I used to ride with a vending machine repairman. He said he's been down this road more'n twice.
I've really had too many thoughts going through my head to sit and write a proper journal entry for a while, because sitting and writing it would require spending more time thinking about just what thoughts are public, which are private, and which are for various levels of friends groups. And since my personal thoughts don't come all neat and separated like that, it was just way too much effort for me.
But, let's have the 30 second summary, shall we?
I'm good, still madly in love with Logan. I'm looking forward to my son's first birthday, looking even more forward to the vacation I'm going on afterwards. I've gotten some work in towards my PhD research what with half the student body gone home for the summer. I'm worried about Lowe, worried about Scott, and worried about a group of students. But life is, for the most part good.
But for those students, and you know who you are, all of your bright plans and dreams are wonderful on the surface, but the undertones just make me think too much of a certain poem.
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.
GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!-- An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime.--
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
-Wilfred Owen
The Latin translates to "It is sweet and proper to die for one's country". and the historical background is that it used to be bandied about at recruiting rallies during the first world war. It is an honour to put your life on the line... but it's neither sweet or beautiful, and it will be people like me left behind to deal with it if you die. I've had to perform an autopsy on one of my students once before. I pray that I never have to do it again. So think about the less-glorious consequences. Ask those of us who know about them to tell you them straight. Please.
OOC: And, of course, logs! We have Jean and Siryn and the trip to Ireland X-Men MUCK - Thursday, July 15, 2004, 5:07 PM
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<< XS >> Lab/Medbay - LvB2
Walls are sterile white and surfaces gleam in polished stainless steel, the large room a vision of cool science tinged with the faint medical smell of antiseptic and filled with the soft whirring of autoclaves, refrigeration units, and various medical scanners and devices. Four hospital beds are present near the entrance, curtains rigged to allow for privacy, but pulled back when not in use. In shielded alcoves off the back wall are the resident doctor's pride and joy: A full-body X-Ray machine, as well as an MRI unit and other heavy-duty imagery equipment. Between the alcoves, through a thick glass window, a small operating theatre can be glimpsed. In the lab section, an electron microscope and a pair of gene-sequencers take place of pride, glassware and smaller equipment kept securely locked away in the cabinets underneath and above the work surfaces.
[Exits : [H]allway ]
Siryn has arrived.
The smell of cheesepuffs arrives in the Medbay before Siryn does; which makes sense, considering the fact that the girl finishing up a bag of said treats. When the doors swish open, she's in the process of dumping the last of the crumbs into her mouth. She crumbles the bag, searching for a place to toss it, meanwhile, calling out, "Dr. Jean? Ye here?" Her attention is dragged away by the nearest garbage bin.
Jean is over at her lab bench, white coat and goggles on as she titrates drops of something electric blue into an Erhlenmeyer flask of something clear, which roils vigorously with each drop, but doesn't -quite- explode. "As always, when it's summer and colder underground," she calls in reply. "Grab yourself a spare set of goggles if you want... I've been meaning to get a hold of you since the other day."
Siryn tosses the crumpled bag towards the receptable, and grins when it lands inside. Basketball with some of the younger kids has paid off, it would seem. She moves towards Jean and her lab, picking up a set of goggles on the way. But first, she wipes her hands on her shirt - leaving behind orange smudges. Ah well... It's an old t-shirt anyway. Donning the goggles, Teresa leans over the Doctor's shoulder, eyeing the activities. "Aye... Logan told me that ye were lookin' f'er me, but when I asked what it was 'bout, he didn't say. Just smiled and said something odd like, "Mum's the word..".." Moving around to better watch the 'fireworks', she then asks, "What does that mean anyway? And what did ye wanna talk te me f'er?"
She also tosses in a, "And what're ye doing anyway?" in there...
"It means..." Jean murmurs, concentrating on adding another drop of reactant and then quickly moving her hands out of the way while the solution in the flask bubbles again. "That he knows something you don't, and he's not saying a word. And I'm titrating." she explains the flask, buret of blue stuff, and general fussy precision. "As for what I wanted to tell you..." she pauses again to add another drop, and this time picks up a piece of white card stock to hold behind the flask and check the colour. Nope, still clear. "Your father called the other day. You were out, but do you want to go to Ireland this summer? Logan and I would be coming with, and you can invite a friend, says your dad."
The teen wrinkles her nose at the interpretation of "Mum's the word." Well now, whoever thought up -that- up was rather weird. "I had guessed as much," is her response to that. Siryn doesn't even deign to ask what "Titrating" is... Something to do with colouring liquids? All of the above, however, goes out of her head as soon as Jean tells her that her father wants her to go to Ireland. "Ye and Logan t'would come? Cool!" But other than that burst of excitement, Terry doesn't seem too particularly thrilled. "I wonder why he wants me o'er there. Is he at the Keep?" She doesn't say anything about the 'invite a friend' part just yet either, waiting to hear the older's woman answer first.
Jean would normally reply with a grin and cheerful chattering of her own... but she's got a flask to keep adding drops of the blue liquid to. Eventually, with a "Hah!" of triumph, Jean reaches the equivalence point, and the clear fluid in the flask all at once turns a light shade of fuscia. "There. If I can do it, we now know that next September's senior chemistry class can do it." she pronounces, making a note of how much of the blue was used, and scratching out some calculations as she replies belatedly that "He's at Cassidy Keep, yes. And I suspect he probably just wants to spend some time with his daughter. He's working with Interpol now, he says, so I imagine that a little vacation time with family's to be desired."
Siryn jumps a little at the "Hah!" but gets over her surprise enough to peek at the new pink shade of the liquid. Not quite her color of choice... Thank goodness she's not taking chemistry! "I never would've thought that he'd go back there," she muses aloud. "I mean... All the memories that it holds. After I left him there last fall, I kinda expected him to have moved on..." Then again, when you have something like a Keep as a family heirloom, one supposes that it's difficult to get rid of easily. Shrugging, she adds, "I guess I wouldn'aye mind going. S'pecially if ye and Logan come too." That way, she won't have to spend -too- much time -just- with her dad. "And I can bring a friend? Wow.." That was never something allowed when she and Uncle Tom lived there. Thinking about it, she finally asks, "D'ye think that Jubilee might wanna come?" She's the closest thing, apart from James, that Teresa's got as a pal.
"It's not all bad memories, though," Jean notes, turning away from her little experiment and pulling off her safety goggles with a gentle smile. "Cassidy Keep is his home... and yours, even if you don't remember it. And what's a better way to combat bad memories in a place than to make new ones?" she wonders rhetorically, the smile growing in strength. "In any case, I would love to see Ireland, Logan's been threatening to cart me away over his shoulder if I don't take a vacation, and my old friend Warren's been telling me that I really need to see Europe, so even if I didn't want to catch up with your Dad, this trip is a good idea... and Jubilee would spontaneously combust with excitement if you asked her, I think."
The older woman's words are true, and wise, but that doesn't mean that Siryn will listen to them. "Aye, I s'pose," is her final comment on that matter. As Jean talks more about the trip, however, the girl can't help but start to get a little more excited about the whole idea. "Och, ye and him will enjoy the trail riding we've got, I'm sure. And there's a small village nearby that makes some of the best Whiskey..." Terry should know - she snuck into the guided tours enough time as a youngster. "And I'll ask Jubilee as soon as she gets back... D'ye know when that will be, by the way?" It's already been a week and a half, and Siryn misses her terrilby.
