OOC: Xavier/Jean/Scott Log!
X-Men: Movieverse 2 - Saturday, December 02, 2006, 7:22 PM
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=XS= Xavier's Office - Lv 1 - Xavier's School
This is a quiet, gracious room, wood panels and polished wooden floor giving warmth to a great and high-ceilinged study. A large fireplace claims the inner wall, a mantel lipped wide under a 16th century painting of Leonidas at Thermopylae. Colors are rich, glowing with life and vigor; the room itself is adorned likewise, thick rugs laid underfoot to draw together the hues of curtains and prints. A large desk dominates the far end of the room, framed behind by high windows that look out across the lawn. Closer to the door, bookshelves curl around the corner, framing a small nook for heavy, butter-soft leather chairs and sofas circled around a small tea table and chessboard.
[Exits : [Li]brary and [X]avier's [R]oom]
[Players : Xavier and Scott ]
"--expect I will spend at least some of next week in Washington," the rich, wry voice concludes. "I sometimes wonder about the Secretary. His timing is rarely short of diabolical."
Winter it may be in name and in temperature -- the light that drizzles in from outside is wan, sucked thin and sterile by the aging year -- but in Xavier's office, the best parts of autumn are not to be unseated. The fire that crackles on the wide hearth adds its red and gold light to the carpets; the warm glow of wood (and heat, blessed heat!) contribute to comfort of a homely sort. Seated in a large wingtip chair by the fireplace, Charles Xavier glances up at his companions and smiles, affection relaxing the stern, strong features. "I trust you will manage without me?"
Autumn colours too, for the woman seated at the chess board, auburn hair and burgundy sweater mated with a thin gold chain on which a meditation ring sits in lieu of on oft-gloved fingers. Those long, slender fingers are bare now, busy spinning the central band of the ring in idle contemplation broken by an upwards look and a ready flash of an answering smile. "Worst case scenario, Scott ends up bailing everyone but himself out of jail," Jean quips.
"Well, hopefully this week's...excitement is past." Scott is /always/ in fall colors. That is to say, neutrals. Today's khakis are supplemented by a forest green button down. He's rearranged one of the chairs to allow him to view both of them. "Because there certainly is such a thing as bad publicity, whatever people may say. But yes, we'll manage. You just focus on what needs to be done down there."
"So many responsibilities 'down there,'" Xavier says dryly. "Both in Washington and in the basement. The Secretary has already suggested that he's aware of our new, flamboyant houseguest. I trust she is settling in?" A quizzical lift of an eyebrow folds wrinkles across his forehead. His glance flicks between Scott and Jean, encompassing them both in a generalized question.
"Reasonably well," Jean reports, levity fading into business with a creaking shift of her chair and a renewed spinning of the little meditation ring. "No progress that the NYPD would be interested in, but we had some success with a pallet of self-healing foam for her to use as a bed, and I've set her up with thick wax crayons and as much paper as she'd like. Jessa's a crossover from Peds," she names off one of the small and shifting array of medical residents that pass through the Xavier infirmary, "So she's happy to spend time with her. I was thinking of asking Forge if he could cme up with some kind of fabric she'd be able to wear."
"Yes, but would she wear it even if she could?" Scott stands, crossing the room and walking to the window. "Two of the team hospitalized, two of them in police cells. I wonder what other surprises 2006 has to spring on us before it's over."
"Aliens." Jean addresses this to the white rook.
"Thank you, Jean," says Charles, deadpan. "If it's all the same to you, I think I may ask Santa for some peace and quiet for Christmas. At my age, it seems more appropriate than another necktie. --See what Forge can do. And ... perhaps Piotr can convince her to wear them. If she's to learn to integrate with society--" But there the Shakespearean voice breaks off, perplexed.
"This place hasn't been quiet for twenty years," Scott turns, back to the wall. "I don't think you'd sleep the night through even if there weren't any explosions to wake you. She does seem rather attached to Peter. I'm not sure I like asking him to stay armored for so long, though."
"What of Logan?" Xavier asks the fireplace, mild. "His healing factor -- and Kitty's phase abilities -- make them safe companions for her."
"We can all take turns," Jean agrees, advancing the rook forwards to threaten a black bishop, one corner of her mind still caught wondering about circles and schemes with capital letters in them before she drags it back to the topic and reinforces the walls around her thoughts. "I'm not worried for myself if I'm careful, and I think I can probably help her with her fine motor skills. But I don't know if she'll ever be able to integrate with society -- and not because of her appearance alone."
