Of Rogues and Reports:
ICly sent a few days ago -- there's this whole 'school' thing that keeps sitting on me.
-----------------
SUBJECT: Rogue
SENT:Saturday, March 10, 2007 6:17 AM
FROM: drgrey@x-school.edu
TO: SRXMEN@listsev.x-school.edu
-----------------
Something's up with Rogue. From what I can tell, (Logan, you can probably give a better description?) she's been suddenly manifesting the personalities of various people she's absorbed over the years, from me to Magneto. I've had it from Bobby now, too, seen a little of it myself...
She's not caused any harm to herself or anyone else, and I don't know if this is some kind of inevitable progression from her powers, or something else, but we need to sit her down and get her to see she needs to have this looked at.
Jean
-----------------
SUBJECT: The Bone Gnawer case
SENT: Monday, March 12, 2007 11:23 AM
FROM: drgrey@x-school.edu
TO: XMEN@listsev.x-school.edu
-----------------
Or at least that's what the last news report on the last victim called it. I suspect some newsie's a closet geek, because apparently that's the name of some sort of fictitious clan of werewolves, if the roleplaying books one of our own crop of young geeks left in the library is an indications. (What? There were interesting pictures.)
Anyways, Walter has learned from Yvette that the mysterious figure who'd abducted and imprisoned her is named 'Marius'. First names aren't precisely much to go on, but it's a start. I've passed it on to the NYPD. Hopefully, they can work with Interpol to see if there are any Mariuses that appear in connection with the artist already identified as a member of Yvette's family. So, not much of an update, but more than we'd had before.
X-Men: Movieverse 2 - Thursday, March 08, 2007, 10:15 PM
--------------------------------------------------------
=XS= The Roof - Xavier's School
Through a small little door accessed from the attic, one may stand or sit out here on a flat section of the mansion's roof on cool summer evenings, or anytime really, to think. Most of the mansion's grounds can be viewed from here as well as Westchester on, beautiful in the spring and fall when all things are blooming anew or the earthy, patchwork quilt of autumn lays across the land. Visible in the distance is the city skyline of New York. Over by the gardens, a tall oak tree boasts a treehouse in its branches. Someone feeling adventurous could probably jump and make it...
[Exits : [B]ack [I]nside and [J]ump]
[Players : Kurt ]
The roof is a quiet place most nights, and quieter still when it's a brisk 22 degrees out. With an hour 'til curfew and quiet hours begin, the student area of the Xavier Zoo is predictably buzzing, as the young and the teenaged attempt to make as much noise as possible in the time they have left. Strains of Green Day and Morrissey clashing with Xtina making it all the way up to Jean's room, she's made her escape. A figure wrapped in a long black wool coat perches atop a disused and blocked off chimney, and thusly smokes a cigarette.
Conversation with another of the zookeepers has sent Kurt in search of quiet as well. He arrives upon the roof in his usual fashion. He appears in a puff of black smoke off near one edge of the building. This is not a teleport aimed at tracking and startling Jean, but it is likely to have the latter effect anyway.
Amazingly enough, it doesn't! Maybe it's the open space, softening and muffling the distinctive BAMF with a lack of walls to trap it in. Maybe it's the illicit nicotine. But while there's certainly a sharp jerk of her head towards the noise, no household appliances die this day. "Kurt!" Jean greets, brightly and bright-smiling as she attempts to hide her cigarette in a cupped palm. "Nice evening, huh?"
For a change, it is Kurt who ends up startled. He turns around with his eyes wide and a hand clutching at his chest. "Mein Gott, Jean. You nearly scared me out of my fur." He chuckles though and backs away from the ledge to amble toward Jean's perch. "It is. A little brisk, but it is easier on the head than the battle of the bands."
There is no cigarette in sight. The scent of Marlboro still hangs in the air all the same. Carefully keeping her hand cupped until the cancer stick can be surreptitiously dropped and squashed, Jean's smile takes on a briefly triumphant quality. In a word, she smirks. "Boo," she intones solemnly, before the smile eases back into more gentle amusement, tinged with wryness and followed by a groan. "You're telling me. I swear, I was this close to asking one of our resident audiokinetics to take care of things. At least they put the Britney to bed. 'Slave 4 U' one more time was going to result in mysterious mp3 losses."