Jean has spoken the words at least, and perhaps Terry might remember them later. Jean grins at triggering a little excitement, and notes that "I'm dying to try the trails... and I asked your Dad to look into getting a big, solid Hunter/Draft cross sitting around so that Logan has no excuse not to go riding. Do you have any cross-country fences set up?" she wonders, rising from her chair and beckoning the Irish teen on to follow her with a "C'mon. Jubilee should be back in another three to five days, and in the meantime, I have some ice cream that needs eating. Chunky Monkey."
and Jean, Logan, chinese takeout, and more on the Ireland Trip
X-Men MUCK - Monday, July 05, 2004, 9:44 PM
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<< XS >> Kitchen - Lv1
Meant to service a large number of people, this kitchen is vast, with more than one oven and several stainless steel work surfaces. Inset into the ceiling are fluorescent glow strips, throwing everything into bright, if somewhat harsh light. At meal times, kitchen workers scurry to and fro with pans and food and various other sundry items. But out of those times, everything is in its place, and there's even a tray of cold snacks for those who might come in search of a bite to eat.
[Exits : [Pat]io, and [H]allway ]
[Players : Logan ]
Just ringing off the kitchen phone is Jean, a menu for a local chinese restaurant in one hand, reading glasses on, and her hair twisted up into a bun and stabbed through with a pair of pencils. Although she's less one lab coat, it doesn't take a genius to determine that she's been doing some research again. Removing one of the pencils and twirling it through her fingers, she leans against the wall in a chair stolen from the kitchen island, and nods absently. "Thirty minutes? Great. Yes, COD, and let your driver know to buzz the gates first and announce himself to be let through."
Logan strolls in, catching the faint scent of antiseptic and other sundry lab smells and then at the pamphlet in her hand. Even though the idea of take out seems enticing, the thought turns his stomach. For once, Logan fetches an apple from the hardly touched bowl of fruit set out for the healthier eating concious students. "Finally spend the day in the lab for once Red?" With apple in hand, he moves up behind Jean and links a free arm around her waist, peering down at the take out sheet closer.
"Oh -hell- yes." Jean replies with something close to quiet glee as her own arm wraps around Logan's waist in return. "Hence the Chinese food. Research tradition dating back to when I was an undergrad at Harvard, I'll have you know." she states, brandishing the menu. "You feeling all right, though?" she wonders with a slightly concerned look at the apple. "Your mental patterns didn't look too happy when you caught sight of the flier, and you usually eat anything that isn't still moving."
Logan asks, "Well, moving and twitching are sort of gray areas. Just the thought of something cooked in who knows what kind of conditions. I'd prefer to eat whatever I've killed or cooked myself is all." Logan brings to mind images of shows like 'Restaurants gone bad', or, the kitchen from the bar in Madripoor. Even Logan didn't eat there. *shudder* A bite of the apple, and a copasetic smile and smoothed brain patterns as Jean's embrace soothes the savage beast. "So what was the topic of research today?"
Jean snorts, and counters with images of the Health and Safety inspection certificate she's espied in the lobby of said restaurant. "I'm not living -that- dangerously. And it'd hurt me far more than it'd hurt you. So there." she states with a teasing tip of her tongue poking out at him. "I like living dangerously, and I want my beef low mein." She turns to pin the menu back on the bulletin board beside the phone, and then rises to rest her hands on Logan's shoulders after a check to make sure the kitchen is free of students and their easily turned stomachs. "Today's research was actually for my PhD thesis. I'm working on isolating the X-factor gene for psionics and deactivating enough of it so that I won't end up with psychic mice, but ones that are perhaps empathic enough to be useful as test animals for X-gene research, instead of -human- mutants. Today was just the initial steps, though... and I have something I want to ask you, completely on another subject."
Logan's brain stops for a second, and switches gears from chinese food to the x-factor and it's affect on psychic lab mice? "Wait, okay, you want receptive mice, but not mice that will take over the minds of the scientists?" Shaking his head, Logan chuckles and wiggles his shoulders against Jean's slender hand. "Shoot then."
"Pretty much," Jean agrees with a crooked smile. "Although I guess I should get a couple non-telepath lab techs down and make sure they don't find themselves with sudden cravings for cheese and rodent pellets first." she quips. "And then probably arrange for a bodyguard for the next three months after I publish the paper, because I'm messing with the natural order of life, et cetera, et cetera." The tall redhead seems notably unconcerned by this, waving off eventualities as something to be planned for, rather than feared. "And... what would you say to a few weeks in Ireland at Cassidy Keep? Around the end of July, beginning of August, something like that. Sean Cassidy called me a couple days ago to extend an invite, although we'd be going along with Siryn and possibly Jubilee, for six hours on a commercial trans-atlantic flight. Oh, and Nate, too, if Scott will let me take him. I want to take him to Moira for a one-year-old checkup."
Logan says, "Like you of all people need a bodyguard, what, with your TK and all." Giving a reassuring kiss on the lips, he pulls her closer and makes an amused sort of noise. "Psychic mice. Could invade foriegn countries or something. I dunno." Logan's brain makes one of those *pft* sounding noises as his imagination closes the door behind itself and locks it for the night. "Vacation good. Ireland good. They appreciate a good drink or 15. I don't think you could stop Jubilee from coming. She's supposed to be my official sidekick anyways." Fingers ripple along Jean's back playfully before he looks somber for a moment. "You think all this attention your focusing on the x-gene would be to help Nate some day? Either by curing his burn out, or perhaps stunting his powers?"
"It might," Jean admits. "But only by giving other, smarter brains a good base to work from, to try radical treatments that we can't try on Nate until we know they won't kill him. Right now..." A sigh, and she leans into Logan for a comforting hug a moment, eyes ghosting shut as she schools her thoughts rigidly away from losing hope. "Right now, his Great Aunt Moira is his his best hope. She knows more about the X-Factor and how it works than anyone outside of that bastard Essex... so if we take him with us to Ireland, we can quietly nip him over to Muir Island without Essex's spies being any the wiser."
Logan says, "Then it sounds like a plan. Get the kid to the whiz mutant doctor to see what we can do for the little tyke. If all else fails, we could go get Essex and drag him by the balls to help fix the kid. That and you just got to enjoy the time you have with him. Just like with anyone else." Logan looks carefully into Jean's eyes. She knows what he means, as the next day the two could never see each other again. Giving Jean a long, apple tart kiss, he pulls himself away and strokes her cheek. "Enjoy the low mein, I'm going to go enjoy my bed for the night. Feel free to take it over when you're done your dinner."
"If Essex even has a pair to be dragged by..." Jean growls quietly, the sound not quite as ridiculous as it might seem coming from a beautiful and slender woman. Apparently Logan's been rubbing off on her. "And I will. Funny how the two men in my life fall at opposite ends of the lifetime scale..." But then her musing is cut off as she lets herself melt away to be lost to the world and its worries for a moment, safe in a little bubble with Logan, and pointedly ignoring a few students peering in through the French doors and grinning madly. "I'll definitely take you up on that offer... and I'll save you a fortune cookie."
Then we've got Jean laying down the law to Forge and Beast on the Drake Situation right
X-Men MUCK - Wednesday, July 21, 2004, 10:58 PM
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<< XS >> Xavier's Office - Lv1
A comparatively smallish room leading off from the Main Computer Room and Library is Xavier's office. Elegantly furnished in rich cream and mahogany, several tall bookcases line the wall, and a desk dominates the center of the room, appropriately set about with the various necessities. Potted ferns and leather armchairs as well as several Monets displayed along the wall make the room's appearance comfortable, and broad windows look out to the Mansion Gardens, beyond.
