here."
Of course it has nothing to do with just how very bad an idea it would be to nick Dr. Grey's stuff, huh? Not good for the health. Sabby starts at her name, but quickly replaces her startled expression with an answering grin as she pays for her mocha and wanders toward Jean with it in hand. "Wow. Fully prepared, huh?" she questions with a wave toward the table. "And here I just brought my notebook."
Oh come now, it's not like Jean advertises her asskicking abilities to everyone, you know. She's just got Prestige. Or, more important in certain segments of the mutant community, a medical bag. And the knowledge of how to use it. Sabby's question prompts a wry chuckle at her piles of work and a little shake of her head. "No, no, don't worry... I was just working on a paper I'm trying to write earlier on today. No students equals me actually being able to concentrate on my research for a couple hours." An even more wry look, and a sip of her own coffee, some mocha latte concoction as opposed to the black-as-sin blend she drinks when not in coffee shops. "But, now you're here... what do you want me to dish on first?" she wonders.
Dangerous things, those scalpels. "Behold the wonder of the weekend, eh?" Sabby replies as she drops into her seat casually, notebook making and appearance and pen dropping from ear to hand with speed. "I feel that. I'm even caught up on my reading tonight, wonder of wonders - and that /never/ happens." The college student takes the time to grin and then slurp and her mocha - with raspberry, did we mention? - before shrugging slowly. "To be honest, I'm not sure. I don't know if we ever got around to the 'what's your major' bit of conversation, but mine's history - and I was just thinking the other day about how we.. how /mutants/ have gotten by. Y'know. I mean, we explain things, we write it down in books, we accept it as true, but that doesn't /make/ it true. I was thinking about how much of what we dismiss... could have been us." And how's /that/ for an opener?
We meant in a -good- sense. Y'know, Hippocratic Oath and all that jazz. But all that aside... "Oh, for sure. I think the highlight of the day is that I got to eat breakfast in bed and watch cartoons for an hour before heading out to run all the errands and make all the meetings I couldn't make during the week." the older woman offers with a quirk of a smile. Jean stirs a chocolate swizzle stick in her coffee a few times, and the sucks gently on the end of it as she listens to Sabby talk. "So you're wondering about the possibility of certain historical figures and events dismissed as myth or miracle actually having a real-world basis? Joan of Arc was psychic and all that?"
"Cartoons? For real?" Sabby questions with a grin, notebook flipping open past several pages of notes and more than a few printed and copied versions of articles. Sab /has/ been doing her research, it seems. Sabby shrugs at Jean's question, and then nods, slowly. "Yes.. and no. I'm not saying every event that we chalk up to superstition is really a mutant gene at work. But I /do/ wonder... well. Ok. We've got mutants that are at least a century and going, right? And yet it's only really this last generation that we started to recognize, and acknowledge them. How did they survive before that? When /was/ the first mutant? Did they hide, or did they exploit? And /was/ Joan of Arc psychic and the Salem witch hunts searching for a few folks with genuine power?" So basically, the answer is 'yes'.
"Well, what else are you going to do for an hour on a Sunday morning?" Jean replies in kind, looking innocent. "Well, without giving all the teenagers something to overhear and gossip about, that is." Elegant, refined Dr. Grey didn't just -say- that, did she? From the serene smile over her coffee as she glances into the middle distance for a moment, Jean's not going to say it again. She taps a few commands into her laptop and turns it around so that Sabby can see the screen as the college girl comes to the end of her questions, though. "Well, the first thing to understand is that about the only way we have of telling just how far back mutants date is through evolutionary genetics and a few theories and formulas from that field. Currently, about one out of every hundred people has an active copy of the X-Factor gene. That's 60 million people world wide. Most of them will live their entire lives not knowing that they're mutants. But even though that's only one percent of the population, that's still a highly-visible fraction, in genetic terms. To give some contrast, cystic fibrosis shows up one in every couple ten thousand people. To get that number of people expressing something whose precursors are recessive genes, the initial mutation that lead to the development of the X-Factor probably happened millennia in the past." A pause and a sheepish look. "Thwack me with something if I get too scientist."
Sabby is a college student. She can handle it. She regards Dr. Grey with a knowing smirk and makes a mental note to inquire about her studly centurian of a boyfriend. She leans in as the screen of Jean's laptop is turned her way, peering inquisitively. Jean gets a glance of surprise, and she questions, "People can actually do that? I've never thought about the possibility of.. not knowing. And it seems like mutants are around the corner even /without/ factoring them in.." She trails off, falling silent to continue listening. She snorts and lifts a hand, as if in warning. "No worries, I'm ready for the thwacking. But basically, it seems like what you're saying is - we could have had mutants, in limited number for /centuries/, if not millenia? And it's just that no one.. noticed? Or at least, put the right name to it?"