"Still no progess trying telepathy?" Scott asks. He crosses back, sinking into his chair again. "NYPD won't like that. Then again, I'm not sure they'll like /anything/ as far as she's concerned."
Charles tips his head, the firelight glowing red gold across his crown. "An understandable sentiment, from their perspective," he grants, that crease folding his brow again. "However innocent she may be in mind, she has seriously injured at least one person. And I agree that the chances of her living a normal life are slim, at best."
"Poor little hedgehog," Jean murmurs, before snorting ruefully. "We have -got- to come up with a name for her," she interjects, turning around to lean one sweater-clad arm along the back of her chair, the better to lean further still and rest her cheek against it. Warmed from the fireplace and edging towards drowsy because of it, her voice is lightly muffled from the leaning and her eyes are half-closed in thought. "If we can teach her to be gentle and to be physically aware of herself, and if we can find a way to help her out of the really extreme fear responses, then she can at least live a life in some contact with other people."
"A lot of 'ifs'," Scott shrugs. "But we've managed worse. Although at least with them we could communicate. I think we've played our last 'Get out of jail free' card, though. The mood at the station was /not/ friendly."
The Professor looks gently bemused, then amused, then resigned. "It was inevitable," he supposes philosophically. "Perhaps we will send Mutant Affairs a gift basket for Christmas, although at this point, I imagine anything more than muffins will result in accusations of attempted bribery. --As for our little enigma, I did find a memory of a painting in her mind. I believe I may have Jackson assist us by tracking it down. It may prove a clue to her past."
"This is the first time some of theirs have been hurt by one of ours." Jean attempts interpretation, eyes open again as she turns the lean into a stretch, and sits up in her chair ones more, running weary hands through her hair to order it again. "When we're simply regarded as misguided idiots, it's easy to tolerate us. But what painting was that, Charles?"
"The distinction between us and the rest of mutant kind is rather blurred in their minds, I'd say," is all Scott adds to that thought. "Painting? Jackson will be glad for something to do, I'm sure. He's asked to start training again." That thought elicits a small sigh.
Charles's lips twitch at Scott's quiet exhalation, but the obliging picture that briefly glows in their minds -- tattered through secondhand memory, a ghost of color and shape -- owes none of its static to humor. "He may have more success than I. I'm afraid my grasp of art has fallen woefully short, of late."
Jean's mind puzzles at the image, turning it through degrees of freedom and filters for colour and contrast, but eventually gives up, letting it fade into some bit of vague memory. "At the very least, it will let him feel like he's doing more than hiding," is her opinion, to both training and art. "It's good of you to offer him a TA's position, but I imagine what he'd probably like best of all is to not have a psychpath chasing him, so that he can go back to his own life -- incidentally, the tabloids have decided there's a torrid love triangle between Creed, Jackson and Logan," she feels inclined to share, delicately.
Scott makes a choking sound at that last bit. "I've got nothing," he says, commenting instead on the painting. "I'm sure Jackson will be able to track it down. Good kid--I'm just reluctant to drag him back into...life here."
"I would /prefer/ that our students make lives for themselves outside the school," Charles grants, propping his chin in his hand to study Scott, a twinkle lighting the hazel-eyed regard. "However, if he truly has attracted the attention of the charming Mr. Creed -- I trust there is no truth in the rumor, Jean? Jareth and Alyssa aside, there is only so much I can tolerate--" He trails off. His mouth curls. "You have jumped in with a vengeance, Scott."
"I suppose we can't rule out the possibility of Logan developing some late-in-life bisexual leanings," Jean muses, dry and entirely straight faced, and entirely out of unholy glee at the choking noises from Scott. "But I -can- confirm that he remains interested in women, and you've probably already assumed that the lack of shattered vases means he hasn't been cheating on me." (This doesn't mean that, two stories up, a news clipping hasn't been slipped under the Wolverine's bedroom door, with 'Does this make me a fag hag? Love and kisses, Jean' written below it in Sharpie.)
Scott winces visibly at that thought. Well, partly at both thoughts, though he doesn't let the second linger. "Have you ever known me to do otherwise," he says, carefully responding to Xavier instead. "There's plenty to do--Leisure time is scarce for any of us."
The smile lines deepen at the corners of Charles's eyes. "Scarce, perhaps, but to be appreciated the more when it's available," he says mildly. "I will not tell you to work less, my boy, but be sure to take some time for yourself. The X-Men will not function well if our assorted troubles drive their leader mad."
<< Karaoke. >> Jean murmurs, for Scott's mind alone. She moves a black knight on the board, playing both sides at irregular intervals, and with little real thought to strategy. "You can send Jackson to me for some training, too, if it'll help. I've... had contact with illusionists who learned from people-not-us. There are applications we'd never thought of."