[Exits : [M]ain [C]omputer [R]oom, [X]avier's [R]oom, and [Li]brary ]
[Players : Forge ]
Jean is seated behind Xavier's desk, typing away at his computer and taking care of some mail that's piled up for the Professor, still in D.C. and having set himself up in a small flat, for all the time he's spending trying to counter Lowe's run to the White House. Her eyes fade in and out of focus at intervals, making the psychic equivalent of a phone call to check this fact or that with the boss man before sending bills and correspondence on their way with clicks of the mouse. At length, business is finished, and Jean shuts down the computer, relaxing in the comfortable chair somewhat gingerly, as if privately doubting her right to sit in it. Pouring herself a mug of coffee, she thumbs through a daytimer, and comes up with the next and final item of the day to attend to. << Forge? Hank? Could you come down to the office, please? >>
In Hank's case, this is inevitably being asked to come 'up' to Xavier's office as he's always lurking down in the infirmary, doing labwork, running tests and experiments, and generally forgetting about real life. There's a bit of a wait, and then he appears, adjusting his glasses and wearing nothing but a pair of tan bermuda shorts and a white lab coat. He announces himself with a brief knock and a "My pleasure, Jean, as always."
Forge was relaxed. /Was/ relaxed. All right, potentially not relaxed so much as just coming out of a vampiric eight hour afternoon/evening/night nap just in time for the summons. He sits up in bed, massages his forehead, and recites to himself Jean's message until several connections in his brain are made successfully and he groans. "Drake. Junior-X ... X-Factor. Blast it all to ... blast it all." He slides out of bed, pulls some proper pants and shirt on, gives up on the hair, and pulls it in a discreet ponytail. Between this and that, he's most belated before knocking on the door and then cursing and just opening the door. "Sorry I'm late."
Now, now, maybe Jean just wants to talk about something scientific. But then again, Jean usually doesn't look so composed and serene when she's got something geekish in mind, so perhaps Forge's connections are valid. The delays in arrival have sent her back to the computer, and an idle game of Mahjjong while she waits, although it's abandoned with smooth alacrity once the two other professors arrive. "Help yourselves to seats. And you want coffee? I've been keeping myself going with a pot, but there's most of pot number two still left." Preamble attended to, she slides off her reading glasses and tucks them in a pocket, and then cuts to the chase. "So. Drake. His 'X-Factor'. What's the news on that?"
Beast shrugs a little bit. "I understand work proceeds apace," the cultured baritone rumbles. "I did get an email from Drake asking if I'd be willing to come in on it and frankly I am not sure if this is a wise idea. Too many cooks spoil the stew, and so on. Frankly I have little leadership experience and the classes I teach, well, let us merely remind ourselves that science does not teach social skills. I am unsure as to why he wishes my guidence." He frowns. "Other than that, I have not been made aware of anything, either positive or negative, from that direction. It appears to me as though they are still in the very beginning stages."
"Hank's, ah, tangental involvement is my doing," Forge says, as soon as his legs have bent over the seat and he can at least pretend to be comfortable as far as the situation allows. He knows very well how Jean feels about the whole thing. "Drake requested me as advisor, which I'm sure you know, and I'm afraid that I have the clout of a dead tuna and perhaps an approximate respect to go along with it. I'm sorry for essentially passing the baton, Hank ... ah, Jean, so I'd really be the one to ask on these matters. The news being ... well, Drake seems like he'd ... /like/ the team to be an extended getting to know you session. With a few ... benefits and all. They'd all like to be, ah, capable."
"This is a staff meeting, Forge," Jean notes, a smile cracking her smooth facade at the newest professor's vagueness of word choice. "You can say what you mean, and I promise I won't bite. Basically, I'm concerned." she now addresses both men, spreading her hands and leaning forward in her seat. "Drake keeps saying he wants one thing, but his plans for action keep indicating that he wants another... and it's that other that worries me greatly. I'm afraid I probably alienated him by being firm and letting him see that I was upset, but he's willing to confide in you two... is he still planning on combat training for other students?"
Beast shrugs, blue fur rippling a little as he does. "I don't know. I do know that he *wishes* to, strongly, but abides by your decisions. Frankly I cannot quite understand your reluctance, Jean, but as always I shall bow to your decision with all due deference. I would suggest, perhaps an extremely limited training schedule, simply to allow them all a chance to prove they can be responsible, or not, with the training they are given. Thus, if they succeed or fail it will be by their own efforts, and you will not be seen as the. . . I believe the term is 'the heavy?'. Readying them for combat in however small a measure, also doesn't necessarily preclude allowing them the chances to explore other interests, such as higher education. Merely provides the ability to be well-rounded." He sighs. "Should that reprobate Lowe win the Oval Office, we will all need as much combat readiness as we can receive, I fear. Every once of us, from the 12 year olds to the recent graduates."
"Yes, he plans to," Forge says, trying to keep his expression level. Will not be overtly embarrassed, will not. He just needs time to warm up to frankness sometimes. "I think it's ... important to him. He's talked about improving and extending powers through such practice as putting students in somewhat frantic positions where using their powers would be necessary to come out unscathed. And I mean scathed in the nicest, most temporary sense of the word. I ... don't personally feel that there's too much harm in it if it's carefully regulated and kept to the Institute. Although I do think that Drake would like to extend it out into the streets, I think he understands that he can't --" Beast's Lowe comment prompts a slow and slightly chilly glance from Forge, but he doesn't say anything.
"NO!" Well, there goes that calm facade. Jean, after all, is Charles Xavier's right hand, not Charles himself. Looking upset and clenching and unclenching her hands, Jean rises from her seat and begins to pace back in forth in front of the windows, a touch of betrayal in her eyes. "Hank, how could you, of all people, suggest something that goes against everything the School was set up for? We're standing for integration, not armed detente... God, the only reason I put on that damn uniform is so that they won't have to, and look at them all line up anyways to be heros..." Pace, pace, motions sharp and jerky, and then Jean abruptly stops, calming herself and sitting back down. "An avalanche starts with small stones. We already teach the kids self-defence with Logan. We already teach them to control and hone their powers. Drake's 'team building' ideas have military overtones that disturb me. They stand against everything we hope to accomplish, against Charles Xavier's dreams of integration, and it -also- disturbs me that you two are -supporting- something that would only lead to a bunch of teenagers out running about with combat skills who were too young or reckless or some other reason to be mentored by Scott, Logan, myself or the other senior team members. How does -that- serve the purpose of 90% or more of our graduates going on to lead perfectly normal lives?"
Beast flattens his ears against his head and gives Jean a decidedly irritated look. "Do not let your emotions override your judgement," he replies. "Neither of us said anything about letting them run amok half-trained. And," he adds, with polite sarcasm, "if you'll allow me to expand upon what I was saying, I do *not* condone Drake's rather, ah. . . well, as you said, militaristic ideals. This is not a mutant armed forces academy. We are here to keep the peace and to spread the idea of co-existance. I certainly would not allow them to use their powers at all outside this establishment, let alone in an offensive manner." His tone of voice says that the word offensive has at least a double meaning. "However, we cannot ignore the climate around us. It is not fair to them to form a team and give them mentors such as Logan or yourself, or Scott, and expect them to calmly take the idea of not only no fighting, but not even no training lying down. It is also unreasonable to force our students down a path that they do not want to travel. If they wish to be heroes, we surely cannot hinder that. If we instill good and noble ideals of co-existance and protection of the innocent and other principles involved in co-existance, then we must allow allow our youngsters the freedom to choose their own paths." His voice is gentle. "Jean, our student's hope of a normal life of any kind was taken away the second their mutations demanded recognition. We can't give them normalcy, but we can give them not only a decent life, but one in which they thrive, and grow. And what better way to do that then to encourage the seed to grow in the way it was planted?"
