(no subject)
Sunday afternoon is cool, but not cold. The last of morning fog has faded away into a faint quiet grey hue to the sky, but the day is bright. The light breeze whispers through leaves and branches of the trees that mark lush Xavier's land. Relative peace, at least for the moment; without the languid heat of summer, the pool is covered and the back porch changes from prime picnic area to something much more quieter and sedate.
Ororo has taken up residence at the picnic table, legs crossed amidst the long flare of sky blue that is her skirt. She wears a white sweater over a blue camisole that matches the skirt, nearly seasonably appropriate if not for the thin strappy white sandals she wears -- or half-wears, heels slipped half out of them -- on her feet. Arrayed before her on the surface of the table, some thirty article summaries, some printed, some handwritten, and their attached articles from internet and print media. And, of course, the gradebook, and her neat cluster of blue and red pens.
If Alison could talk somebody into accompanying her to the skate park every day, she would surely be there every day. As it is, some days she has to make do with the paved areas of the grounds -- the basketball court, the pool, the bone-jarring cobblestone of the patio -- and what indoors skating she can get away with. In a blue sweater and goldenrod corduroys, she steps out of the mansion, rollerskates already strapped on and ready to go, iPod plugged into her ears. "-- look what they're doing to me, tryin' to trip me up, tryin' to wear me down --" she sings along, full volume, until she skates a little further out and notices Ororo working on grading there, and pauses abruptly.
The sound precedes Alison's immediate appearance, such that Ororo is forewarned. She lays down her pens and laces her hands together, resting her chin lightly on her hands with her elbows resting lightly on the stone surface of the table. Her hair tumbles in a silvery-white mane around her neck and shoulders, more wind-wild than styled. As the girl halts, she cants her head to roll a look over at her, her bland expression hard to read save for a light in her bright blue eyes that suggests contemplation and amusement.
"Hi," Alison says, with that faintly hesitant look so many students wear around teachers, no matter how approachable. Her skates work back and forth on the concrete for a moment. "Sorry if I -- you grading?" She cranes her neck, looking at the stack of papers to try and suss out if hers is among them.
"Mmhmm." Hummed notes of affirmance quiet, Ororo follows Alison's glance towards the piled papers. As she has a habit of making all of her students summarize current events articles, it's not immediately clear which class she's grading for; although one of the more recent homework assignments someone seems to have done in crayon, so possibly middle school. Possibly. "It's all right. If I needed privacy I do have a room upstairs." Smile slight, Ororo tips her head toward the teenager, brows arching just a little. "Making the most of your weekend?"
Alison summarized a current events article about /her/ -- well, a commentary piece that /mentioned/ her, as actual news about her outing was limited to blurbs outside of the entertainment mags. And there wasn't so much summarizing as there was vigorous refuting and, in her view, righteous anger against the media. In case it is there. She shrugs in response to the question, and makes a face. "I guess so. It's gonna be kinda too cold for skating soon, so --" She glances back towards inside, and then adds, "Honestly, my weekend's kinda /sucked/."
"Really?" Any sympathy Ororo offers is a quiet thing, in the general appearance that she is prepared to listen; her gaze rests on Alison, still thoughtful. Maybe she is procrastinating.
"Yeah, really," Alison says, and rolls her eyes. They're going to get stuck there one day. "For all you guys have, like, students who can /zap/ things and move things with their minds, this place is /boring/." She demonstrates with a little flash of light of her own. "And everybody here is /way/ stuck up, except for, like, Nadia, and she's depressed three-quarters of the time because of her cousin or whatever."
"Ah." The single syllable is warmed with laughter unvoiced, although Ororo's expression stays largely solemn. She does shift where she sits, lowering her hands; one falls to her knee, the other resting in a splay of fingers over the neat columns of her gradebook. "It is a school, you know, Ms. Blaire. There is a degree to which it isn't supposed to be fun." Canting her head, Ororo mildly puts forth a hypothetical question: "If you had your druthers, what would we do around here that we don't?"
"I don't know -- " Alison says, skating a little bit closer, tentatively. "And /school's/ fine. The classes are -- whatever. They're classes. I knew that. But I don't know -- it's just all the other students are -- it's just /boring/." She glares a little at the ground. "I'll deal with it. Whatever."
