OOC: Log!
X-Men MUCK - Sunday, April 02, 2006, 9:07 PM
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Bad Ass Coffee
The decor is one of tropical paradise. There are potted ferns and mini-palms in every nook and cranny, while the walls are painted a cheerful yellow and as much green or wooden decorations as possible have been added. Opposite the door is the counter where you order, a long line of giant cookie jars leading you to the register. Behind the counter are a plethora of tea leaves and coffee grounds, purchaseable brewed by the cup of packaged by the pound! You can get just about any kind of herbal tea, coffee, cinnamon bun, muffin, cookie, cake, pie, soup, chili, or sandwich here. They serve the works, all at really cheap prices. All around the open area are tall wooden tables with wooden barstools set around them, and off in each corner is a green couch and two matching armchairs. Up on a raised dias to the left is the smoking area, sealed off into it's own room with plexiglass windows and filled with similar tables and barstools. This place is the hangout of the altervative crowd -- artists, goths, punks, and the like. The people are friendly and the music is good -- enjoy!
[Exits : [O]ut ]
The evening in New York is a busy one, bustles of tourists and people on their way home pass the windows of the warm coffee shop, which proves as a haven from the cold early spring air. Inside the dull background music adds atmosphere to the general din of the coffee shop patrons. One of them has shuffled off to the side, seeming to wait patiently off towards the back counter. The teen is wearing her typical green overcoat, the hood flipped back as she idly watches the movements around her. Rogue leans up against the counter, waiting for either Jean or until a table is empty. Whichever comes first.
Still brown-dyed hair obscured by a neat little hat, and the collar of her wool coat turned up against the still-chill wind of early spring, Jean ducks into Bad Ass Coffee with eyes and mind alert. She makes her way over to Rogue with as straight a line as possible, bar occasional dodges and weaves around stationary people and potted plants in the crowded coffee bar. "Rogue," she greets quietly, seriously, arms held out. "How are you doing, honey?"
Rogue pulls a black gloved hand from her pocket, running a finger through the crumbs on the edge. She occasionally has to duck to the side or sidestep people reaching for packets of sugar. At the sound of her name Rogue looks up, her face creasing in a mixture nervous tension and anticipation. "Jean." Rogue says back, opening her own arms and walking quickly to embrace the older women. She presses her cheek to the material clad part of Jeans' shoulder. It's a tighter sort of hug that Rogue gives, the kind that people give when looking for comfort. "Fine... Ah guess. Ah've really missed you." She admits as she breaks the hug. "Ah know when yah left Ah wasn't exactly... well, /pleasant/ about it... but it's good t'see you. Thanks for coming."
"When I left," Jean murmurs, one hand gently stroking at Rogue's hair before she releases her to go steer them to some recently-freed seats, "I wasn't exactly in the best frame of mind to put you at ease. Don't worry about it," she assures, sitting and letting her hands rest on top of the ridiculously tiny little cafe table.
Rogue lets out a deep breath as if it's been in her lungs a long time. She falls quiet at the comment and follows Jean, skirting around the edge and sitting down at an equally small chair. "Th' mansion is ah'lot different wi'out you. Ah mean... even more different from when you live in th' city. Me an' Jubilee get in more trouble, it seems." Rogue flashes a small smile, though it doesn't last long. "I like yah hair." She comments, eyeing Jean for a moment.
"Scott's tried talking me into coming back," Jean admits, running a finger down a list of desserts made especially tantalizing with pictures posted beside descriptions laced with words like 'luscious' and 'sinful' and 'chocolate'. "I don't know if I'm ready to come back all the way, yet, pick up everything I dropped, but I think I might visit." Tap, tap, tap. The finger lingers over something described as Kahlua Truffle Decadence. "Thanks," she eventually says, absently and vis-a-vis the hair. "It's for a cover. Too many people know Jean Grey, and red hair's a quick way to make them start thinking of me. But how are you doing?"
Rogue glances over at the menu, eyebrows rising as she reads what she needs and looks away. "People there miss you, but Ah guess y'should stay 'way as long as yah see fit. S'much as Ah don't wanna tell you that." Rogue says with a huff of laughter. She leans back in her chair, one hand fiddling with the others' glove. "Yeah, Ah know what y'mean." Her eyes round up towards a few silver strands hanging over her brow. "Me? Well... geeze, Ah dunno Jean. Ah know Ah pulled ah stupid prank. Scott lectured me for what seemed like hours." Rogue rolls her eyes. "Ah got some bad things up here, Jean. Jus' from ah few seconds." She taps her temple gently.