"Ah." Forge has to struggle to keep his eyes up. He honestly doesn't know what to say. "Coming ... as someone who has used his powers for a very long time outside of mutant facility or one intended to train and protect me, I suppose I could see the drive the students were feeling and in a selfish fashion, shared it, which might have ... blinded me to some extent. I am not terribly interested in the combat in and of itself. I honestly don't know what to think. Other than I probably shouldn't be involved." Doesn't know what to say.
"My judgement, Hank, is perfectly fine, thank you." Jean looks rather more irritated, rather than less. "But emotion and temper are part of me. I spent too many years hiding them so as not to upset Scott, and ended up upsetting him anyways, but no more. You're my friends, so you get to see the good, the bad, and the ugly. And I'm upset, so you're going to see that too." she states with a snort, before settling deeper in the chair. "I'm not ignoring the climate, and we -do- offer them training as it is... or perhaps I'm just hallucinating my six current psionics students. We're training them to use their powers effectively and ethically, and to defend themselves as it is... I'm not seeing why they need any more training, particularly not in how to fight. There's allowing them to choose their own paths, and then there's aiding and abetting them. I'm making an executive order, as Deputy Headmistress, and after consulting with the Professor, that there is to be no additional combat instruction authorized or delivered other than the forms currently available. If they want to do good, let them do it in non-violent fashions."
Beast nods, and asks with a rhetorical air though somehow it feels like it isn't quite, "And what will happen when they decide they want to become X-men for real? Or when we have to look at attrition, god forbid, and replacements? If they are not trained, and if they are denied the ability to follow their dreams, we may do more harm than good." He stands up and nods at Jean. "I believe you are wrong, though it grieves me to say it. But because we must all hang together, I will support you. I do claim my right to disagree with you in public, however, though not in front of the students. Most assuredly, if we don't hang together, we will assuredly all hang separately." He inclines his head. "Good evening to you both."
"Siryn. Drake. Jubilee. Kitty. Piotr. Rogue. Rachael. Bobby. John. There's our replacements." Jean ticks off on her fingers, voice and features tight. "Surely that's enough talent wasted on playing soldier games for now?" she asks, before sighing and nodding as well. "Thanks, Hank. I don't expect you to like it, or keep quiet about it, but them's the rules. And if we can't keep our ideals when the going gets hard, then what's the point of having them."
"Hank, I do believe that Jean just said that they were being trained, and, in my opinion, the students are considerably better trained than, say, myself. Drake is very capable. I scarcely know the others." Forge has keyed in his special talent of changing sides after a few moments' thought. What? "In any case, /I/ will adhere to the odo-- order. It's not my perogative or skill to teach anyone how to fight anyway. Good evening, Hank."
and a nice, non-angsty scene of Jean, Wesley, the lake and a small mystery,
X-Men MUCK - Monday, July 26, 2004, 11:33 PM
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<< XS >> The Docks
Thick durable wooden planks make up the mansion's lone dock extending out over Breakstone Lake. Built to last, it's a foot or two above the water to reduce decay and stop slippery algae from coating it. On the right side a clean, sparkly blue four person paddle boat floats. A chain connects the boat to a pole built into the dock that sports a painted sign, bearing the words, 'LifeJackets in boathouse--Required!' suggesting anyone can use it. The water's bottom drops out of view halfway down the docks long length, suggesting jumping in would be safe. Not far off is the rustic appeal of the Boathouse, sitting comfortable at the lake's edge.
[Exits : [T]he [B]oathouse, and [P]ath]
The chirping of crickets, the sound of an evening wind blowing through the trees. The peace is punctuated only occasionally by 'plunk' or a 'trip trip trip' of rocks skipping across the water. Sidled down beside the dock, Wesley currently is digging in the sand, rescuing the next handful of rocks for the next practice batch.
Jean emerges from the path through the woods with her walk an easy amble, and a flashlight in her hand to light the ground in front of her. The faint hum of mosquitos buzzes in the air, but Dr. Grey is laced liberally with bug spray, and seems quite comfortable in the summer night. "You're out late," she offers to Wesley, words quiet but carrying on the evening breeze. "Everything all right?"
Wesley glances up at Jean's approach, a quick grin coming to his face. "Just enjoying complete lack of homework. My biology teacher last year, she was a real killer." Plunk. Wesley grimaces at the poor throw. "I do like quiet every once in a while. And it's too hot to me inside."
"Man, I always hated being stuck with one of those." Jean grins in reply, helping herself to a seat on the edge of the dock and pressing her sandal'd feet into the sand. "But a lack of homework is always something worthy of celebration. Do you have any plans for the rest of the summer?" she wonders next, setting down the flashlight beside her and switching it off, comfortable in the summer night now that she needn't worry about tree roots. Out in the lake, something phosphorescent glows underneath about 20 feet of water.
"You mean other than throwing rocks into the lake?" Wesley asks cheerfully. "Sounds like a fun summer to me. Two plans. Or a plan and a goal, I guess. Or 2 goals. Staying with my grandma again for part of the summer--well, when I've not been hanging out here. Parents are traveling for... another week or two, then I'm going to spend the rest of the summer with them. Although it's strange how weird that'll be living at home with them again after being here. So that's the plan. First goal is to be able to tie water into a pretzel shape by the end of the summer. Second one, my parents want to know where I'm going to college by the end of the summer, so I need to figure that out too."
"Well, if you threw rocks in the lake all summer, you might run out of rocks by the end." Jean quips in reply, settling more comfortably on the dock and staring at the glow under the water thoughtfully. "And yes, it'll be odd going home to be with your parents... it always was with mine... but you'll find yourself enjoying it sooner or later. Something to be said about roots."
Wesley notices Jean's gaze and follows it to the water. Oh look, something shiny just went over that ridge. Really? He peers out across the lake a moment. "Would you have to kill me if I asked why the lake is glowing?" he finally asks, the joke somewhat dulled by the distracted tone of his voice. Yes, let's follow it.
"Only if it turned out to be some sort of bizarre extraterrestrial parasite." Jean replies, absently deadpan as she too stares out at the lake and the glowy spot. "Since then it would infect you and we'd have to kill you to save us all and contain it... but let's see what we've got here." And with that, the redhead closes her eyes and concentrates lazily, wrapping whatever it is at the bottom in a twist of telekinesis once she's mapped the lakefloor with her sixth senses.
Wesley breaks his view of the lake for a moment to watch Jean. This mind stuff is beyond him and he yawns lazily, obviously content to wait for her diagnosis and accompanying order of execution if need be. He idly dips a finger into the water the dock, first tracing nonsensical patterns on the water, then drawing condensed water into the air after his fingera and letting it splash back to the lake's surface in liquid form.
Right on schedule, up surfaces the mysterious glowing source. It appears to be nothing other than... "A glowstick." Jean pronounces, waving her hand and letting the raver toy drop in front of Wesley. "I suspect skinny dipping the other night, since it's looking a little faded. Enjoy?"
Wesley snorts at the thought. "I dunno. Seems enough people around here have x-ray vision, telepathy, visions, whatever. Don't need to be doing anything to add to that danger. Plus I'd not trust my clothes to be anywhere near here if I left them. Not that anyone would ever use their powers to do anything so... disreputable," he adds with a grin.