"I'll be fine," Scott replies to Xavier, before giving Jean a Look. Which, for not being able to see his eyes, is still remarkably conveyed through the mouth and eyebrows. << Perhaps bowling, >> he finally compromises. "If you feel...up to it, I may do that. Coordinating all the individual sessions I would /like/ to handle is quite a feat. I need a secretary."
"That," Xavier says with alarming promptness, "can be arranged, if you like. Would you like a full-time or a part-time secretary?"
Jean shares a smile with the chess pieces, compromise and a Look a good evening's work in the ongoing task of Scott's socializing. "Go for a personal assistant," is her suggestion.
"It was more an expression," Scott shrugs. "I'm not sure it would actually help, at the moment. Organizing doesn't make any more hours in the day. Although I can think of any number of things around here people could use help with, actually. The phones ringing to mind immediately."
Charles looks briefly amused again, though it is a passing expression. "A million things," he murmurs, curling long fingers around the chair's arms, "and two hands and one mind to deal with them. Delegate as you see fit, Scott. Some of the older children can offer assistance with the school itself. They are often eager enough to meddle where they aren't invited; let us see what they can accomplish when they are."
"Cassy springs to mind," Jean muses, setting up the black queen to take out the white one, in a completely petty, if self-aware, bit of displacement. "Honor's a sensible young thing, and Jeremy too. We could have Walter count paperclips to keep him out of trouble..."
"Perhaps we'll give Cassy to you as a personal assistant for Christmas," Scott suggests, a corner of his mouth turning up in amusement. "I think we'd need more paperclips. Perhaps shoveling the driveway instead."
The Professor's glance at Scott is reproachful; he does not have ruby glasses to mute the eloquence of his expression. "The gardeners would be delighted with assistance," he says tactfully, leaving it unspoken what /kind/ of assistance they would prefer. "Piotr or Ki-- perhaps Piotr could oversee him. Although we seem fair set to overextend him as much as we overextend you, Scott. Perhaps we can put up a board of tasks that could use volunteers, and they can volunteer and be trained as they wish."
"That could be good. Count it as volunteer credits towards graduation -- I can use more people down at my clinic besides Mira," Jean muses, eyeing the chess board one last time before looking up. "But on the topic of clinics, and therefore medical bays, I should probably go see how our hedgehog is doing. Anything else I should look into, Charles?"
"Peter will manage to do anything we ask of him," Scott agrees with that assessment. "I'm trying to keep this in mind. And for all their overeagerness...well, Christmas break is only weeks away. Something else to I'm keeping in mind."
"Outside stimulus," Xavier tells Jean, the long fingers sliding across the smooth brow to cradle it in a shadowy steeple. His voice is hollowed somewhat by the bell of his palm, the rich claret of his baritone fed through his hand. "Give her outlets for self-expression, and see if the picture cards trigger anything in her. I believe everything else is taken care of, for the moment. -- I admit I'm looking forward to the winter break. We still need a list of the students who will be remaining here."
"Until we can be sure she's not going to take off for Central Park and Creed, I might see if she'd like to take some time in the Danger Room," Jean muses. "Visual stimulus... although if I've got some backup, no reason we can't take her out onto the grounds." Vaguely, absently, she gestures, drawing forth the thoughts into a more cohesive form as she gets to her feet. "And I'll send around a class list of all the names whose parents or guardians haven't gotten back to us with release forms."
"Kitty and Peter can help with that," Scott suggests. "They should know who will be around during the holidays anyways. And speaking of visual stimulus, that might be a good way to again utilize Jackson--two birds with the same stone."
Charles inclines his head. "A good notion," he approves. "Though I'd dislike our guest to feel as though she's in a prison, we do remain responsible for her, and as long as Sabertooth has an interest in her and Jackson, there is a continuing danger to the entire school. I'll trust security to you both, as always. --And now," he adds with some resignation, "I think I need to book some tickets."
"Hopefully, nobody's borrowed our entire bandwidth for a 'project'," Jean muses, with a dire tone and a bracketing of her fingers. "But good luck in Washington." With that, and a little nod, she pads out, in search of Yvette.
"Sometime soon," Scott begins, beginning to take his leave, but pausing at the door, "I'm going to make you book a trip for someplace /not/ business. Have a good night." With a quick wave, he heads out without any further elaboration.
In which hedgehogs are discussed, but still unnamed, Logan's sexuality is questioned, and student labour is considered.