"Scott lectures because he worries," Jean reveals, smile small and wry. "But he also lectures pretty well, so I'm not going to go over ground he's already covered. Do you want to talk about the memories?" she asks, waving at one of the harried servers and getting a five-minutes sign in return. "I know Detective Rossi reasonably well, although I wouldn't say we're close. I could give you a little context, if that would help."
Huh? Just type "help".
Rogue looks a bit sarcastic as she smiles, her hand tucking the drifting hair back behind her ear. "He mus' worry alot th' amount he lectured." She says more to herself. Rogue flinches, about to inquire as to how Jean knows it was Rossi. But, what's the point to ask a telepath? "Ah guess it would. See... it was like ah scene from ah movie. A murder, Ah think... in ah church." Rogue tenses up as she thinks about it, her arms tucking into her ribcage.
Jean, rather like Professor Dumbledore, has her sources. Jean, also like Professor Dumbledore, doesn't seem inclined to reveal them, or even mention they exist. "He's a homicide detective," she murmurs. "Of all the memories you could think to borrow, his are probably some of the highest on the horrific scale. What happened, in that scene? Can you talk about it?"
Rogue sinks in her chair, her hands pressing onto the cool table as she calms herself. "You're right. But... really, y'think for once Ah'd luck out an' get something a little... better." She gripes, her eyes glued down on her hands. "Well, it was really vague. But it felt so real. He must have... have been there when the women was shot. I could see it Jean. Th' blood an' everything. But other than tha'... Ah can't figure out much more."
"It's very, very rarely pleasant to get anyone's memories," the telepath across the table murmurs, a look of negative nostalgia on her face as she drops her gaze to stare at mug rings on the surface of it. "Trust me on that one. About the only ones I've run across recently that were happy hearing are ones that I won't share because they involve Logan and my sex life," she teases carefully, trying to steady the mood from diving too sharply downwards. Serious again, she reaches across the table, palm up, for the gloved Rogue to hold her hand if she needs it. "He may have been there, or, if she was someone he had strong feelings about, that often colours memories more sharply. Does he know what your powers can do?" she asks.
There is a dark look that flashes across her face as she dwells on the memory. "You would know, wouldn't yah?" She admits with a glance up at the other. Jeans ploy seems to work enough as Rogue laughs and coughs at the same time, her head turning up as she grinds her teeth together. "Yeah, you jus' keep that you yahself, thanks." The hand is taken quite readily. "Yeah..." Something in her mind triggers, but she doesn't say anything. Of course, the name Leah floats around her head strongly. "He does now." Rogue mumbles.
Leah. Click, and the tumblers turn, and a mental lock swings open for Jean. "Leah Canto?" she asks, lifting an eyebrow questioningly at Rogue. "If he knows... you could try talking to him about it. He's always been horrified about what Nate might be picking up from him, and you'd probably fit under the heading of 'one of the innocents'. Hell," she laughs, without humour. "Even after what I've done, he still thinks I'm some sort of idealistic naif."
Rogue squints her eyes for a moment. "That's it! Ah couldn't remember th' last name..." She looks almost excited for a moment. Rogue leans forward, clinging on every word that Jean is saying. "Talk t'Rossi? No no... af'er th' way he acted around me an' Jubilee? You'd think we were growin' horns from th' way he talked ah'bout us." She snorts and pulls her hand away, folding her arms over her chest. "'Sides, he's probably scared stiff o'me or somethin'. M'not sure he should know what Ah got from him."
"Well, it's your decision," Jean admits, although her opinion transmits clearly across her features before she schools them back to still serenity. "And... that gives a little context. Leah Canto is a woman who was a reporter. Right wing, and then she was recruited by the Friends of Humanity to be their mouthpiece for the press. Apparently, she changed her mind and wanted out." She pauses before comcluding, clipped and military-shorthand against any escaping emotional clouding, "They killed her. Videotaped the execution, and gave it to CNN to broadcast all over the news. She and Detective Rossi were... close."
Rogue runs her tongue along the backs of her teeth, her eyes staring off into space as she concentrates. "Th' Friends of Humanity..." Rogue repeats to herself, finally looking up to Jean. "But... Ah don't understand. What was that church from? Th' priest... th' old voice. An' if everyone knows it was them... they're all in jail, righ'?" She asks hastily, her eyebrows creasing in worry and concentration.