Kurt chuckles as he finishes his approach. He smiles at her, though it may be easy enough to pick out that he is looking at her cupped hand. Telepathy, perhaps is not neccessary for this. "Do you think there is a reason why they play the same song so many times?" He shakes his head, brows furrowing. "Do they not grow tired of listening to that strange woman who has decided that Herr Professor's hairstyle is one to be envied?"
The hand twitches, as if independantly aware it's being watched. Nooooo cigarette. Nope. Ignore the little fall of ash that drops out from under it, and the little ember that goes with it. Jean seems to be treating it as a separate entity anyways, instead offering her opinion that "I actually feel a little bad for the woman. I mean, she's lived her life since a pre-teen in the spotlight, and now it's catching up with her." A pause, and she reflects that "It makes me wonder what will happen when or if the President ever decides to clarify his slip of the tongue."
Kurt does not decide to call her on sneaking a cigarette. He instead nods his head slowly. "You may have a point, ja. It is all over the television even now, that the woman has lost her mind." He looks up toward Jean. "Do you think it will be very much different from when the school was exposed as a haven for mutants?"
Jean is pleased. Her reversion to a formerly-beaten bad habit may be slowly becoming the worst-kept secret ever, amongst Xavier faculty, but... still. The remnants of the cigarette are dropped carefully, and just as carefully crushed under one boot heel. "I think so," she predicts, lips drawn out to pensive thinness, and her shoulders going tense and still. "A school for mutants is one thing. A band of uniformed crime-fighters allied but separate from the U.S. government?" A soft snort. "The -best- case is that they start calling us superheroes and we get our own show on NBC."
"Will I be allowed to play myself?" Kurt abruptly asks, as if this were the most pressing question he could imgine. With that out of the way though, he smiles gently up toward Jean. "Are you doing okay, Jean? Is there stress that is tugging upon your lun-" He changes his mind late enough to get his teasing in, "Your mind?"
Kurt's reward for the teasing is an immediate "I can quit any time I--" followed by a rueful pause. "Well, I can quit any time things slow down long enough for me to go through withdrawl without needing to ramp the nicotine patches back up halfway through the process because something's exploded and I'm not allowed to drop a car on people." Jean is not wholly unawares of her position.
Nightcrawler's voice is warm as he smiles gently to her. "If ever you need to talk, I am perhaps a better listener than cigarettes." His thoughts hop from cigarette jokes about going down smooth to, of all things, Emma Frost. "I actually have a question for you, now that I think of it."
"Ah, but can I hide you in my jacket pocket and carry you with me?" Jean wonders, eyes twinkling gently as it appears a lecture about the state of her lungs is not forthcoming. She scootches sideways on the chimney, and pats the freed space beside her, shields raised enough that her curiosity is unmarred by instinctive Emma-bristle. "What?"
Kurt makes his way up to the offered seat with his usual ease. He jumps and ends up crouched there, perched rather like a gargoyle. "I think I will go courting very soon. I was hoping, perhaps, that you could offer me some advice."
Because there is something plush and friend-shaped now sitting beside her, and because there are no students lurking around to be pesky, Jean leans sideways to rest her head briefly against Kurt's shoulder and grin at him. "-Really-? That's awesome! Who's the lucky lady?"
"Emma Frost," Kurt declares with a grin shines down upon his friend as she leans against him. This grin speaks volumes, which are echoed in his mind. There is great mischief afoot in Herr Wagner's mind.
"...What?" The cry of the Grey sounds crisp and sharp on the night air. "Kurt, are you -insane-? The woman's evil!"
Kurt's laughter is light and playful, which is hopefully some small reassurance. "Is that not the way of many beautiful women? My present company is exluded, of course," he amends in shameless compliment.
"But... I'm not exaggerating." The shameless compliment sails over the head of a Jean staring at Kurt as if he's added a second head to being blue, fuzzy, tridactyl and tailed. There's a flash of actual worry in her eyes despite it all. "Seriously, Kurt, she's trouble. And she'll do anything she can to mess with people close to me because she knows it will hurt me." (It's possible that Emma in Jean's mind has had knowing sin attributed to her where unfortunate accident would better fit. But shhh.)
Kurt raises one of those thick fingers in light protest. "I know Jean. She is a terrible woman. But would it not be hilarious to see her reaction to a suitor as unique as I am? Especially if I made my advances under the watchful eye of Herr Professor?"
Well, -that- gets through the protective bristling and fluffing. Jean stops, hand midway to reaching for a fresh cigarette. "..." is what comes out. And then Jean giggles.
