(no subject)
Rogue's released into our care, and Jubilee's got her in range to fuss over, even if she'll be down in the medical bay until Charles can sort out her mind. It feels a little like a jigsaw puzzle right now.
I should really ask him what he's planning. I feel fine, but there was only the one...
I'll do that later. Right now, I have an in-box full of emails, and T-ball versus Tiny Tykes Soccer to check over. Nate is going to be four this summer. Four. There should be laws preventing this. Or at least signed parental consent given.
I wonder how Logan feels about taking that Caribbean trip that was my Christmas present, once final exams wrap up. I'll have to ask.
"You want me to film the riot when I confiscate their iPods?" (Logan, Moira)
The Xavier faculty love their students very much.
X-Men: Movieverse 2 - Friday, April 27, 2007, 9:18 PM
-----------------------------------------------------
=WES= Harry's Bar - Salem Center
An old tavern that stands from Revolutionary Times, Harry's is a common hide-away place for humans and mutants alike, although surprisingly quite a bit of the latter can be found, for all of the owner's devil-may-care attitude towards them. Modestly furnished in dark woods, it holds a relaxed, comfortable atmosphere that appeals to many, although almost never crowded. Up against one wall stretches the bar itself with several red leather barstools stationed in front of it and an impressive selection, behind the counter. Most of the rest of the room, however, is occupied by a few tables and booths, for people to dine at. Definitely not any kind of white-collar establishment, but the company it keeps is good.
[Exits : [O]ut]
It's a good day to celebrate -- the first in a while. "Beer, Harry," Jean requests as she crosses the threshold of the bar in company of one Scott Summers. "A pitcher of it. And some of those little soft pretzel things. We come bearing good news from the house on the hill!"
"And about time too," Scott says, unzipping his windbreaker and following in Jean's wake. A closed umbrella serves as a makeshift walking stick, not needed at the moment, but it never hurts to be prepared. "Evening, Harry."
So long as one brings an umbrella, threatening rain will never be more than a threat. There's a rare vivacious life to Jean's looks tonight, missing in action since before Christmas came. "Have you seen the news?" she queries of the old bar owner, as she removes a neat pieced suede jacket, and drapes it over her arm, leaving her dressed in a rich mulberry turtleneck sweater and a pair of black slacks.
Scott shrugs out of his coat, hanging it up on the coatrack, Harry's being one of the few places actually having a real wooden coatrack. "Probably before some of us did, I'd wager," Scott says, an unhindered smile as he turns back to the room. "Guess the rain's keeping it pretty quiet tonight. So much for the Friday crowd."
"It's all good," Jean assures with a shoulder shrug, and her own coat accompanying her 'lest it be forgotten later. She slides into a booth, and waits for Scott to join her before turning a smile and a long look on his face. "It gives me a chance to actually catch up with you outside of classes, crises, and Nate. Once upon a time, we actually used to hang out."
"Once upon a time," Scott chuckles, sliding in opposite her, "We used to have time to do a great many things. Today, though...maybe the school's first step toward that happily ever after."
"Possibly, we should ressurrect Friday night billiards games, at least," Jean reflects, the smile lingering warmly for a moment, before she drops her gaze to survey Harry's menu. The menu hasn't changed in the past twenty years. She reads it anyways. "But... maybe. I'm hopeful. Charles still needs to put Rogue's mind to rights. And God knows if anyone will listen to what I suggested. But I'm hopeful again. And that's something."
"Hope," Scott toys with the word, fingers running along the edge of the menu without looking at it. "It's about time we've had some of that. One crisis averted. You and those lawyers make a pretty good team."
Jean snorts softly at the praise, but doesn't gainsay it beyond a correction of "Charles' money and the lawyers, with my irritating them and making a nuisance of myself to convince both defense and prosecution they'll get no peace unless it wraps quickly." Grey legal tactics revealed, she looks up from the menu to give Scott another smile, sidelong. "So, what's next for you, Slim?"
His response is several moments in coming, and when it does, it's in the form of one word. "John."