Centenarian, actually. Although Logan would probably look yummy in a Gladiator-style outfit too. Mmmm... Ahem. Where were we? "Oh yeah." Jean agrees. "The thing to remember is that most mutations -aren't- physical. So if you're, say, a low-grade empath, you'll probably just write off your mutation as being able to 'read' people, or being 'sensitive'. The human mind is wonderful at rationalizing things." Dr. Grey continues her lecture. "And basically, yeah, that's it. Mutants would have been extremely rare in earlier times, because the odds of two recessive precursor-alleles running into each other would've been so small, but they'd have been around. Joan of Arc is a logical candidate, because the psionic mutations are some of the oldest there are. Psi adepts actually predate the widespread manifestation of the X-Factor.
Hey now, no making fun of Sabby (or her player's) lack of spelling ability. And it's centuri/o/n, because I looked it up. Hmph. Sabby muses over this new bit of information with a slow nod. "That's true - I'd never thought of that. Makes me wonder how many really great politicians and self-help gurus have some sort of ability," she notes with a grin. Her fingers tap against the edge of the table, and she regards Jean curiously. "Ok, back up - psi adepts meaning what, exactly? And why aren't they part of.. I assume the X-factor refers to the, y'know, mutant bit?"
Doesn't detract from the fact that Logan would be sexy in a Roman footsoldier's outfit. Ooooh, Halloween... "It's a question I've often wondered about. I'd -love- to get a blood test run on a few of the most charismatic anti-mutant speakers." Jean replies, looking darkly mischievous. She settles back comfortably in her chair, and cradles her coffee mug as she backs up as ordered. "Psi adepts. Those people who have development in the psi sector of their brains beyond that of the average human. We've all got one, it's just that in 80% of the population, it's limited to being the thing that gives us hunches and deja vu. In the other 20%, it can be developed towards the varient forms of telepathy, towards telekinesis, clairvoyance, psychometry... all those Twilight Zone freaky mental powers. But without the X-Factor, it's only enough for... parlour tricks. If you're lucky. What the presence of the psi varient of the X-Factor does is -amplify- it. That's why I can hear a thought in Boston, when my great great aunt was lucky to be able to guess what card someone was holding."
Don't make promises unless you intend to keep them, now. And invite Sabby to that Halloween party? The college student laughs at that and replies with a "Don't I wish," before falling silent again. "So all those things that'd get someone labeled a 'witch' or 'shaman' or 'wise man' or even 'god', really, if you knew how to work it?" she questions slowly. "Right. So... it's likely that quite a few folks in the days of yore might have premonitions or maybe a good danger sense, but that only a very, very few would be getting clear precognitions and the ability to hear thought or bend spoons?" She pauses, pen flicking at the table in a spastic ryhthm. "All right, then. So when does our definition of 'mutant' start to become common enough that it's /not/ a one in a million find?"
It's a date... if Logan himself can be convinced, of course. Perhaps visions of Jean dressed as Venus might sweeten the deal? Although -not- from the 'Birth of Venus' painting. Kids around! To answer Sabby's question, Jean sits forward again, and clatters and clicks away at her computer, jumping into an Excel spreadsheet and bringing up a few charts. "Pretty much. Not to mention that it takes a lot of concentration and focus to use such abilities. Theoretically one reason why such unknown-mutant miracle workers might appear among the pious, as they already had traditions of meditation and prayer in place to act as focusing aids." But historical theory isn't Jean's bag... genetic theory is, so she's quite content to get back to giving harder answers, which involve pretty charts. "Well, it's a somewhat exponential curve, really, with plateaus reflecting generational gaps. Starting back in the 1800s, we have a handful of mutants born in one generation. Then, skip ahead to the 1920s and 30s, and you get a small spike. This is the generation that brought forth both Eric Lensherr, head of the Brotherhood of Mutants, and also Professor Xavier. They were the first generation to really recognize what they were, given the proper education to fit it into a framework. Another plateau, and then another exponential spike upwards as that generation reproduces. Around the 1960s, you start getting the mutants of my generation. I'm sort of near the tail end of that, 1975. Then we get the teenagers we're seeing now, who are a massive blob of them right -here-. You and the other, older college age mutants are sort of the odd ones out. There's less of you, since you're between generations, but that's neither here 'nor there."