The giggle is as good as gold to Kurt. He seems to perk all over, his tail raising up and beginning to sway behind him. "Now," Kurt asks, his grin absolutely devilish with delight. "Do you think you have any courting advice for me, mein Freund?"
The giggle is unlikely to ever be repeated where any student ears can hear it, and it's a short-lived thing to begin with, but the ability to laugh at her self-appointed sum of all fears is a good sign. Jean's hand moves away from the cigarettes, and instead tucks itself beneath her chin. "Well," she says. "Emma has a massive sense of style and society... a taste for the dramatic -- which must be why she decided to bag Warren," she tacks on, cattiness tempered by fondness for the half of the pair not Emma Frost. "Oh. And she's very fond of the colour white."
There is a slow nod of Kurt's head, as he takes all of this in. "White. So perhaps a white suit? A white hat?" He pauses for a moment, "A white cane. They are very stylish, ja?" He is formulating a prank here, a great mischief. There is none of the interest that would normally motivate questions like this.
"Terribly," Jean agrees, solemn now to balance out the giggle. "And a white hat, suit and cane really -should- have a more daring colour paired with them."
"Blue?" Kurt supplies quickly, with a grin full of teeth and wild delight.
"Blue and orange," Jean counters. "A print."
Kurt taps a finger against his chin once in thought. "I think there is something that I can do there, ja. Do you know anything of her tastes? Flowers? Candy?" He adds the third out of the blue, "Bratwurst?"
"Definitely the latter," Jean's eyes dance in the dark. "A very -earnest- gift, a bratwurst is."
With a firm nod of his head, Kurt continues on down this merry path. "A white suit, orange and blue with it. The gift of bratwurst." Beaming, he flicks his tail up to poke it's spade against the back of one of Jean's shoulders. "Do you think she will swoon?"
"She might definitely -faint-," Jean opines, glancing over her sholder to eye Kurt's twitching tail. "You could even manage to sweep her off her feet."
The tail retreats quickly, hiding behind it's owner. "I suppose it would be a futile effort to ask if you know of any nicknames that she may have?"
"If she has any, they're as hidden away as -my- childhood nicknames are." There's a tip to Jean's chin at this statement, and somewhere in her brain, another lock is added to the memory-box containing the words 'Marvel Girl'.
Kurt's smile is innocent. He also thinks rather prominently << Unaware of any nicknames, unaware of any nicknames. >> It is highly doubtful that he does not know more effective ways of hiding his thoughts, but this one is more amusing. "I suppose perhaps I will have to ask her over dinner, after I ask her what she and Herr Lensherr are planning together."
<< Oh, shush. >> is Jean's mind's answer, with a mock-petulant snort hidden within it. "Make sure you wait until she's taken a big bite of something," she offers aloud, with a bland tone and a downwards fan of her eyelashes.
"This it the time for the bratwurst, ja?" Kurt is struggling to contain his laughter at the images he is creating in his mind of Emma Frost choking on a large sausage. The image is pushed forward toward Jean, just to make sure she gets to share it.
Jean is very well behaved and well brought up. She does not make any untoward jokes about sausages. "You'd better make sure you're up to date on the Heimlich maneuver, of course," is all she says.
Kurt was brought up in a circus. Excuses can be made. "I will indeed prepare!" He chuckles and hops down from his seat, "I think perhaps I will go check on my wardrobe, to make sure I am ready for this stunning evening of mine to come soon."
Jean flashes him a grin, and this is one of the rare ones that lingers. "There will have to be pictures," is her final demand.
Kurt lets out a loud laugh, "I will perhaps see if I can convince Herr Professor to carry a digital camera with him." He beams and gives a mimed tip of a hat to his friend, then teleports himself away from the roof with a bamf.
A Kurt, he did a-wooing go...
"Ah just came out here for some fresh air. S'that a /crime/ now?" (Rogue, Logan)
In which Rogue is not herself. (Set slightly during and soon after the Jean/Kurt scene.)