Jean's answer is in the form of a slow nod, the smile vanishing into a nibble of her lower lip. The pitcher of beer and two glasses arrive in the interregnum, delivered by a Harry notably blase about the turn from pleasant night out to serious conversation. "The incident on the news the other day?"
"Unconfirmed or not..." Scott sighs, reaching for the pitcher and pouring two glasses. The one he passes to Jean, the other he holds without drinking. "It has to be him. Walter couldn't confirm much. He's one lucky kid, despite how often he manages to get himself into a jam. It's...not going to be easy to hunt him out."
Jean drinks where Scott does not, a long draught meant to quench the thirst and soothe the soul. And to buy time to think. Walter's involvement earns a wry look. "Possibly we should just stick a tracking device to Walter and watch him lead us to it. But with my time a little less full of lawyers, I'll see what I can shake out of the intelligence network. And Storm's been taking the juniors on some sweeps, I saw?"
"It's time they did more than practice for the next big emergency," Scott nods, a wry smile at the thought of a tracking device. "Peter and I did a midnight flood run during that...monsoon a few weeks back." There's a brief pause as he takes a small sip, more for a moment's thought than really drink. "I want them to get used to being part of things, at any odd hour of day or night."
"It's a good idea -- and I think it might have helped Jubilee, at least, deal with some of the tension of Rogue being away." Jean pauses reflectively, and admits that "I really should've seen to bring her back to the school. Thank God for Piotr."
"I do every day," Scott nods, taking a real drink for the first time, then setting the glass aside. "It is...gratifying to see him develop. He was always mature, but this past year... He'll make a good leader someday."
And that is not a comment given lightly, folk.
'Nor is it lightly received. "He's already a good man," Jean replies, staring meditatively at the dark amber liquid sparkling in her glass. "And while I wouldn't wish the fire he's passed through on anyone, I think he's come out the stronger for it. Not," she reflects, "That Sophie would notice anything good about it. Understandable, but I'm getting a little concerned at a block she seems to have with her powers..."
"She'll have to want to learn before she can," is Scott's evaluation. "The way it was with all of us. If only they could learn from the experiences we all had. Did I tell you about this boy Tim that I met? Moira met him first, actually, but I was around when he called. He sounded so desperate to get rid of his mutation. Reminded me so much of myself. Do you remember that day I met you? I said exactly the same things he was saying, maybe even with the same words."
"Mm, it's more compicated than that..." Jean murmurs to herself, but is soon distracted by the news of a new face singing an old song. Her smile reappears, tinged with nostalgia. "Like it was yesterday," she confirms. "I remember being eighteen and completely baffled that someone could be so pessimistic. I hope he's getting a better reception?"
"Somethings never change," Scott says, allowing a small laugh at himself. "No, something's not right. I suspect someone is abusing him. I'm hoping I can convince the Professor to use Cerebro to check on him. There's just...only so many hours in the day."
"Is he all right with being checked on Cerebro-style?" Jean questions, looking up with a lift of an eyebrow, and a reach for the little basket of miniature soft pretzels. "I mean, distasteful as the situation is, some people have adverse reactions to telepaths."
"Probably not," Scott sighs. "But if there's reason to suspect abuse, I have an obligation to check it out. As a teacher, even if not his."
"We do have options outside of telepathic surveilance, though," Jean points out, with a wave of a mini-pretzel before it's dipped in hot cheese. "There are contacts in the city... even Child Protective Services, since I actually got to meet a couple of people a lot more useful than the Anders Woman."
Scott reaches for a pretzel, twisting it in half and playing with it absently. "He wouldn't thank me for calling CPS in on him, I can tell you that. But you're right, I suppose. We should work within the system when we can."
"If the system won't or can't work, then we can step in and go beyond it, but for someone who's not affiliated with the school... well, if he was in real physical danger..." Jean stops, shakes her head, and looks rueful. "Ethics are a pain in the ass to figure out sometimes. "
"And yet that's what separates us from John," Scott sighs slowly. "Walter had all these questions the other day. Except they weren't question, questions. Well, you know Walter. It's never easy to try to explain it, how you can understand them, but still choose to walk a different path."