"I meant that I hoped you'd enjoy playing with the glowstick." Jean smirks crookedly, Logan apparently rubbing off on her. She picks up her flashlight again, passes the beam once across the lake surface, and then gets to her feet. "But that's a sensible plan. One reason I haven't tried it since my college days. Don't stay out too late, Wesley." And then she takes her leave.
But, let's have the 30 second summary, shall we?
I'm good, still madly in love with Logan. I'm looking forward to my son's first birthday, looking even more forward to the vacation I'm going on afterwards. I've gotten some work in towards my PhD research what with half the student body gone home for the summer. I'm worried about Lowe, worried about Scott, and worried about a group of students. But life is, for the most part good.
But for those students, and you know who you are, all of your bright plans and dreams are wonderful on the surface, but the undertones just make me think too much of a certain poem.
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.
GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!-- An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime.--
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
-Wilfred Owen
The Latin translates to "It is sweet and proper to die for one's country". and the historical background is that it used to be bandied about at recruiting rallies during the first world war. It is an honour to put your life on the line... but it's neither sweet or beautiful, and it will be people like me left behind to deal with it if you die. I've had to perform an autopsy on one of my students once before. I pray that I never have to do it again. So think about the less-glorious consequences. Ask those of us who know about them to tell you them straight. Please.
OOC: And, of course, logs! We have Jean and Siryn and the trip to Ireland X-Men MUCK - Thursday, July 15, 2004, 5:07 PM
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<< XS >> Lab/Medbay - LvB2
Walls are sterile white and surfaces gleam in polished stainless steel, the large room a vision of cool science tinged with the faint medical smell of antiseptic and filled with the soft whirring of autoclaves, refrigeration units, and various medical scanners and devices. Four hospital beds are present near the entrance, curtains rigged to allow for privacy, but pulled back when not in use. In shielded alcoves off the back wall are the resident doctor's pride and joy: A full-body X-Ray machine, as well as an MRI unit and other heavy-duty imagery equipment. Between the alcoves, through a thick glass window, a small operating theatre can be glimpsed. In the lab section, an electron microscope and a pair of gene-sequencers take place of pride, glassware and smaller equipment kept securely locked away in the cabinets underneath and above the work surfaces.
[Exits : [H]allway ]
Siryn has arrived.
The smell of cheesepuffs arrives in the Medbay before Siryn does; which makes sense, considering the fact that the girl finishing up a bag of said treats. When the doors swish open, she's in the process of dumping the last of the crumbs into her mouth. She crumbles the bag, searching for a place to toss it, meanwhile, calling out, "Dr. Jean? Ye here?" Her attention is dragged away by the nearest garbage bin.
Jean is over at her lab bench, white coat and goggles on as she titrates drops of something electric blue into an Erhlenmeyer flask of something clear, which roils vigorously with each drop, but doesn't -quite- explode. "As always, when it's summer and colder underground," she calls in reply. "Grab yourself a spare set of goggles if you want... I've been meaning to get a hold of you since the other day."
Siryn tosses the crumpled bag towards the receptable, and grins when it lands inside. Basketball with some of the younger kids has paid off, it would seem. She moves towards Jean and her lab, picking up a set of goggles on the way. But first, she wipes her hands on her shirt - leaving behind orange smudges. Ah well... It's an old t-shirt anyway. Donning the goggles, Teresa leans over the Doctor's shoulder, eyeing the activities. "Aye... Logan told me that ye were lookin' f'er me, but when I asked what it was 'bout, he didn't say. Just smiled and said something odd like, "Mum's the word..".." Moving around to better watch the 'fireworks', she then asks, "What does that mean anyway? And what did ye wanna talk te me f'er?"
She also tosses in a, "And what're ye doing anyway?" in there...
"It means..." Jean murmurs, concentrating on adding another drop of reactant and then quickly moving her hands out of the way while the solution in the flask bubbles again. "That he knows something you don't, and he's not saying a word. And I'm titrating." she explains the flask, buret of blue stuff, and general fussy precision. "As for what I wanted to tell you..." she pauses again to add another drop, and this time picks up a piece of white card stock to hold behind the flask and check the colour. Nope, still clear. "Your father called the other day. You were out, but do you want to go to Ireland this summer? Logan and I would be coming with, and you can invite a friend, says your dad."
The teen wrinkles her nose at the interpretation of "Mum's the word." Well now, whoever thought up -that- up was rather weird. "I had guessed as much," is her response to that. Siryn doesn't even deign to ask what "Titrating" is... Something to do with colouring liquids? All of the above, however, goes out of her head as soon as Jean tells her that her father wants her to go to Ireland. "Ye and Logan t'would come? Cool!" But other than that burst of excitement, Terry doesn't seem too particularly thrilled. "I wonder why he wants me o'er there. Is he at the Keep?" She doesn't say anything about the 'invite a friend' part just yet either, waiting to hear the older's woman answer first.
Jean would normally reply with a grin and cheerful chattering of her own... but she's got a flask to keep adding drops of the blue liquid to. Eventually, with a "Hah!" of triumph, Jean reaches the equivalence point, and the clear fluid in the flask all at once turns a light shade of fuscia. "There. If I can do it, we now know that next September's senior chemistry class can do it." she pronounces, making a note of how much of the blue was used, and scratching out some calculations as she replies belatedly that "He's at Cassidy Keep, yes. And I suspect he probably just wants to spend some time with his daughter. He's working with Interpol now, he says, so I imagine that a little vacation time with family's to be desired."
Siryn jumps a little at the "Hah!" but gets over her surprise enough to peek at the new pink shade of the liquid. Not quite her color of choice... Thank goodness she's not taking chemistry! "I never would've thought that he'd go back there," she muses aloud. "I mean... All the memories that it holds. After I left him there last fall, I kinda expected him to have moved on..." Then again, when you have something like a Keep as a family heirloom, one supposes that it's difficult to get rid of easily. Shrugging, she adds, "I guess I wouldn'aye mind going. S'pecially if ye and Logan come too." That way, she won't have to spend -too- much time -just- with her dad. "And I can bring a friend? Wow.." That was never something allowed when she and Uncle Tom lived there. Thinking about it, she finally asks, "D'ye think that Jubilee might wanna come?" She's the closest thing, apart from James, that Teresa's got as a pal.
"It's not all bad memories, though," Jean notes, turning away from her little experiment and pulling off her safety goggles with a gentle smile. "Cassidy Keep is his home... and yours, even if you don't remember it. And what's a better way to combat bad memories in a place than to make new ones?" she wonders rhetorically, the smile growing in strength. "In any case, I would love to see Ireland, Logan's been threatening to cart me away over his shoulder if I don't take a vacation, and my old friend Warren's been telling me that I really need to see Europe, so even if I didn't want to catch up with your Dad, this trip is a good idea... and Jubilee would spontaneously combust with excitement if you asked her, I think."
The older woman's words are true, and wise, but that doesn't mean that Siryn will listen to them. "Aye, I s'pose," is her final comment on that matter. As Jean talks more about the trip, however, the girl can't help but start to get a little more excited about the whole idea. "Och, ye and him will enjoy the trail riding we've got, I'm sure. And there's a small village nearby that makes some of the best Whiskey..." Terry should know - she snuck into the guided tours enough time as a youngster. "And I'll ask Jubilee as soon as she gets back... D'ye know when that will be, by the way?" It's already been a week and a half, and Siryn misses her terrilby.