Sabby blinks at that and leans backward, as connections go sparking through her brain. "So.. all those pious women who went into raptures and levitated and saw visions and even experienced stigmata... it's possible that they actually /did/. At least in their minds and the minds of those around them? I mean, if intense fasting and days and weeks of prayer isn't focus, I don't know what is..." Sabby leans forward again, studying the charts, though it takes a great deal longer for her historically focused brain to assimilate them. "Huh." And isn't /that/ an enlightening response. A long moment of pondering follows, and then Sabby continues. "So starting in the early nineteenth century, we're talking maybe several hundred worldwide? Damn. I knew it. Charles Stuart /had/ to be a telepath or empath." That thought's left to simmer in her own brain as she questions again. "Which means that before that, we're talking... one in several thousand? Less? And if they had any grasp of their abilities, it wouldn't be unheard of for those one in a million to also be the one in a million who were the scientific or literary or political - especially political, and probably religious, too - genuises of their time?"
"It's very likely," confirms Jean, swirling her chocolate swizzle stick again and smiling a little as the heat of the coffee begins to melt it, leaving the chocolate rather... bendy. And fun to fidget with. "And that number's also right. I'd strive more towards political and religious rather than literary, since while empathy can make a person sensitive to the human condition, it doesn't help them transcribe those feelings." A snort of laughter. "To be honest, I find it almost impossible to describe how I see things with my telepathy. Tasting colours and feeling sounds, all that. While I'd love to say that Shakespeare was a mutant, we also need to be careful not to say that all things good and right come from mutants."
Sabby takes the time for a long slurp of her mocha - caffiene helps her focus, right? Or maybe it's just the white chocolate-raspberry combo. Sabby snorts at Jean's statment, and then shakes her head, slowly. "Oh, no - trust me, I'm just as likely to say the /bad/ things came from them. Ok. Take these medieval nuns, for example - they become convinced they're talking to God and obtaining piety because they can float, and so as a result they stop eating and mutilate themselves because they believe that's what's going to keep them there. Or.. or Charles Stuart. Just a wild guess, you know, speculation, but take a man who's incrediably gifted empathically, who can read emotions and work with them and maybe even feed them back.. and give that gift to someone with misguided and dangerous political ideals. He convinced half of Scotland to march against the Hanoverian crown and got an army massacred for their efforts and forever changed the culture of Scotland." She slows, thoughts now coming out one by one instead of in a unchecked flurry. "Especially when people didn't understand what was what. As a matter of fact, I'd almost say that the chance of mutants abusing their powers, or misusing them, would have been greater, percentage wise, then than they are now - nothing to check them, no one to teach them, and either this building up of their accomplishments as great or this tearing down of them as evil..."
"I think you've hit it right on the head there, Sabby," Dr. Grey allows, as the discussion turns (To her mind) philosophical. "The whole philosophy behind Xavier's is to teach understanding and control of mutant abilities because the pattern seems to be that very few people manage to master their powers on their own, and those powers end up destroying them." A pause for more of her own coffee, the woman getting a distinct buzz as much from the academic discussion as well as the caffeine. Logan, while wonderful, -will- tune out to affectionate smiling and nodding as soon as she starts getting really Dr. Grey on him. "So, you sound like you're gearing up towards a thesis or something... am I way off base on that?" she wonders. "I should introduce you to my Dad some time... he's a history prof up at Bard College in Annadale-on-Hudson."
Sabby manages a small, tenative smile at that. "Well, I admit that the thought had crossed my mind, but to be honest, I'm not sure if it's not an insane project for an undergrad to attempt. But it's just so.. it's so /obvious/, y'know?" Her fingers twirl the straw in her mocha around, sending ice clanking against the sides. "Not who, and when, and what, but that /some/ of them were. They had to be. That when we're trying to figure out motivations and understand the past, we /have/ to take that.. X factor? That X factor into account. Along with the low level empathy and telepathy and all that jazz. It's just blind to /not/, y'know?" She leans forward, mocha forgotten, to confide to Jean, "If I can just prove /that/ point - if I can just make a case for the consideration of the possibility of mutation affecting major players in history - /that's/ a thesis right there. I'm hoping I can track down someone, somewhere, who's maybe working on something a little more.. complete."