X-Men: Movieverse 2 - Sunday, March 11, 2007, 6:23 PM
=XS= Jean's Office - Lv 1 - Xavier's School
Just another step in the grand tradition of renovation that dogs all great and old houses, Jean's office has been snuck nearly seamlessly into the footprint of the mansion library. Despite the headmistress' taste for clean lines and light colours, rich oak panelling and footstep-muffling carpet in a venerable shade of forest green are the order of the day. Light is freely admitted by a large leaded glass window that looks out over the Victorian garden and its fountain, although hanging curtains in the same emerald as the carpeting can be drawn to turn the room dark enough for presentations to be shown. The central feature of the room is an imposing desk, stained dark to match the paneled walls. A modern ergonomic office chair is positioned behind it, with two uphoulstered chairs in front. A laptop rules the desk, two filing cabinets, several framed diplomas and a bookshelf hug the side wall behind it. One corner holds a thriving ficus plant, and the central piece of art in the office is a framed representation of DNArt, a small brass plaque informing observers that this is the genome of Dr. Jean Grey.
[Exits : [Li]brary]
Walter teleports in.
Monday morning, and Dr. Grey's advanced Latin class has just broken up to flee to disparate parts of the school in a terror of more perfect passive tense verb conjugations being inflicted upon them. Flush with success, and lighter by a set of eight freshly-marked tests, Jean's retreated to her office to snag some coffee and check her email. The door out to the library remains cracked -- the students disagreeing with their marks are sure to arrive shortly.
A temporary reprieve from disagreeable students is granted by a student not even taking her course. Niceties of habit leave Walter making the announcement his somewhat troubled, yet purposeful, mind likely already made for him. A hand rises to the door, giving it two firm raps with it's knuckles. "Dr. Grey? May I come in?" A student who scored somewhat sub-standardly expresses some annoyance at Walter beating them to the door before lying in wait like the predatory cat they aren't.
At the very least, it's a different sort of student. "Come in, Walter," Jean encourages, and if there's a note of mild irritation to her tone, it's at least a general sort of note. The coffee maker, perhaps in protest over the fate of its fellow in the kitchen, has decided not to give the Phoenix her caffeine.
Appliances unite! Overthrow the oppressors. Walter steps into the room, pushing the door shut behind him. "I'm not in trouble for yesterday, am I?" he asks, getting that worry out of the way first.
"...What happened yesterday?" Jean wonders, in a fine display of being behind on the news. There's a pause. "Oh... wait. Yvette and the lake?"
Walter nods, being just a little relieved that the answer didn't leap to mind. Surely, if he were in trouble, the question would be unnecessary. "Yeah," he says in a somewhat small voice.
"If the number of people to fall in that lake were all in trouble for it, we'd be serving up detentions 'til I was in my sixties," is Jean's verdict, delivered with a brisk smile, and a wave of one hand. "Just don't do it again unsupervised. Yvette's promised us she'll stay on school grounds, but I don't want her being so terrified she kites ff t Central Park again and puts a police officer in the hospital. Now, what's brought you to my office?"
Walter takes a seat, smiling at first, but expression falling as the mention of the injured officer is made. "Oh, well, last night, I noticed Yvette had all these scars on her arms," he begins.
"She had quite a traumatic life before coming here," Jean agrees, tone dropping to a quiet, thoughtful murmur. "It's why she was silent, initially."
Hazel eyes rise to meet Jean's green. "So, you know about Marius?" he asks.
"...who?"
Walter presents his hands, palms out. "The guy who ate her," he offers. "The reason she was afraid of hands. The one who gave her the leather." The last description is probably useless.
Considering what Yvette was wearing when she turned up, not entirely useless. Across the desk, Jean goes very still, and very thoughtful indeed. "Oh," she says. "-Oh-. I'm... Walter, thank you very much. I think I need to make some phonecalls now. Do you have a last name or anything?"
Walter shakes his head. "N-no. No last name. Just Marius." He looks at Jean, just a little bewildered by the reaction. "Are you going to try and find him?" the young man asks.
"We're not going to let a serial killer stay on the loose, Walter," Jean points out, with a flicker of an eyebrow. "We've been working with the NYPD all along, there just hasn't been any real break until now."
Walter goes wide-eyed as the full significance of the name is brought to his attention. "Oh," he says, stunned. "You're welcome?" he hazards. "Do you... want to see if Yvette knows anything else?"
Jean's hand is already hovering over her phone, waiting for privacy in which to pounce upon it. "I'm sure we will in time," she assures. "But for now... I need to get this headed down the pipes. And I don't want to pressure her into clamming up again. It's best not to pressure someone who's been through that level of trauma unless you have no other choice."
Walter nods, getting up. "Okay. Bye, Dr. Grey." He turns for the door.
The hand pounces! Numbers are dialed! But not before Jean calls a last "Thank you, Walter."
Walter has found a Clue!
"That last part was a little bit freaky. Let's say." (Bobby)
Iceman is not hot for teacher. And Rogue is puzzling.