Jean has spoken the words at least, and perhaps Terry might remember them later. Jean grins at triggering a little excitement, and notes that "I'm dying to try the trails... and I asked your Dad to look into getting a big, solid Hunter/Draft cross sitting around so that Logan has no excuse not to go riding. Do you have any cross-country fences set up?" she wonders, rising from her chair and beckoning the Irish teen on to follow her with a "C'mon. Jubilee should be back in another three to five days, and in the meantime, I have some ice cream that needs eating. Chunky Monkey."
and Jean, Logan, chinese takeout, and more on the Ireland Trip
X-Men MUCK - Monday, July 05, 2004, 9:44 PM
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<< XS >> Kitchen - Lv1
Meant to service a large number of people, this kitchen is vast, with more than one oven and several stainless steel work surfaces. Inset into the ceiling are fluorescent glow strips, throwing everything into bright, if somewhat harsh light. At meal times, kitchen workers scurry to and fro with pans and food and various other sundry items. But out of those times, everything is in its place, and there's even a tray of cold snacks for those who might come in search of a bite to eat.
[Exits : [Pat]io, and [H]allway ]
[Players : Logan ]
Just ringing off the kitchen phone is Jean, a menu for a local chinese restaurant in one hand, reading glasses on, and her hair twisted up into a bun and stabbed through with a pair of pencils. Although she's less one lab coat, it doesn't take a genius to determine that she's been doing some research again. Removing one of the pencils and twirling it through her fingers, she leans against the wall in a chair stolen from the kitchen island, and nods absently. "Thirty minutes? Great. Yes, COD, and let your driver know to buzz the gates first and announce himself to be let through."
Logan strolls in, catching the faint scent of antiseptic and other sundry lab smells and then at the pamphlet in her hand. Even though the idea of take out seems enticing, the thought turns his stomach. For once, Logan fetches an apple from the hardly touched bowl of fruit set out for the healthier eating concious students. "Finally spend the day in the lab for once Red?" With apple in hand, he moves up behind Jean and links a free arm around her waist, peering down at the take out sheet closer.
"Oh -hell- yes." Jean replies with something close to quiet glee as her own arm wraps around Logan's waist in return. "Hence the Chinese food. Research tradition dating back to when I was an undergrad at Harvard, I'll have you know." she states, brandishing the menu. "You feeling all right, though?" she wonders with a slightly concerned look at the apple. "Your mental patterns didn't look too happy when you caught sight of the flier, and you usually eat anything that isn't still moving."
Logan asks, "Well, moving and twitching are sort of gray areas. Just the thought of something cooked in who knows what kind of conditions. I'd prefer to eat whatever I've killed or cooked myself is all." Logan brings to mind images of shows like 'Restaurants gone bad', or, the kitchen from the bar in Madripoor. Even Logan didn't eat there. *shudder* A bite of the apple, and a copasetic smile and smoothed brain patterns as Jean's embrace soothes the savage beast. "So what was the topic of research today?"
Jean snorts, and counters with images of the Health and Safety inspection certificate she's espied in the lobby of said restaurant. "I'm not living -that- dangerously. And it'd hurt me far more than it'd hurt you. So there." she states with a teasing tip of her tongue poking out at him. "I like living dangerously, and I want my beef low mein." She turns to pin the menu back on the bulletin board beside the phone, and then rises to rest her hands on Logan's shoulders after a check to make sure the kitchen is free of students and their easily turned stomachs. "Today's research was actually for my PhD thesis. I'm working on isolating the X-factor gene for psionics and deactivating enough of it so that I won't end up with psychic mice, but ones that are perhaps empathic enough to be useful as test animals for X-gene research, instead of -human- mutants. Today was just the initial steps, though... and I have something I want to ask you, completely on another subject."
Logan's brain stops for a second, and switches gears from chinese food to the x-factor and it's affect on psychic lab mice? "Wait, okay, you want receptive mice, but not mice that will take over the minds of the scientists?" Shaking his head, Logan chuckles and wiggles his shoulders against Jean's slender hand. "Shoot then."
"Pretty much," Jean agrees with a crooked smile. "Although I guess I should get a couple non-telepath lab techs down and make sure they don't find themselves with sudden cravings for cheese and rodent pellets first." she quips. "And then probably arrange for a bodyguard for the next three months after I publish the paper, because I'm messing with the natural order of life, et cetera, et cetera." The tall redhead seems notably unconcerned by this, waving off eventualities as something to be planned for, rather than feared. "And... what would you say to a few weeks in Ireland at Cassidy Keep? Around the end of July, beginning of August, something like that. Sean Cassidy called me a couple days ago to extend an invite, although we'd be going along with Siryn and possibly Jubilee, for six hours on a commercial trans-atlantic flight. Oh, and Nate, too, if Scott will let me take him. I want to take him to Moira for a one-year-old checkup."
Logan says, "Like you of all people need a bodyguard, what, with your TK and all." Giving a reassuring kiss on the lips, he pulls her closer and makes an amused sort of noise. "Psychic mice. Could invade foriegn countries or something. I dunno." Logan's brain makes one of those *pft* sounding noises as his imagination closes the door behind itself and locks it for the night. "Vacation good. Ireland good. They appreciate a good drink or 15. I don't think you could stop Jubilee from coming. She's supposed to be my official sidekick anyways." Fingers ripple along Jean's back playfully before he looks somber for a moment. "You think all this attention your focusing on the x-gene would be to help Nate some day? Either by curing his burn out, or perhaps stunting his powers?"
"It might," Jean admits. "But only by giving other, smarter brains a good base to work from, to try radical treatments that we can't try on Nate until we know they won't kill him. Right now..." A sigh, and she leans into Logan for a comforting hug a moment, eyes ghosting shut as she schools her thoughts rigidly away from losing hope. "Right now, his Great Aunt Moira is his his best hope. She knows more about the X-Factor and how it works than anyone outside of that bastard Essex... so if we take him with us to Ireland, we can quietly nip him over to Muir Island without Essex's spies being any the wiser."
Logan says, "Then it sounds like a plan. Get the kid to the whiz mutant doctor to see what we can do for the little tyke. If all else fails, we could go get Essex and drag him by the balls to help fix the kid. That and you just got to enjoy the time you have with him. Just like with anyone else." Logan looks carefully into Jean's eyes. She knows what he means, as the next day the two could never see each other again. Giving Jean a long, apple tart kiss, he pulls himself away and strokes her cheek. "Enjoy the low mein, I'm going to go enjoy my bed for the night. Feel free to take it over when you're done your dinner."
"If Essex even has a pair to be dragged by..." Jean growls quietly, the sound not quite as ridiculous as it might seem coming from a beautiful and slender woman. Apparently Logan's been rubbing off on her. "And I will. Funny how the two men in my life fall at opposite ends of the lifetime scale..." But then her musing is cut off as she lets herself melt away to be lost to the world and its worries for a moment, safe in a little bubble with Logan, and pointedly ignoring a few students peering in through the French doors and grinning madly. "I'll definitely take you up on that offer... and I'll save you a fortune cookie."
Then we've got Jean laying down the law to Forge and Beast on the Drake Situation right
X-Men MUCK - Wednesday, July 21, 2004, 10:58 PM
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<< XS >> Xavier's Office - Lv1
A comparatively smallish room leading off from the Main Computer Room and Library is Xavier's office. Elegantly furnished in rich cream and mahogany, several tall bookcases line the wall, and a desk dominates the center of the room, appropriately set about with the various necessities. Potted ferns and leather armchairs as well as several Monets displayed along the wall make the room's appearance comfortable, and broad windows look out to the Mansion Gardens, beyond.