Jean settles back in her seat, pressing against the padded back with a wriggle of her shoulders. "It's something, well... I hate telling them 'you'll understand when you're older', but in some ways it really is. Until you've stood on the edge of an ethical dilemma, until you've had your toes over the cliff's edge... you don't really understand it until you've been through some of it." She pauses, and munches on a mini-pretzel, eyes flickering shut. "Hopefully, some of them never will. And -wow-, we're depressing examples of celebration."
Scott chokes out a laugh at that, lifting his glass across the table in defiance. "Cheers, Jean. To Rogue's success and the start of better days."
"Hear, hear," Jean clunks her glass solidly against the side of Scott's, as her smile resurfaces again. "And let's have at -least- a year before the mansion explodes again. You promised me a tropical vacation."
"I'll have Ororo make it a extra humid summer just to make it up to you," Scott smiles, then drinks. And finally chews on the pretzel in hand. "Maybe we should take a few of the students down for hurricane relief work at the end of the summer."
"Hell," Jean reflects. "There's still repair work to be done down in New Orleans, if we wanted something all the students could get in on, not just the ones with useful powers. Although," she reflects further, and sips at her beer. "I'm not -entirely- sure I want to trust them around power tools, Habitat for Humanity aside."
"Good point," Scott nods, running a finger around the rim of the glass. "I'll review the finals results from Forge's, then maybe we can make a decision on that one." That decided, he turns the earlier question back on her. "So, what's next for Jean, then?"
"What's next for Jean..." The question stymies Jean for a moment, and thus bears repetition as she thinks about it, tapping her fingertips against cool glass. A laugh finally breaks her brief silence. "Do you know, I've been in reaction-mode so long I'm not really sure? Harvard wants me to speak at their summer convocation ceremony. I might see if I can get a lecture tour like Moira's going. And if there's actually any pushes towards telepathic laws, I might see if I can organize over that way."
"I think we all have," Scott agrees. "Reaction-mode, that is. One thing after another. It's hard to believe finals are almost here. And summer break. I've been trying to think of something to do with Nate this summer. We should take him somewhere. Do him good to get away from the mansion for a while. Me too, I suppose," he adds ruefully.
"I wonder how Pancake would do in agility," Jean ponders, twirling a bit of pretzel between her fingers as visions of jumping, tunnelling corgi mixes and happily shrieking young dog owners dance in her head. She floats a few of them across the table for shared viewing. "Or... Scott." She pauses, looking struck by something. "Our son is going to be -four years old-."
"Unbelievable," Scott shakes his head, mouth twisting up in a smile as the images are received. "Why does four seem so much more monumental than three? And two seems...an age ago. And soon we'll need to start thinking about /school/."
"Because four... they're little -people- at four. Moreso than three. They start having -opinions-." Jean looks half-terrified at this notion, and shakes herself free of some swift-appearing reverie. "School... lord, that should be interesting. Maybe we should try him in some little sports league? Practice not showing off with his powers whenever he wants attention?"
"He gets /more/ opinionated at four?" Scott is dumbfounded, images of broccoli dancing across the table. "I've already looked into tee-ball," he admits, abashed. "They start in two weeks, and three year olds are accepted if a parent stays the whole game."
"He -is- the product of our two genomes," Jean points out, a snicker escaping at reminders of the Broccoli Incident, before Scott's admission earns a laugh. "All right, -now- who's the telepath?" she wonders "I was checking out soccer."
"He /does/ like to kick things," Scott laughs. "I'm torn between encouraging that and channeling it into something useful."
"Maybe we should apply powers training techniques to childraising," Jean considers, head cocked to one side.
"Don't tempt me," Scott says, rolling his eyes, in the presence of one of the few who that motion is not entirely lost on. "I try very hard to remember that he is /not/ a student."
"A class of students doesn't leave me nearly as exhausted at the end of the day," Jean quips, snorting softly into her beer before taking a long pull of it. "But do you ever wake up some mornings and wonder whose idea it was to trust you with this tiny, bursting little life?"