-----------------
SUBJECT: Rogue
SENT:Saturday, March 10, 2007 6:17 AM
FROM: drgrey@x-school.edu
TO: SRXMEN@listsev.x-school.edu
-----------------
Something's up with Rogue. From what I can tell, (Logan, you can probably give a better description?) she's been suddenly manifesting the personalities of various people she's absorbed over the years, from me to Magneto. I've had it from Bobby now, too, seen a little of it myself...
She's not caused any harm to herself or anyone else, and I don't know if this is some kind of inevitable progression from her powers, or something else, but we need to sit her down and get her to see she needs to have this looked at.
Jean
-----------------
SUBJECT: The Bone Gnawer case
SENT: Monday, March 12, 2007 11:23 AM
FROM: drgrey@x-school.edu
TO: XMEN@listsev.x-school.edu
-----------------
Or at least that's what the last news report on the last victim called it. I suspect some newsie's a closet geek, because apparently that's the name of some sort of fictitious clan of werewolves, if the roleplaying books one of our own crop of young geeks left in the library is an indications. (What? There were interesting pictures.)
Anyways, Walter has learned from Yvette that the mysterious figure who'd abducted and imprisoned her is named 'Marius'. First names aren't precisely much to go on, but it's a start. I've passed it on to the NYPD. Hopefully, they can work with Interpol to see if there are any Mariuses that appear in connection with the artist already identified as a member of Yvette's family. So, not much of an update, but more than we'd had before.
X-Men: Movieverse 2 - Thursday, March 08, 2007, 10:15 PM
--------------------------------------------------------
=XS= The Roof - Xavier's School
Through a small little door accessed from the attic, one may stand or sit out here on a flat section of the mansion's roof on cool summer evenings, or anytime really, to think. Most of the mansion's grounds can be viewed from here as well as Westchester on, beautiful in the spring and fall when all things are blooming anew or the earthy, patchwork quilt of autumn lays across the land. Visible in the distance is the city skyline of New York. Over by the gardens, a tall oak tree boasts a treehouse in its branches. Someone feeling adventurous could probably jump and make it...
[Exits : [B]ack [I]nside and [J]ump]
[Players : Kurt ]
The roof is a quiet place most nights, and quieter still when it's a brisk 22 degrees out. With an hour 'til curfew and quiet hours begin, the student area of the Xavier Zoo is predictably buzzing, as the young and the teenaged attempt to make as much noise as possible in the time they have left. Strains of Green Day and Morrissey clashing with Xtina making it all the way up to Jean's room, she's made her escape. A figure wrapped in a long black wool coat perches atop a disused and blocked off chimney, and thusly smokes a cigarette.
Conversation with another of the zookeepers has sent Kurt in search of quiet as well. He arrives upon the roof in his usual fashion. He appears in a puff of black smoke off near one edge of the building. This is not a teleport aimed at tracking and startling Jean, but it is likely to have the latter effect anyway.
Amazingly enough, it doesn't! Maybe it's the open space, softening and muffling the distinctive BAMF with a lack of walls to trap it in. Maybe it's the illicit nicotine. But while there's certainly a sharp jerk of her head towards the noise, no household appliances die this day. "Kurt!" Jean greets, brightly and bright-smiling as she attempts to hide her cigarette in a cupped palm. "Nice evening, huh?"
For a change, it is Kurt who ends up startled. He turns around with his eyes wide and a hand clutching at his chest. "Mein Gott, Jean. You nearly scared me out of my fur." He chuckles though and backs away from the ledge to amble toward Jean's perch. "It is. A little brisk, but it is easier on the head than the battle of the bands."
There is no cigarette in sight. The scent of Marlboro still hangs in the air all the same. Carefully keeping her hand cupped until the cancer stick can be surreptitiously dropped and squashed, Jean's smile takes on a briefly triumphant quality. In a word, she smirks. "Boo," she intones solemnly, before the smile eases back into more gentle amusement, tinged with wryness and followed by a groan. "You're telling me. I swear, I was this close to asking one of our resident audiokinetics to take care of things. At least they put the Britney to bed. 'Slave 4 U' one more time was going to result in mysterious mp3 losses."
Kurt chuckles as he finishes his approach. He smiles at her, though it may be easy enough to pick out that he is looking at her cupped hand. Telepathy, perhaps is not neccessary for this. "Do you think there is a reason why they play the same song so many times?" He shakes his head, brows furrowing. "Do they not grow tired of listening to that strange woman who has decided that Herr Professor's hairstyle is one to be envied?"