[Exits : [M]ain [C]omputer [R]oom, [X]avier's [R]oom, and [Li]brary ]
[Players : Forge ]
Jean is seated behind Xavier's desk, typing away at his computer and taking care of some mail that's piled up for the Professor, still in D.C. and having set himself up in a small flat, for all the time he's spending trying to counter Lowe's run to the White House. Her eyes fade in and out of focus at intervals, making the psychic equivalent of a phone call to check this fact or that with the boss man before sending bills and correspondence on their way with clicks of the mouse. At length, business is finished, and Jean shuts down the computer, relaxing in the comfortable chair somewhat gingerly, as if privately doubting her right to sit in it. Pouring herself a mug of coffee, she thumbs through a daytimer, and comes up with the next and final item of the day to attend to. << Forge? Hank? Could you come down to the office, please? >>
In Hank's case, this is inevitably being asked to come 'up' to Xavier's office as he's always lurking down in the infirmary, doing labwork, running tests and experiments, and generally forgetting about real life. There's a bit of a wait, and then he appears, adjusting his glasses and wearing nothing but a pair of tan bermuda shorts and a white lab coat. He announces himself with a brief knock and a "My pleasure, Jean, as always."
Forge was relaxed. /Was/ relaxed. All right, potentially not relaxed so much as just coming out of a vampiric eight hour afternoon/evening/night nap just in time for the summons. He sits up in bed, massages his forehead, and recites to himself Jean's message until several connections in his brain are made successfully and he groans. "Drake. Junior-X ... X-Factor. Blast it all to ... blast it all." He slides out of bed, pulls some proper pants and shirt on, gives up on the hair, and pulls it in a discreet ponytail. Between this and that, he's most belated before knocking on the door and then cursing and just opening the door. "Sorry I'm late."
Now, now, maybe Jean just wants to talk about something scientific. But then again, Jean usually doesn't look so composed and serene when she's got something geekish in mind, so perhaps Forge's connections are valid. The delays in arrival have sent her back to the computer, and an idle game of Mahjjong while she waits, although it's abandoned with smooth alacrity once the two other professors arrive. "Help yourselves to seats. And you want coffee? I've been keeping myself going with a pot, but there's most of pot number two still left." Preamble attended to, she slides off her reading glasses and tucks them in a pocket, and then cuts to the chase. "So. Drake. His 'X-Factor'. What's the news on that?"
Beast shrugs a little bit. "I understand work proceeds apace," the cultured baritone rumbles. "I did get an email from Drake asking if I'd be willing to come in on it and frankly I am not sure if this is a wise idea. Too many cooks spoil the stew, and so on. Frankly I have little leadership experience and the classes I teach, well, let us merely remind ourselves that science does not teach social skills. I am unsure as to why he wishes my guidence." He frowns. "Other than that, I have not been made aware of anything, either positive or negative, from that direction. It appears to me as though they are still in the very beginning stages."
"Hank's, ah, tangental involvement is my doing," Forge says, as soon as his legs have bent over the seat and he can at least pretend to be comfortable as far as the situation allows. He knows very well how Jean feels about the whole thing. "Drake requested me as advisor, which I'm sure you know, and I'm afraid that I have the clout of a dead tuna and perhaps an approximate respect to go along with it. I'm sorry for essentially passing the baton, Hank ... ah, Jean, so I'd really be the one to ask on these matters. The news being ... well, Drake seems like he'd ... /like/ the team to be an extended getting to know you session. With a few ... benefits and all. They'd all like to be, ah, capable."
"This is a staff meeting, Forge," Jean notes, a smile cracking her smooth facade at the newest professor's vagueness of word choice. "You can say what you mean, and I promise I won't bite. Basically, I'm concerned." she now addresses both men, spreading her hands and leaning forward in her seat. "Drake keeps saying he wants one thing, but his plans for action keep indicating that he wants another... and it's that other that worries me greatly. I'm afraid I probably alienated him by being firm and letting him see that I was upset, but he's willing to confide in you two... is he still planning on combat training for other students?"
Beast shrugs, blue fur rippling a little as he does. "I don't know. I do know that he *wishes* to, strongly, but abides by your decisions. Frankly I cannot quite understand your reluctance, Jean, but as always I shall bow to your decision with all due deference. I would suggest, perhaps an extremely limited training schedule, simply to allow them all a chance to prove they can be responsible, or not, with the training they are given. Thus, if they succeed or fail it will be by their own efforts, and you will not be seen as the. . . I believe the term is 'the heavy?'. Readying them for combat in however small a measure, also doesn't necessarily preclude allowing them the chances to explore other interests, such as higher education. Merely provides the ability to be well-rounded." He sighs. "Should that reprobate Lowe win the Oval Office, we will all need as much combat readiness as we can receive, I fear. Every once of us, from the 12 year olds to the recent graduates."
"Yes, he plans to," Forge says, trying to keep his expression level. Will not be overtly embarrassed, will not. He just needs time to warm up to frankness sometimes. "I think it's ... important to him. He's talked about improving and extending powers through such practice as putting students in somewhat frantic positions where using their powers would be necessary to come out unscathed. And I mean scathed in the nicest, most temporary sense of the word. I ... don't personally feel that there's too much harm in it if it's carefully regulated and kept to the Institute. Although I do think that Drake would like to extend it out into the streets, I think he understands that he can't --" Beast's Lowe comment prompts a slow and slightly chilly glance from Forge, but he doesn't say anything.
"NO!" Well, there goes that calm facade. Jean, after all, is Charles Xavier's right hand, not Charles himself. Looking upset and clenching and unclenching her hands, Jean rises from her seat and begins to pace back in forth in front of the windows, a touch of betrayal in her eyes. "Hank, how could you, of all people, suggest something that goes against everything the School was set up for? We're standing for integration, not armed detente... God, the only reason I put on that damn uniform is so that they won't have to, and look at them all line up anyways to be heros..." Pace, pace, motions sharp and jerky, and then Jean abruptly stops, calming herself and sitting back down. "An avalanche starts with small stones. We already teach the kids self-defence with Logan. We already teach them to control and hone their powers. Drake's 'team building' ideas have military overtones that disturb me. They stand against everything we hope to accomplish, against Charles Xavier's dreams of integration, and it -also- disturbs me that you two are -supporting- something that would only lead to a bunch of teenagers out running about with combat skills who were too young or reckless or some other reason to be mentored by Scott, Logan, myself or the other senior team members. How does -that- serve the purpose of 90% or more of our graduates going on to lead perfectly normal lives?"
Beast flattens his ears against his head and gives Jean a decidedly irritated look. "Do not let your emotions override your judgement," he replies. "Neither of us said anything about letting them run amok half-trained. And," he adds, with polite sarcasm, "if you'll allow me to expand upon what I was saying, I do *not* condone Drake's rather, ah. . . well, as you said, militaristic ideals. This is not a mutant armed forces academy. We are here to keep the peace and to spread the idea of co-existance. I certainly would not allow them to use their powers at all outside this establishment, let alone in an offensive manner." His tone of voice says that the word offensive has at least a double meaning. "However, we cannot ignore the climate around us. It is not fair to them to form a team and give them mentors such as Logan or yourself, or Scott, and expect them to calmly take the idea of not only no fighting, but not even no training lying down. It is also unreasonable to force our students down a path that they do not want to travel. If they wish to be heroes, we surely cannot hinder that. If we instill good and noble ideals of co-existance and protection of the innocent and other principles involved in co-existance, then we must allow allow our youngsters the freedom to choose their own paths." His voice is gentle. "Jean, our student's hope of a normal life of any kind was taken away the second their mutations demanded recognition. We can't give them normalcy, but we can give them not only a decent life, but one in which they thrive, and grow. And what better way to do that then to encourage the seed to grow in the way it was planted?"