Scott chokes out a laugh, washing it down with another drink. "Do I ever /not/, more to the point? And oh, the /questions/. I thought it was an exaggeration, but the things he thinks to ask. If only it were as easy as why the sky were blue. You know the other day, he asked me why Freddy couldn't move things by thinking it."
"I caught him down in the medical bay with the old stethoscope I gave him the other day," Jean supplies, with a shake of her head. She sets her beer glass down on the table, and sits forward to splay her hands on either side of it. "Going from nurse to orderly to resident and 'diagnosing' them. Karen was alarmed to find out she had Rhinocerous Pox."
Scott snorts. "Sounds terrifying. Not sure how I've evaded that. Must be still trying to discover my malady." He's quiet for a moment, the image of bright red unruly hair foremost in his mind. "What a kid, he is. If nothing else, we make a brilliant child."
Down a third of a beer, Jean's smile is pensive as she studies Scott across the table, cheek resting against her hand. "We do a lot of things well together," she reflects. "Not just our genes."
"True enough," Scott says, avoiding further comment with a long draught of beer. And of course, the old standby for discussion when things get awkward. "I had this thought for our next group training. Working out the details with Ororo, but I think I'll have Jareth work us up some giant robots."
"Giant... robots?" Definitely a good way to steer clear of awkward areas. Jean is distracted entirely. "Jareth? Will they be Transformers? Or those Japanese battle-bots the kids are forever watching?"
"I want something larger than life," Scott explains. "Where it takes a team effort to take one down. Robots are a bit more believable than, oh say, giant insects. I'll leave the specifics up to him. And knowing Jareth, it may very /well/ be Transformers."
"Do you know," Jean reflects. "Fighting giant robots might actually get everyone down to training without any attempts to be elsewhere." By her innocent look, Jean is not guilty of this at -all-.
"The thought /had/ crossed my mind," Scott says, a guilty smile of admission. "Not that I begrudge anyone for it; we've all been more than busy these last few months. But we need to pull together as well, not just manage on our own." Fine words, for one who in this aspect can never quite lead by example.
"So, let's do it," says Jean, the gleam back in her eyes and the life in her smile. "Let's save ourselves and save the world."
Little League isn't going to know what hit it. Also, there is celebration, giant robots and X-Men plans.
I should really ask him what he's planning. I feel fine, but there was only the one...
I'll do that later. Right now, I have an in-box full of emails, and T-ball versus Tiny Tykes Soccer to check over. Nate is going to be four this summer. Four. There should be laws preventing this. Or at least signed parental consent given.
I wonder how Logan feels about taking that Caribbean trip that was my Christmas present, once final exams wrap up. I'll have to ask.
"You want me to film the riot when I confiscate their iPods?" (Logan, Moira)
The Xavier faculty love their students very much.
X-Men: Movieverse 2 - Friday, April 27, 2007, 9:18 PM
-----------------------------------------------------
=WES= Harry's Bar - Salem Center
An old tavern that stands from Revolutionary Times, Harry's is a common hide-away place for humans and mutants alike, although surprisingly quite a bit of the latter can be found, for all of the owner's devil-may-care attitude towards them. Modestly furnished in dark woods, it holds a relaxed, comfortable atmosphere that appeals to many, although almost never crowded. Up against one wall stretches the bar itself with several red leather barstools stationed in front of it and an impressive selection, behind the counter. Most of the rest of the room, however, is occupied by a few tables and booths, for people to dine at. Definitely not any kind of white-collar establishment, but the company it keeps is good.
[Exits : [O]ut]
It's a good day to celebrate -- the first in a while. "Beer, Harry," Jean requests as she crosses the threshold of the bar in company of one Scott Summers. "A pitcher of it. And some of those little soft pretzel things. We come bearing good news from the house on the hill!"
"And about time too," Scott says, unzipping his windbreaker and following in Jean's wake. A closed umbrella serves as a makeshift walking stick, not needed at the moment, but it never hurts to be prepared. "Evening, Harry."
So long as one brings an umbrella, threatening rain will never be more than a threat. There's a rare vivacious life to Jean's looks tonight, missing in action since before Christmas came. "Have you seen the news?" she queries of the old bar owner, as she removes a neat pieced suede jacket, and drapes it over her arm, leaving her dressed in a rich mulberry turtleneck sweater and a pair of black slacks.