The hand twitches, as if independantly aware it's being watched. Nooooo cigarette. Nope. Ignore the little fall of ash that drops out from under it, and the little ember that goes with it. Jean seems to be treating it as a separate entity anyways, instead offering her opinion that "I actually feel a little bad for the woman. I mean, she's lived her life since a pre-teen in the spotlight, and now it's catching up with her." A pause, and she reflects that "It makes me wonder what will happen when or if the President ever decides to clarify his slip of the tongue."
Kurt does not decide to call her on sneaking a cigarette. He instead nods his head slowly. "You may have a point, ja. It is all over the television even now, that the woman has lost her mind." He looks up toward Jean. "Do you think it will be very much different from when the school was exposed as a haven for mutants?"
Jean is pleased. Her reversion to a formerly-beaten bad habit may be slowly becoming the worst-kept secret ever, amongst Xavier faculty, but... still. The remnants of the cigarette are dropped carefully, and just as carefully crushed under one boot heel. "I think so," she predicts, lips drawn out to pensive thinness, and her shoulders going tense and still. "A school for mutants is one thing. A band of uniformed crime-fighters allied but separate from the U.S. government?" A soft snort. "The -best- case is that they start calling us superheroes and we get our own show on NBC."
"Will I be allowed to play myself?" Kurt abruptly asks, as if this were the most pressing question he could imgine. With that out of the way though, he smiles gently up toward Jean. "Are you doing okay, Jean? Is there stress that is tugging upon your lun-" He changes his mind late enough to get his teasing in, "Your mind?"
Kurt's reward for the teasing is an immediate "I can quit any time I--" followed by a rueful pause. "Well, I can quit any time things slow down long enough for me to go through withdrawl without needing to ramp the nicotine patches back up halfway through the process because something's exploded and I'm not allowed to drop a car on people." Jean is not wholly unawares of her position.
Nightcrawler's voice is warm as he smiles gently to her. "If ever you need to talk, I am perhaps a better listener than cigarettes." His thoughts hop from cigarette jokes about going down smooth to, of all things, Emma Frost. "I actually have a question for you, now that I think of it."
"Ah, but can I hide you in my jacket pocket and carry you with me?" Jean wonders, eyes twinkling gently as it appears a lecture about the state of her lungs is not forthcoming. She scootches sideways on the chimney, and pats the freed space beside her, shields raised enough that her curiosity is unmarred by instinctive Emma-bristle. "What?"
Kurt makes his way up to the offered seat with his usual ease. He jumps and ends up crouched there, perched rather like a gargoyle. "I think I will go courting very soon. I was hoping, perhaps, that you could offer me some advice."
Because there is something plush and friend-shaped now sitting beside her, and because there are no students lurking around to be pesky, Jean leans sideways to rest her head briefly against Kurt's shoulder and grin at him. "-Really-? That's awesome! Who's the lucky lady?"
"Emma Frost," Kurt declares with a grin shines down upon his friend as she leans against him. This grin speaks volumes, which are echoed in his mind. There is great mischief afoot in Herr Wagner's mind.
"...What?" The cry of the Grey sounds crisp and sharp on the night air. "Kurt, are you -insane-? The woman's evil!"
Kurt's laughter is light and playful, which is hopefully some small reassurance. "Is that not the way of many beautiful women? My present company is exluded, of course," he amends in shameless compliment.
"But... I'm not exaggerating." The shameless compliment sails over the head of a Jean staring at Kurt as if he's added a second head to being blue, fuzzy, tridactyl and tailed. There's a flash of actual worry in her eyes despite it all. "Seriously, Kurt, she's trouble. And she'll do anything she can to mess with people close to me because she knows it will hurt me." (It's possible that Emma in Jean's mind has had knowing sin attributed to her where unfortunate accident would better fit. But shhh.)
Kurt raises one of those thick fingers in light protest. "I know Jean. She is a terrible woman. But would it not be hilarious to see her reaction to a suitor as unique as I am? Especially if I made my advances under the watchful eye of Herr Professor?"
Well, -that- gets through the protective bristling and fluffing. Jean stops, hand midway to reaching for a fresh cigarette. "..." is what comes out. And then Jean giggles.