"Ah." Forge has to struggle to keep his eyes up. He honestly doesn't know what to say. "Coming ... as someone who has used his powers for a very long time outside of mutant facility or one intended to train and protect me, I suppose I could see the drive the students were feeling and in a selfish fashion, shared it, which might have ... blinded me to some extent. I am not terribly interested in the combat in and of itself. I honestly don't know what to think. Other than I probably shouldn't be involved." Doesn't know what to say.
"My judgement, Hank, is perfectly fine, thank you." Jean looks rather more irritated, rather than less. "But emotion and temper are part of me. I spent too many years hiding them so as not to upset Scott, and ended up upsetting him anyways, but no more. You're my friends, so you get to see the good, the bad, and the ugly. And I'm upset, so you're going to see that too." she states with a snort, before settling deeper in the chair. "I'm not ignoring the climate, and we -do- offer them training as it is... or perhaps I'm just hallucinating my six current psionics students. We're training them to use their powers effectively and ethically, and to defend themselves as it is... I'm not seeing why they need any more training, particularly not in how to fight. There's allowing them to choose their own paths, and then there's aiding and abetting them. I'm making an executive order, as Deputy Headmistress, and after consulting with the Professor, that there is to be no additional combat instruction authorized or delivered other than the forms currently available. If they want to do good, let them do it in non-violent fashions."
Beast nods, and asks with a rhetorical air though somehow it feels like it isn't quite, "And what will happen when they decide they want to become X-men for real? Or when we have to look at attrition, god forbid, and replacements? If they are not trained, and if they are denied the ability to follow their dreams, we may do more harm than good." He stands up and nods at Jean. "I believe you are wrong, though it grieves me to say it. But because we must all hang together, I will support you. I do claim my right to disagree with you in public, however, though not in front of the students. Most assuredly, if we don't hang together, we will assuredly all hang separately." He inclines his head. "Good evening to you both."
"Siryn. Drake. Jubilee. Kitty. Piotr. Rogue. Rachael. Bobby. John. There's our replacements." Jean ticks off on her fingers, voice and features tight. "Surely that's enough talent wasted on playing soldier games for now?" she asks, before sighing and nodding as well. "Thanks, Hank. I don't expect you to like it, or keep quiet about it, but them's the rules. And if we can't keep our ideals when the going gets hard, then what's the point of having them."
"Hank, I do believe that Jean just said that they were being trained, and, in my opinion, the students are considerably better trained than, say, myself. Drake is very capable. I scarcely know the others." Forge has keyed in his special talent of changing sides after a few moments' thought. What? "In any case, /I/ will adhere to the odo-- order. It's not my perogative or skill to teach anyone how to fight anyway. Good evening, Hank."
and a nice, non-angsty scene of Jean, Wesley, the lake and a small mystery,
X-Men MUCK - Monday, July 26, 2004, 11:33 PM
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<< XS >> The Docks
Thick durable wooden planks make up the mansion's lone dock extending out over Breakstone Lake. Built to last, it's a foot or two above the water to reduce decay and stop slippery algae from coating it. On the right side a clean, sparkly blue four person paddle boat floats. A chain connects the boat to a pole built into the dock that sports a painted sign, bearing the words, 'LifeJackets in boathouse--Required!' suggesting anyone can use it. The water's bottom drops out of view halfway down the docks long length, suggesting jumping in would be safe. Not far off is the rustic appeal of the Boathouse, sitting comfortable at the lake's edge.
[Exits : [T]he [B]oathouse, and [P]ath]
The chirping of crickets, the sound of an evening wind blowing through the trees. The peace is punctuated only occasionally by 'plunk' or a 'trip trip trip' of rocks skipping across the water. Sidled down beside the dock, Wesley currently is digging in the sand, rescuing the next handful of rocks for the next practice batch.
Jean emerges from the path through the woods with her walk an easy amble, and a flashlight in her hand to light the ground in front of her. The faint hum of mosquitos buzzes in the air, but Dr. Grey is laced liberally with bug spray, and seems quite comfortable in the summer night. "You're out late," she offers to Wesley, words quiet but carrying on the evening breeze. "Everything all right?"
Wesley glances up at Jean's approach, a quick grin coming to his face. "Just enjoying complete lack of homework. My biology teacher last year, she was a real killer." Plunk. Wesley grimaces at the poor throw. "I do like quiet every once in a while. And it's too hot to me inside."
"Man, I always hated being stuck with one of those." Jean grins in reply, helping herself to a seat on the edge of the dock and pressing her sandal'd feet into the sand. "But a lack of homework is always something worthy of celebration. Do you have any plans for the rest of the summer?" she wonders next, setting down the flashlight beside her and switching it off, comfortable in the summer night now that she needn't worry about tree roots. Out in the lake, something phosphorescent glows underneath about 20 feet of water.
"You mean other than throwing rocks into the lake?" Wesley asks cheerfully. "Sounds like a fun summer to me. Two plans. Or a plan and a goal, I guess. Or 2 goals. Staying with my grandma again for part of the summer--well, when I've not been hanging out here. Parents are traveling for... another week or two, then I'm going to spend the rest of the summer with them. Although it's strange how weird that'll be living at home with them again after being here. So that's the plan. First goal is to be able to tie water into a pretzel shape by the end of the summer. Second one, my parents want to know where I'm going to college by the end of the summer, so I need to figure that out too."
"Well, if you threw rocks in the lake all summer, you might run out of rocks by the end." Jean quips in reply, settling more comfortably on the dock and staring at the glow under the water thoughtfully. "And yes, it'll be odd going home to be with your parents... it always was with mine... but you'll find yourself enjoying it sooner or later. Something to be said about roots."
Wesley notices Jean's gaze and follows it to the water. Oh look, something shiny just went over that ridge. Really? He peers out across the lake a moment. "Would you have to kill me if I asked why the lake is glowing?" he finally asks, the joke somewhat dulled by the distracted tone of his voice. Yes, let's follow it.
"Only if it turned out to be some sort of bizarre extraterrestrial parasite." Jean replies, absently deadpan as she too stares out at the lake and the glowy spot. "Since then it would infect you and we'd have to kill you to save us all and contain it... but let's see what we've got here." And with that, the redhead closes her eyes and concentrates lazily, wrapping whatever it is at the bottom in a twist of telekinesis once she's mapped the lakefloor with her sixth senses.
Wesley breaks his view of the lake for a moment to watch Jean. This mind stuff is beyond him and he yawns lazily, obviously content to wait for her diagnosis and accompanying order of execution if need be. He idly dips a finger into the water the dock, first tracing nonsensical patterns on the water, then drawing condensed water into the air after his fingera and letting it splash back to the lake's surface in liquid form.
Right on schedule, up surfaces the mysterious glowing source. It appears to be nothing other than... "A glowstick." Jean pronounces, waving her hand and letting the raver toy drop in front of Wesley. "I suspect skinny dipping the other night, since it's looking a little faded. Enjoy?"
Wesley snorts at the thought. "I dunno. Seems enough people around here have x-ray vision, telepathy, visions, whatever. Don't need to be doing anything to add to that danger. Plus I'd not trust my clothes to be anywhere near here if I left them. Not that anyone would ever use their powers to do anything so... disreputable," he adds with a grin.
"I meant that I hoped you'd enjoy playing with the glowstick." Jean smirks crookedly, Logan apparently rubbing off on her. She picks up her flashlight again, passes the beam once across the lake surface, and then gets to her feet. "But that's a sensible plan. One reason I haven't tried it since my college days. Don't stay out too late, Wesley." And then she takes her leave.