"It's easy to feel out of place here, when you first arrive," Ororo says, glancing away and out, over the grounds. She drums fingertips lightly against her knee, drawing a breath to release it in the puff of a breath past pursed lips. "Kids from all walks of life, and most of what they have in common is that they feel alienated. And your entrance was more ... ah, spectacular, than some. More to acclimate to, for your peers, for you." She glances back, mouth turned up at the corners only. "Am I warm or cold?"
Dazzler skates closer, grabbing a chair from the table and the slumping into it, pulled back far enough that she doesn't have easy view of the grading, though her eyes skim that way speculatively. "Warm, I guess," she grumbles. "Except that it doesn't even /matter/ that I got here spectacularly, because nobody /cares/. Nobody here even watches TV, apparently." She heaves a sigh, and then looks somewhat apologetic. "Sorry. I guess I should just suck it up. That's what Daddy says, anyway -- well -- not in those words."
"When what you see and hear on TV is a lot of people who think you're inferior or dangerous because of how you were born, sometimes it's easier to just turn it off." Ororo turns slightly on the seat to give Alison another slightly arch-browed look, this time after having neatly closed the gradebook with the real treasure trove of possibly incriminating information in it. "There's also a thriving cult of the nerd around here," she says. "They like hobbits and spaceships, but run screaming from anything akin to popular culture embraced by the mainstream." She glances away again, pursing her lips. She is maybe a little behind the times -- nerd culture is totally beyond hobbits at the moment! "I have never really been very attentive to the television, myself. I keep myself too busy with other things. I can, however, pick up a newspaper. -- Anyway, I think they know who you are, Alison. I don't think they know how to react to it."
Dazzler snorts quietly at the mention of nerds, superior little thing that she is. "Anyway. I think things'll be good again once I have a show. Or at least I can drag people out to do karaoke with me or whatever," she says at last. "It is gonna be okay with you-all that I'm gonna do a show, right? I mean, it's kinda a target for my hate mail friends, but apparently I can nearly get /eaten by dinosaurs/ just running errands with my dad, so -- you know. Might as well."
"Well," Ororo says, faint hesitation reflected in the word as she lifts a hand to scratch a fingertip against her scalp, through her hair. "You may want to run it by Jean, if you haven't. She might have some sage advice to offer." Only mildly cryptic, Ororo frowns slightly as she falls quiet again on that point. "I heard about the dinosaur thing. Just when you think there's nothing new under the sun," she adds, and her mouth twists.
"Yeah," Alison says, her expression one of mild trepidation at the thought of talking with Jean. Dinosaurs, on the other hand! "I saw two of them." She holds up two fingers, to illustrate. "I blinded them and ran like /hell/. Probably should've just zapped them." The two fingers switch to a gun formed with index finger and thumb. "Cause I guess maybe they chewed on some more people. I've been reading the news about it."
Ororo glances at the pile of enthusiastic article summaries on the picnic table, many of which were very excited about the prospect of dinosaur maulings. "I'm not usually in favor of indiscriminate zappings," she says, voice gone mild again, and quiet. "We can only hope Animal Control hasn't bitten off more than it can chew."
"Yeah, that probably wouldn't look too good -- 'Alison Blaire and Her Deadly Powers' -- after I'd tried to look so harmless," Alison says, pragmatically. "/Still./ It was, like, ready to eat me for breakfast." She pauses, head tilting to the side. "Well, lunch."
Ororo is quiet for a moment, tipping two fingertips against the bridge of her nose as she smiles, ever-so-slightly, down at the accumulated work that piles on the table. Then she straightens, dropping her hands to flatten over the closed gradebook. "Dangerous mutants tend to more and nastier headlines," she says. "One reason among many I try to be very sparing with my lightning bolts."
"Lightning bolts?" Alison casts a glance to the sky, and then back at the teacher, then eyes flicking down to the pile o' work. "Right. They're weather. Anyway. I'm -- gonna go do some more skating." She plugs her earbuds back into her ears and pulls out her iPod to fiddle with the controls. "See ya in class!"
"Indeed." The breath of a low laugh chases the word, before Ororo reaches to pick up one of her colored pens. She taps its cap idly against her mouth. "I'll see you later. Have fun."
Ororo is not really the most unboring person on campus, either.