Scott shrugs out of his coat, hanging it up on the coatrack, Harry's being one of the few places actually having a real wooden coatrack. "Probably before some of us did, I'd wager," Scott says, an unhindered smile as he turns back to the room. "Guess the rain's keeping it pretty quiet tonight. So much for the Friday crowd."
"It's all good," Jean assures with a shoulder shrug, and her own coat accompanying her 'lest it be forgotten later. She slides into a booth, and waits for Scott to join her before turning a smile and a long look on his face. "It gives me a chance to actually catch up with you outside of classes, crises, and Nate. Once upon a time, we actually used to hang out."
"Once upon a time," Scott chuckles, sliding in opposite her, "We used to have time to do a great many things. Today, though...maybe the school's first step toward that happily ever after."
"Possibly, we should ressurrect Friday night billiards games, at least," Jean reflects, the smile lingering warmly for a moment, before she drops her gaze to survey Harry's menu. The menu hasn't changed in the past twenty years. She reads it anyways. "But... maybe. I'm hopeful. Charles still needs to put Rogue's mind to rights. And God knows if anyone will listen to what I suggested. But I'm hopeful again. And that's something."
"Hope," Scott toys with the word, fingers running along the edge of the menu without looking at it. "It's about time we've had some of that. One crisis averted. You and those lawyers make a pretty good team."
Jean snorts softly at the praise, but doesn't gainsay it beyond a correction of "Charles' money and the lawyers, with my irritating them and making a nuisance of myself to convince both defense and prosecution they'll get no peace unless it wraps quickly." Grey legal tactics revealed, she looks up from the menu to give Scott another smile, sidelong. "So, what's next for you, Slim?"
His response is several moments in coming, and when it does, it's in the form of one word. "John."
Jean's answer is in the form of a slow nod, the smile vanishing into a nibble of her lower lip. The pitcher of beer and two glasses arrive in the interregnum, delivered by a Harry notably blase about the turn from pleasant night out to serious conversation. "The incident on the news the other day?"
"Unconfirmed or not..." Scott sighs, reaching for the pitcher and pouring two glasses. The one he passes to Jean, the other he holds without drinking. "It has to be him. Walter couldn't confirm much. He's one lucky kid, despite how often he manages to get himself into a jam. It's...not going to be easy to hunt him out."
Jean drinks where Scott does not, a long draught meant to quench the thirst and soothe the soul. And to buy time to think. Walter's involvement earns a wry look. "Possibly we should just stick a tracking device to Walter and watch him lead us to it. But with my time a little less full of lawyers, I'll see what I can shake out of the intelligence network. And Storm's been taking the juniors on some sweeps, I saw?"
"It's time they did more than practice for the next big emergency," Scott nods, a wry smile at the thought of a tracking device. "Peter and I did a midnight flood run during that...monsoon a few weeks back." There's a brief pause as he takes a small sip, more for a moment's thought than really drink. "I want them to get used to being part of things, at any odd hour of day or night."
"It's a good idea -- and I think it might have helped Jubilee, at least, deal with some of the tension of Rogue being away." Jean pauses reflectively, and admits that "I really should've seen to bring her back to the school. Thank God for Piotr."
"I do every day," Scott nods, taking a real drink for the first time, then setting the glass aside. "It is...gratifying to see him develop. He was always mature, but this past year... He'll make a good leader someday."
And that is not a comment given lightly, folk.
'Nor is it lightly received. "He's already a good man," Jean replies, staring meditatively at the dark amber liquid sparkling in her glass. "And while I wouldn't wish the fire he's passed through on anyone, I think he's come out the stronger for it. Not," she reflects, "That Sophie would notice anything good about it. Understandable, but I'm getting a little concerned at a block she seems to have with her powers..."
"She'll have to want to learn before she can," is Scott's evaluation. "The way it was with all of us. If only they could learn from the experiences we all had. Did I tell you about this boy Tim that I met? Moira met him first, actually, but I was around when he called. He sounded so desperate to get rid of his mutation. Reminded me so much of myself. Do you remember that day I met you? I said exactly the same things he was saying, maybe even with the same words."