The giggle is as good as gold to Kurt. He seems to perk all over, his tail raising up and beginning to sway behind him. "Now," Kurt asks, his grin absolutely devilish with delight. "Do you think you have any courting advice for me, mein Freund?"
The giggle is unlikely to ever be repeated where any student ears can hear it, and it's a short-lived thing to begin with, but the ability to laugh at her self-appointed sum of all fears is a good sign. Jean's hand moves away from the cigarettes, and instead tucks itself beneath her chin. "Well," she says. "Emma has a massive sense of style and society... a taste for the dramatic -- which must be why she decided to bag Warren," she tacks on, cattiness tempered by fondness for the half of the pair not Emma Frost. "Oh. And she's very fond of the colour white."
There is a slow nod of Kurt's head, as he takes all of this in. "White. So perhaps a white suit? A white hat?" He pauses for a moment, "A white cane. They are very stylish, ja?" He is formulating a prank here, a great mischief. There is none of the interest that would normally motivate questions like this.
"Terribly," Jean agrees, solemn now to balance out the giggle. "And a white hat, suit and cane really -should- have a more daring colour paired with them."
"Blue?" Kurt supplies quickly, with a grin full of teeth and wild delight.
"Blue and orange," Jean counters. "A print."
Kurt taps a finger against his chin once in thought. "I think there is something that I can do there, ja. Do you know anything of her tastes? Flowers? Candy?" He adds the third out of the blue, "Bratwurst?"
"Definitely the latter," Jean's eyes dance in the dark. "A very -earnest- gift, a bratwurst is."
With a firm nod of his head, Kurt continues on down this merry path. "A white suit, orange and blue with it. The gift of bratwurst." Beaming, he flicks his tail up to poke it's spade against the back of one of Jean's shoulders. "Do you think she will swoon?"
"She might definitely -faint-," Jean opines, glancing over her sholder to eye Kurt's twitching tail. "You could even manage to sweep her off her feet."
The tail retreats quickly, hiding behind it's owner. "I suppose it would be a futile effort to ask if you know of any nicknames that she may have?"
"If she has any, they're as hidden away as -my- childhood nicknames are." There's a tip to Jean's chin at this statement, and somewhere in her brain, another lock is added to the memory-box containing the words 'Marvel Girl'.
Kurt's smile is innocent. He also thinks rather prominently << Unaware of any nicknames, unaware of any nicknames. >> It is highly doubtful that he does not know more effective ways of hiding his thoughts, but this one is more amusing. "I suppose perhaps I will have to ask her over dinner, after I ask her what she and Herr Lensherr are planning together."
<< Oh, shush. >> is Jean's mind's answer, with a mock-petulant snort hidden within it. "Make sure you wait until she's taken a big bite of something," she offers aloud, with a bland tone and a downwards fan of her eyelashes.
"This it the time for the bratwurst, ja?" Kurt is struggling to contain his laughter at the images he is creating in his mind of Emma Frost choking on a large sausage. The image is pushed forward toward Jean, just to make sure she gets to share it.
Jean is very well behaved and well brought up. She does not make any untoward jokes about sausages. "You'd better make sure you're up to date on the Heimlich maneuver, of course," is all she says.
Kurt was brought up in a circus. Excuses can be made. "I will indeed prepare!" He chuckles and hops down from his seat, "I think perhaps I will go check on my wardrobe, to make sure I am ready for this stunning evening of mine to come soon."
Jean flashes him a grin, and this is one of the rare ones that lingers. "There will have to be pictures," is her final demand.
Kurt lets out a loud laugh, "I will perhaps see if I can convince Herr Professor to carry a digital camera with him." He beams and gives a mimed tip of a hat to his friend, then teleports himself away from the roof with a bamf.
A Kurt, he did a-wooing go...
"Ah just came out here for some fresh air. S'that a /crime/ now?" (Rogue, Logan)
In which Rogue is not herself. (Set slightly during and soon after the Jean/Kurt scene.)
X-Men: Movieverse 2 - Sunday, March 11, 2007, 6:23 PM
=XS= Jean's Office - Lv 1 - Xavier's School
Just another step in the grand tradition of renovation that dogs all great and old houses, Jean's office has been snuck nearly seamlessly into the footprint of the mansion library. Despite the headmistress' taste for clean lines and light colours, rich oak panelling and footstep-muffling carpet in a venerable shade of forest green are the order of the day. Light is freely admitted by a large leaded glass window that looks out over the Victorian garden and its fountain, although hanging curtains in the same emerald as the carpeting can be drawn to turn the room dark enough for presentations to be shown. The central feature of the room is an imposing desk, stained dark to match the paneled walls. A modern ergonomic office chair is positioned behind it, with two uphoulstered chairs in front. A laptop rules the desk, two filing cabinets, several framed diplomas and a bookshelf hug the side wall behind it. One corner holds a thriving ficus plant, and the central piece of art in the office is a framed representation of DNArt, a small brass plaque informing observers that this is the genome of Dr. Jean Grey.