"A good number of them," Jean assures, squeezing Rogue's hand in light reassurance contrasting the heavy certainty to her voice. "I helped see them put there. As for the church and the priest... the thing with memories is that they aren't always separate," she muses, eyes going vague as she thinks about things metaphysical. "Especially in the mind of a non-telepath, things tend to get muddled. There's interconnections to the wierdest things," she sums up, not seeing fit to mention a certain Father Rossetti as a possible explanation.
"Good." Rogue spits, seeming to take a small delight in knowing some of the FoH's are rotting in jail cells. The explanation of the muddling pacifies Rogue enough, knowing it's useless to ask much more. "Once again, you're probably right." Her eyes turn away to try and find a server as her stomach gives a lurch. "This would have all been a lot easier if you had been in th' mansion. Ah know you think you have t'act so strong to everyone. But Jean... Ah... an' Jubilee an' Kitty. We're growin' up. We aren't kids 'nymore. It's not so important 'nymore tha' you appear invincible to us." Rogue pauses to purse her lips, giving Jean a serious look. "An' one day Ah hope you can feel comfortable enough to confide in me as you allow me feel about you."
"It's not about trying to keep looking invincible that's got me staying away, Rogue. I know that I'm not, and I know that you don't need me to be." Jean's further assurance is quiet and gentle, but made with firmness and no hint of sheepish apology to it. She follows Rogue's look, and waves again at the server, who starts to wade through the crowd towards them, rolling his eyes slightly. "And if I thought it would do any good to share with you what I've gone through, I would. But I can't see it helping me, and I -can- see it harming you." Flickers of thought light her eyes, brown with their contact lenses, of angry, stubborn, loyal and protective Marie D'Ancanto given a target like Emma Frost and the Hellfire Club to direct that personality at. Flickers of worry soon follow. Neither set are given voice.
Rogue seems a little upset. Her arms slide back against her chest, weaving together in a look of defiance. She glances away and back a few times. One corner of her mouth tightens up in a half frown. "Y'worry too much about me. Ah'm not fragile, Jean. Ah've been through some rough stuff too, y'know." Heavens knows the life of any X-member isn't an easy one. "One day Ah'll be a friend an' not a student, Ah hope." Rogue says quickly before the server arrives. "Erm, yeah. Some tea an' th' brownie sunday."
"You -are- a friend, Marie," Jean replies, before looking up and ordering "A caramel macchiato and a slice of the Kahlua torte, please." into the silence. Once the server's asked such things as 'will that be all' and has been given his answer, he's off and Jean, after watching him for a few paces, can turn back to what she was talking about. "Only four people have heard the whole story of what happened to me. It's not that I'm not telling anyone but friends, or that I don't think you can handle it... it's just..." She shakes her head, looking distant again. "Everyone tells me I should talk about it, so the less I want to."
Rogue jerks her head up at her actual name. It's odd, hearing it from someone other than Logan for once. He eyes dart after the server as well, lingering a bit long than Jean's in a good excuse not to look at her. They finally follow back over, however, and Rogue leans back in her chair, holding up her hands. "Fair 'nough, Jean. But when there is ah time tha' Ah don't talk ah'bout something no matter how badly you wanna hear, you remember me an' how Ah'm about to drop it. For good." Rogue looks at her for a moment. "An' don't even think about th' mind games thing, or else me an' Magneto'll have matching hats." Rogue smirks, lightening her own mood considerably.
"So you only want to know what happened because you're curious and I'm not telling?" Jean wonders, tipping her chin and lifting an eyebrow as her tone goes quite mild. She meets Rogue's eyes and holds them, before letting the joke wash over her and answering with a brief flash of a smile. "I don't think it'd suit you, to be honest. It's kind of dorky looking, in the overall scheme of things."
Rogue sends her a sharp look. "You know tha' ain't true." She says, turning her look away. "'Cause Ah care. An' Ah don't show tha' side o' me much. You should fee honored." She says, tilting her chin up. Rogue cuts her eyes over, trying to stifle a smile. "Yeah? Well then. You have been warned. Ah'm blaming you if Ah end up havin' to wear one." Rogue takes a deep breath, her fingers fussing with the fork and knife on her napkin. "Well, all life drama aside... how have you been? Logan's keepin' yah 'nough company, Ah'm gatherin'."