"Well, if not an undergrad, how about a PhD or Masters thesis?" Jean suggests. "Nothing to say you can't do a little research on your own time now, with an eye towards the future. Heck, I'd like to get my PhD some day, although at this rate, it'll probably have to wait 'til I'm in my fifties." A glance at the piles of research she's got sitting in front of her. "Although hell, I've probably got material enough for five doctoral theses just sitting on my lab computer. But however you decide to do the project, I'll be happy to help you with the genetics stuff as needed." the good doctor promises. "Hell, Moira's my scientific mentor and she got her Nobel because she practically wrote the book on human mutation in the early years of the field." Congratulations, Sabby, you had a Nobel Laureate give you painkillers! "So if Dr. Jean Grey, MD, Hon. B.Sc. isn't a good enough name to have in your footnotes, perhaps Dr. Moira Kinross-MacTaggart, PhD, Nobel Laureate will do better. I think it's a neat project."
"I've considered it," Sabby admits slowly. "But I'm still a good year and a half away from graduation, and I've got to scrounge the money from grad school from somewhere, if I decide to do that..." Mental note: she really /must/ see what can be done about all that money Succubus Enterprises has lying around. Her brows rise, and awe is written quite clearly across her face for a moment before she wipes it off and replaces it with a dry smile. "I think both will do quite nicely, really. Hadn't realized it before, but your name's come up more than once in the stuff I was reading earlier. I don't suppose.. I mean, if I had a question, once I get /really/ into the nitty gritty, do you suppose Dr. MacTaggart would be willing to answer it for me?" she questions tentatively.
Jean, fotunately, has her mental barriers raised to polite levels, and so doesn't catch that mental note. "If you need some help finding a decent-paying internship or anything, don't hesitate to let me know," she offers. "I've got the contacts at my disposal, and none of my own students are old enough to need them yet." Ergo, she gets to relive her college years vicariously through Sabby? Something like that. Downing enough coffee to lower the level in her mug to 1/3rd, she swallows twice and then gives a crooked smile. "Me? Just remember where I work... it's no great feat of research to get the data that went into those papers, just the daily needs of playing doctor to fifty people with some very strange biochemistries in the mix. And I think Moira would probably love it. I also think you and she would probably either butt heads non-stop, or get along famously. Also, Professor Xavier has a fair amount of research expertise... he and Moira have been colleagues since -they- were college students. Among other things." A discreet cough, and Jean returns to her drink.
Sabby blinks in surprise at that, and she leans backward abruptly. "Really? I mean.. you're serious?" She pauses, stirring at her mocha. "Well.. yeah. I'll give you a call, then." Hey, contacts are /so/ not something to be discarded. "Well, y'know.. if they ever get really bored in their copious free time, feel free to give them the email add or phone number of a curious undergrad," Sabby hints broadly before the 'among other things' offers a perfect segue and she grins, looking for all the world like a girl up late with her roommate dishing. "Speaking of other things and ancient mutants - I believe I recall some references to getting the dish on this geriatric boyfriend of yours. Are you /honestly/ dating someone over a hundred years old?" Sabby is quite obviously having trouble believing this, and apparently has absolutely no compunction about asking Jean. Dr. MacTaggart may give her pause for awe, but Jean /LJs/. That means her personal life is fair game.
Jean, for her part, seems to be enjoying herself thoroughly. In another world, she'd probably be a grad student instead of an evil-fighting lady doctor who teaches by day and saves the world at night. Hence, it's nice to shrug off that mantle of premature responsibility and just hang out with younger academes over coffee once and a while. "Oh, completely serious. And will do. As for Logan?" Here Jean gives a grin. "Well, I -did- say that he doesn't seem to have aged physically past thirty. Here, take a look for yourself." she directs, mousing over and through a folder of digital camera images taken on her Canadian excursion, pulled from a directory labeled, tantalizingly, 'Unclassified'. A particular picture is selected and shown full size: Logan, thumbs hooked through his belt loops, leaned back against his motorcycle against a backdrop of a dawn prarie sky. It's a pretty evocative shot for an amateur photographer.
Sabby is an academe? Oh, be still Sabby's heart! As the undergrad leans in, her brows rise at the directory, but she doesn't comment until Logan appears, motorcycle and all, and her jaw drops. "Holy /fuck/, Dr. Grey. I'd never have pegged you as the type!" she states with a slow exhale, leaning a bit closer. "Hot damn. I don't think 'not past thirty' quite captures that one." Ahem. That'd be the 'Dr. Grey has hooked herself a damn fine hottie' voice, there.
"I take it you approve?" inquires Jean with a puckish look and a sip of her coffee covering a smirk, but not her dancing eyes. "And what? Never thought the good girl would go for a bad boy? Although he's got a heart of gold." she assures, expression going a little soft before she snorts another laugh. "Not that he'd thank me for letting that get out. Testosterone demands that he maintain the badass exterior when out in public as much as possible. Although..." Another picture is clicked up, of Jean and Logan all dolled up for an evening out at the Tavern on the Green. "He -does- clean up well."