[Exits : [Li]brary]
Walter teleports in.
Monday morning, and Dr. Grey's advanced Latin class has just broken up to flee to disparate parts of the school in a terror of more perfect passive tense verb conjugations being inflicted upon them. Flush with success, and lighter by a set of eight freshly-marked tests, Jean's retreated to her office to snag some coffee and check her email. The door out to the library remains cracked -- the students disagreeing with their marks are sure to arrive shortly.
A temporary reprieve from disagreeable students is granted by a student not even taking her course. Niceties of habit leave Walter making the announcement his somewhat troubled, yet purposeful, mind likely already made for him. A hand rises to the door, giving it two firm raps with it's knuckles. "Dr. Grey? May I come in?" A student who scored somewhat sub-standardly expresses some annoyance at Walter beating them to the door before lying in wait like the predatory cat they aren't.
At the very least, it's a different sort of student. "Come in, Walter," Jean encourages, and if there's a note of mild irritation to her tone, it's at least a general sort of note. The coffee maker, perhaps in protest over the fate of its fellow in the kitchen, has decided not to give the Phoenix her caffeine.
Appliances unite! Overthrow the oppressors. Walter steps into the room, pushing the door shut behind him. "I'm not in trouble for yesterday, am I?" he asks, getting that worry out of the way first.
"...What happened yesterday?" Jean wonders, in a fine display of being behind on the news. There's a pause. "Oh... wait. Yvette and the lake?"
Walter nods, being just a little relieved that the answer didn't leap to mind. Surely, if he were in trouble, the question would be unnecessary. "Yeah," he says in a somewhat small voice.
"If the number of people to fall in that lake were all in trouble for it, we'd be serving up detentions 'til I was in my sixties," is Jean's verdict, delivered with a brisk smile, and a wave of one hand. "Just don't do it again unsupervised. Yvette's promised us she'll stay on school grounds, but I don't want her being so terrified she kites ff t Central Park again and puts a police officer in the hospital. Now, what's brought you to my office?"
Walter takes a seat, smiling at first, but expression falling as the mention of the injured officer is made. "Oh, well, last night, I noticed Yvette had all these scars on her arms," he begins.
"She had quite a traumatic life before coming here," Jean agrees, tone dropping to a quiet, thoughtful murmur. "It's why she was silent, initially."
Hazel eyes rise to meet Jean's green. "So, you know about Marius?" he asks.
"...who?"
Walter presents his hands, palms out. "The guy who ate her," he offers. "The reason she was afraid of hands. The one who gave her the leather." The last description is probably useless.
Considering what Yvette was wearing when she turned up, not entirely useless. Across the desk, Jean goes very still, and very thoughtful indeed. "Oh," she says. "-Oh-. I'm... Walter, thank you very much. I think I need to make some phonecalls now. Do you have a last name or anything?"
Walter shakes his head. "N-no. No last name. Just Marius." He looks at Jean, just a little bewildered by the reaction. "Are you going to try and find him?" the young man asks.
"We're not going to let a serial killer stay on the loose, Walter," Jean points out, with a flicker of an eyebrow. "We've been working with the NYPD all along, there just hasn't been any real break until now."
Walter goes wide-eyed as the full significance of the name is brought to his attention. "Oh," he says, stunned. "You're welcome?" he hazards. "Do you... want to see if Yvette knows anything else?"
Jean's hand is already hovering over her phone, waiting for privacy in which to pounce upon it. "I'm sure we will in time," she assures. "But for now... I need to get this headed down the pipes. And I don't want to pressure her into clamming up again. It's best not to pressure someone who's been through that level of trauma unless you have no other choice."
Walter nods, getting up. "Okay. Bye, Dr. Grey." He turns for the door.
The hand pounces! Numbers are dialed! But not before Jean calls a last "Thank you, Walter."
Walter has found a Clue!
"That last part was a little bit freaky. Let's say." (Bobby)
Iceman is not hot for teacher. And Rogue is puzzling.