"I've been... surprisingly good, actually," Jean admits, the pause for thought turning up something of still-genuine surprise. "I'm running a little free clinic, so I'm getting a chance to just practise medicine and help the community. No saving the world in grand swoops, no whipping up political opposition to majority misrule. No bleeding and breaking against one supervillain then another, then another after that. I fix a kid's broken arm, it stays fixed. I help a teen mom find a daycare center for her baby girl, and she gets to go back to finish school. It's pretty intensely satisfying, seeing your progress like that." Vaguely, she stares into space, before allowing that "I could always use volunteers..."
Rogue smiles thinly to herself as Jean reveals. Her elbow slides up on the table, her hand cupping around her chin for support. "See? Tha's th' most important part Ah wanted t'hear." She muses with a jerk of her eyebrows. "You leave th' world savin' to Scott an' Storm. From what Ah gather, there aint been much going on 'nyways. Not tha' they tell /me/ much." Rogue's ears nearly prick up as Jean hints on something. "Oh yeah...?" She presses, looking intrigued. "Well... Ah mean... Ah'm no Mother Teresa... but. You know what? Helpin' people in th' smaller ways don't sound half bad." The server returns, the drinks and desserts in tow. Rogue tears her gaze from Jean to her newly arrived food.
"Well, Detective Rossi's right in one sense. I guess I -am- an idealist, a little," Jean says, rueful but not gainsaying. "At least when it comes to wanting to see things fixed and people happy and in peace. And you can't forget the smaller ways," she philosophises with a wave of her recently-delivered fork before it plunges into the dessert. "I think that's maybe something I needed to learn."
Rogue gives her a sly smile. "A /little/?" She teases playfully. "Maybe being th' superhero is overrated." Rogue wonders aloud, her spoon twirling thoughtfully between her fingers. "'Course, Ah may jus' being sayin' tha' what with havin' jus' about th' most useless power when it comes t'that saving th' day junk." She looks hard at her glove and slips it off before going at the brownie. "Now what tha' about an old dog an' new tricks? Ah figure you've still got enough time t'learn ah thing or two... s'old as you are." Rogue gives an almost Jubilee-like grin.
"Any more cracks about my age, and you're -wearing- this torte," Jean warns, grinning in return and lifting her loaded fork menacingly.
Rogue laughs into her brownie. "Oh, c'mon. You're probably ten... no ah'/hundred/ times younger than' Logan.... which, now tha' Ah think about it, is kinda disturbing." She taps the spoon on her plate as the thought occurs to her.
"He only remembers the past twenty years fully," Jean states, primly, after eating her cake instead of throwing it. "Therefore, you could argue that he's functionally -younger- than I am. His telomeres are longer than mine, anyways."
Rogue still looks a bit sly at her comment. "Well, if yah wanna get scientific about it. An' he's treating you all righ'? Ah don't have t'rough him up 'ny? Ah can, you know. Jus' gimme th' word!" Rogue says, stuffing a bit of ice cream into her mouth while nodding.
Jean laughs at that, a sudden mental image occurring of slender Rogue vs. big manly Logan. She feels the need to share it projecting it with an added filter of absurdity. "No, we're just fine," she assures. "He was there for the roughest spots. Fed me chicken wings and took me out on the bike."
Rogue rolls her eyes to the side, a large, amused smile lightening her face at the image. "Ah wouldn't stand ah chance." She adds with a shake of her head. "Good. Ah don't see him much around th' mansion. Ah'm hoping tha's because he's with you. Ah worry, Ah'm going to admit it."
"Logan goes his own way, sometimes," Jean admits, focusing her attention on slicing her cake into delicate forkfuls. "But his way is definitely with the school and the people in it that he cares about. And you're a big one, Rogue. He'd never have stayed in the first place, if it wasn't for you."
Rogue trains her eyes on the vanilla smothered square of chocolate. "Ah was just a runty lil' stow ah'way, y'know. Ah never did anything special." She says, slipping some of the sugar hyped food into her mouth. Chew, swallow, repeat. "Besides... he /almost/ left me out in th' middle of nowhere." Rogue sits up slightly, inwardly grinning at the memory. "Not as tough as he acts, righ'? Took pity on me, af'er all. And he has yet t'kill Scott. Tha's gotta count for somethin'."
"A great big something, in fact." Smiling herself, Jean focuses on her coffee and cake, content to sit in silence for a while.