"Hey now. Badass in public isn't neccessarily bad," Sabby replies before shooting a smirk at Jean. "Or other places, come to think of it, in the right context." She peers at the screen as the pictures change, and her brows rise. "Wow," she remarks. "Badass, hot, and you've got him /whipped/. Not bad, Dr. Grey, not bad at /all/." She leans back slightly and shoots a grin at Jean. "And if he, y'know, ever gets too badass for you, feel free to drop /him/ a certain undergrad's number too, eh?" Her voice is friendly and teasing - after all, Sabby doesn't make a habit out of stealing friend's boys, now matter /how/ hot.
"Funny, that's what the kids all said," replies Jean with a thoughtful cant of her head at the 'whipped' pronouncement. "And none of them'll believe it was his idea to go out. I'd have the Week From Hell, and he decided I needed to get the hell out of Dodge for a night. Although in all fairness, he didn't think of the dress code when he made the reservations... Partially-whipped?" she wonders, before chuckling at the teasing and shaking her head. "Hell no. I just finally got him. I'm not letting him up for a good long time. But if he has a younger brother in his eighties show up, I'll let you know." is promised, before Dr. Grey turns a little more serious and, well, Dr. Grey. "So how -is- college going for you, what with everything that's happened and all?"
Sabby looks a tad surprised at that, but she shrugs easily and sips at her mocha, ice cubes now dwindled to nearly nothing. "Even better then, I'd say. Sounds.. and believe me, looks... like you've roped yourself a winner. I'd be a bit worried if you /weren't/ hanging onto him," she states before Jean's last question earns a nice long silence, in which Sabby nearly empties her glass in one go. Finally, she replies, "Classes are good."
"You'll have to meet him, one of these days," Jean decides, draining the dregs of her own mug and shutting the screen of her laptop. She rustles her papers a bit, stacking and unstacking them, as she lets Sabby keep the silence 'til she cares to break it. And then Jean ventures, gazing idly in the middle distance that "That's a clear code for 'I don't wanna talk about it' if I've ever heard one. And hey, I can respect that. But if you ever -do- want to talk about it, I've been through my own crises of identity."
"Just give me a bit of warning. But hey, anytime you want to cut loose and hit up a party on campus, give me a shout," Sabby shoots back before she falls silent again. Jean's last words earn an interested glance, and a "Really?" before the college student thinks better of it and coughs, then shrugs nonchalantly. "There's nothing to talk about, really. It happened. I deal. Live goes on." So easy, really. Really.
"Campus parties... I -think- I'm getting a little old for that." Jean is forced to admit. "I wouldn't want to be taken for some lost specimen of alumni trying desperately to stay cool and with it." There's a good dose of humour to Jean's words, but a tang of truth regardless, as there usually is with jokes. "Thanks for the offer, though. And it happened, and you deal, but you don't have to deal alone. Give me a call or an email if anything comes up there, huh?" she asks, starting to stow her papers away in her satchel.
Sabby snorts and waves a hand. "Bring him along," she notes with a nod toward the laptop, "And no one'll be looking at /you/, Dr. Grey." She snorts, and then nods oh-so-casually. "Yeah, sure. Thanks for the offer. And the help with the paper. It really gives me someplace to start. And you can be sure I'll bug you with questions and stuff, yeah?" Her own notebook heads for her own satchel as she speaks.
Jean snorts softly, and stows the laptop away too, with a dry "Good point." offered. "Although not everyone goes for his type." Madelyne, for one. Which suits Jean fine. "And it's nothing, Sabby. You're smart and you have a Big Idea. Only fair I do what I can to help out. What are contacts when not used, hmm?" she wonders rhetorically, shouldering her gear and noting that "I've got to get back to Westchester before it gets too late. 8:30 class to teach tomorrow."
"You'll notice my shamelessly exploiting mine, eh?" Sabby replies as she stands. Jean being the only contact she's got. Reaching for what's left of her mocha, she offers a smile. "Yeah, definately. Wouldn't want mutant-high to run you down too much. And thanks again. I really appreciate.. y'know. What you've done for me." That's about as close to a 'thank you for saving my life, by the way' as Sabby's ever gonna offer.
Jean turns on her way out and sketches Sabby an analyst's salute (Thank you, Miles Vorkosigan.) along with a grin. "All part of a day's work... now if you'll excuse me, I think my telephone booth is double parked." And so, with a joke and a laugh, away goes Dr. Grey.