"Mm, it's more compicated than that..." Jean murmurs to herself, but is soon distracted by the news of a new face singing an old song. Her smile reappears, tinged with nostalgia. "Like it was yesterday," she confirms. "I remember being eighteen and completely baffled that someone could be so pessimistic. I hope he's getting a better reception?"
"Somethings never change," Scott says, allowing a small laugh at himself. "No, something's not right. I suspect someone is abusing him. I'm hoping I can convince the Professor to use Cerebro to check on him. There's just...only so many hours in the day."
"Is he all right with being checked on Cerebro-style?" Jean questions, looking up with a lift of an eyebrow, and a reach for the little basket of miniature soft pretzels. "I mean, distasteful as the situation is, some people have adverse reactions to telepaths."
"Probably not," Scott sighs. "But if there's reason to suspect abuse, I have an obligation to check it out. As a teacher, even if not his."
"We do have options outside of telepathic surveilance, though," Jean points out, with a wave of a mini-pretzel before it's dipped in hot cheese. "There are contacts in the city... even Child Protective Services, since I actually got to meet a couple of people a lot more useful than the Anders Woman."
Scott reaches for a pretzel, twisting it in half and playing with it absently. "He wouldn't thank me for calling CPS in on him, I can tell you that. But you're right, I suppose. We should work within the system when we can."
"If the system won't or can't work, then we can step in and go beyond it, but for someone who's not affiliated with the school... well, if he was in real physical danger..." Jean stops, shakes her head, and looks rueful. "Ethics are a pain in the ass to figure out sometimes. "
"And yet that's what separates us from John," Scott sighs slowly. "Walter had all these questions the other day. Except they weren't question, questions. Well, you know Walter. It's never easy to try to explain it, how you can understand them, but still choose to walk a different path."
Jean settles back in her seat, pressing against the padded back with a wriggle of her shoulders. "It's something, well... I hate telling them 'you'll understand when you're older', but in some ways it really is. Until you've stood on the edge of an ethical dilemma, until you've had your toes over the cliff's edge... you don't really understand it until you've been through some of it." She pauses, and munches on a mini-pretzel, eyes flickering shut. "Hopefully, some of them never will. And -wow-, we're depressing examples of celebration."
Scott chokes out a laugh at that, lifting his glass across the table in defiance. "Cheers, Jean. To Rogue's success and the start of better days."
"Hear, hear," Jean clunks her glass solidly against the side of Scott's, as her smile resurfaces again. "And let's have at -least- a year before the mansion explodes again. You promised me a tropical vacation."
"I'll have Ororo make it a extra humid summer just to make it up to you," Scott smiles, then drinks. And finally chews on the pretzel in hand. "Maybe we should take a few of the students down for hurricane relief work at the end of the summer."
"Hell," Jean reflects. "There's still repair work to be done down in New Orleans, if we wanted something all the students could get in on, not just the ones with useful powers. Although," she reflects further, and sips at her beer. "I'm not -entirely- sure I want to trust them around power tools, Habitat for Humanity aside."
"Good point," Scott nods, running a finger around the rim of the glass. "I'll review the finals results from Forge's, then maybe we can make a decision on that one." That decided, he turns the earlier question back on her. "So, what's next for Jean, then?"
"What's next for Jean..." The question stymies Jean for a moment, and thus bears repetition as she thinks about it, tapping her fingertips against cool glass. A laugh finally breaks her brief silence. "Do you know, I've been in reaction-mode so long I'm not really sure? Harvard wants me to speak at their summer convocation ceremony. I might see if I can get a lecture tour like Moira's going. And if there's actually any pushes towards telepathic laws, I might see if I can organize over that way."
"I think we all have," Scott agrees. "Reaction-mode, that is. One thing after another. It's hard to believe finals are almost here. And summer break. I've been trying to think of something to do with Nate this summer. We should take him somewhere. Do him good to get away from the mansion for a while. Me too, I suppose," he adds ruefully.
"I wonder how Pancake would do in agility," Jean ponders, twirling a bit of pretzel between her fingers as visions of jumping, tunnelling corgi mixes and happily shrieking young dog owners dance in her head. She floats a few of them across the table for shared viewing. "Or... Scott." She pauses, looking struck by something. "Our son is going to be -four years old-."
"Unbelievable," Scott shakes his head, mouth twisting up in a smile as the images are received. "Why does four seem so much more monumental than three? And two seems...an age ago. And soon we'll need to start thinking about /school/."
"Because four... they're little -people- at four. Moreso than three. They start having -opinions-." Jean looks half-terrified at this notion, and shakes herself free of some swift-appearing reverie. "School... lord, that should be interesting. Maybe we should try him in some little sports league? Practice not showing off with his powers whenever he wants attention?"
"He gets /more/ opinionated at four?" Scott is dumbfounded, images of broccoli dancing across the table. "I've already looked into tee-ball," he admits, abashed. "They start in two weeks, and three year olds are accepted if a parent stays the whole game."
"He -is- the product of our two genomes," Jean points out, a snicker escaping at reminders of the Broccoli Incident, before Scott's admission earns a laugh. "All right, -now- who's the telepath?" she wonders "I was checking out soccer."
"He /does/ like to kick things," Scott laughs. "I'm torn between encouraging that and channeling it into something useful."
"Maybe we should apply powers training techniques to childraising," Jean considers, head cocked to one side.
"Don't tempt me," Scott says, rolling his eyes, in the presence of one of the few who that motion is not entirely lost on. "I try very hard to remember that he is /not/ a student."
"A class of students doesn't leave me nearly as exhausted at the end of the day," Jean quips, snorting softly into her beer before taking a long pull of it. "But do you ever wake up some mornings and wonder whose idea it was to trust you with this tiny, bursting little life?"
Scott chokes out a laugh, washing it down with another drink. "Do I ever /not/, more to the point? And oh, the /questions/. I thought it was an exaggeration, but the things he thinks to ask. If only it were as easy as why the sky were blue. You know the other day, he asked me why Freddy couldn't move things by thinking it."
"I caught him down in the medical bay with the old stethoscope I gave him the other day," Jean supplies, with a shake of her head. She sets her beer glass down on the table, and sits forward to splay her hands on either side of it. "Going from nurse to orderly to resident and 'diagnosing' them. Karen was alarmed to find out she had Rhinocerous Pox."
Scott snorts. "Sounds terrifying. Not sure how I've evaded that. Must be still trying to discover my malady." He's quiet for a moment, the image of bright red unruly hair foremost in his mind. "What a kid, he is. If nothing else, we make a brilliant child."
Down a third of a beer, Jean's smile is pensive as she studies Scott across the table, cheek resting against her hand. "We do a lot of things well together," she reflects. "Not just our genes."
"True enough," Scott says, avoiding further comment with a long draught of beer. And of course, the old standby for discussion when things get awkward. "I had this thought for our next group training. Working out the details with Ororo, but I think I'll have Jareth work us up some giant robots."
"Giant... robots?" Definitely a good way to steer clear of awkward areas. Jean is distracted entirely. "Jareth? Will they be Transformers? Or those Japanese battle-bots the kids are forever watching?"
"I want something larger than life," Scott explains. "Where it takes a team effort to take one down. Robots are a bit more believable than, oh say, giant insects. I'll leave the specifics up to him. And knowing Jareth, it may very /well/ be Transformers."
"Do you know," Jean reflects. "Fighting giant robots might actually get everyone down to training without any attempts to be elsewhere." By her innocent look, Jean is not guilty of this at -all-.
"The thought /had/ crossed my mind," Scott says, a guilty smile of admission. "Not that I begrudge anyone for it; we've all been more than busy these last few months. But we need to pull together as well, not just manage on our own." Fine words, for one who in this aspect can never quite lead by example.
"So, let's do it," says Jean, the gleam back in her eyes and the life in her smile. "Let's save ourselves and save the world."
Little League isn't going to know what hit it. Also, there is celebration, giant robots and X-Men plans.