(no subject)
Something has just let out in one of the lecture halls this evening, it's clear, as the desultory traffic of those with homework due tomorrow strengthens into a steadier trickle out of the doors of one of the buildings, in the cold. Signs on the door announce an info session about the efforts of the Santuary Fund, and Zenith is near the middle of the traffic, walking beside her business manager who else helped give the presentation, and trying to chat and answer questions as charmingly as possible, in the general scuffle. Several loud conversations--or arguments--about mutant issues continue still between people walking out.
Ororo stands near the back of the hall, arms folded loosely over her stomach. Her hair is pulled back from her face, half-tail half-taming the tumbling cascade of white, and her expression is one of schooled mildness, her weight balanced on the wide plant of her square-heeled black shoes. She arrived a little late to the presentation, and remained a loomish, quiet, thoughtful presence throughout. Now her gaze drifts over the audience as it disperses, a few steps to the side and away from the doors to avoid creating any sort of fire hazard.
And caught neatly in the midst of one argument is a professor of note - though not fame: Dr. Reed Richards. Having actually -volunteered- to be one of a few brave souls to hand out program packets at the entrance of the lecture, he now finds himself having to disengage from several interesting - if not particularly useful - arguments. "I'm.. yes, sorry, I just hand out the.. ah.. yes.. Ms. Zenith!" Exclaims the beleagured Richards, lifting a hand up to signal his presence. "I, oh, sorry about the foot..." To another gent who has recently been toe-trod!
Amid the flow of retreating people are a pair standing their ground just outside the exit. The taller of the two, a willowy young man with curly brown hair and a dark green knitted sweater looks at home on the NYU campus. His friend, a dark haired young woman who stands with her arm through his looks a little old to be a student. This evening Lark is wearing a multi-colored skirt just visible below her thick black wool coat. She laughs lightly at her friend's last comment and surveys those around them. Her eyes lighting as she spots a familiar face, she exclaims, "Zenith!" and tugs John abruptly in that direction.
From the middle of the pack, a slim, green-eyed brunette of no particular import: Alyssa Carter gathers a sketchbook (used for notes) and tucks it in to one of her overcoat's over-large pockets, then starts to work her way toward the doors. She is only middling sucessful, but doesn't appear to be in any kind of hurry.
Zenith gives Ororo a rather diffident nod, and a warmer, amused one to Reed, and addresses her question generally to them both. "So did they all fall asleep? I guess they all chose to come, though." She nods to the chairwoman of the Fund, getting a little ahead of Zenith now, hurrying to something. "I was glad Di was here to get the difficult questions." She perks up, seeing Lark, and enthusiastically waves a hand in greeting.
Full mouth turning up at one corner, Ororo answers Zenith's nod with a slight inclination of her head. She starts toward the vague cluster of acquaintances, and pauses to slant a glance of vague amusement over a particularly familiar slim brunette. "Ms. Carter," she greets, as in passing, while she slides between two taller men in very long black leather coats.
"Asleep or not, they are certainly in a hurry-oof!" Having never quite mastered the art of moving through crowds - who has the time? - Reed is unsuccessfully propelled from another collision. Much akin to a deflected proton, he finds his new course and unstable speed equivalent sends him in a most inopportune direction; Namely, on course with Alyssa! It's mostly because he's staggering, having neither true bones for leverage nor willingness to 'catch hold' in public to steady his balance.
Both of Lark's hands being occupied in towing John along in her wake, she is unable to return Zenith's wave. Instead she just smiles broadly, and quickly closes the distance toward her friend. Even with another person in her wake, Lark is well practiced in the art of crowd dodging, and suffers no collisions along the way. Pulling up just within conversational distance she gives the chairwoman an amused version of the smile and then turns to Zenith. "Hi!" is her stunningly witty conversation opener. "Long time no see."
"Why'd you come?" Zenith asks Lark with a teasing note to her voice, giving the other woman a quick embrace. Not European enough for cheek-kissing, though. "You don't need to hear my sales pitch again!" She looks toward Ororo, starting to ask "What did /you/ think--" but cuts off when the woman seems to be in conversation with Alyssa. She blinks at Reed instead. "You okay--?"
Alyssa is caught up in the crowd; distracted, she answers "Ms. Munroe," on a breath, still not entirely comfortable around her former teacher. This is just enough that her course brings her right up against (and into, and over if he is not careful) Dr. Richards: she stumbles, but unlike him isn't afraid to reach out and catch hold to steady herself. "Oh, hell-- sorry!"
"Careful," Ororo offers, a note of surprise lightening her low voice as she lifts her hand and holds out one arm, the fit of navy denim close to her lean frame and crinkling with the easy motion. This potential brace offered to either stumbler with egalitarian equanimity, Ororo arches her brows over her eyes.
"I didn't actually come," Lark admits with a shrug. "I was nearby to visit this one," she says, laying a hand absently on John's shoulder. This polite and upstanding young man nods, sending soft brown curls drifting over his forehead, and says, "Hi. I'm John. I take it you're a friend of Lark's?" Jumping in as soon as he finishes his last syllable, Lark continues, "I remembered seeing something about you having a thing. So, I thought I'd stop by after and say hi. I'm not keeping you from any important pitching, am I?"
Zenith spreads her hands. "Pitch is done." She frowns at the collection of stumbles happening, wincing. She can't stumble, after all! "Do you know Ms. Munroe? I met her through the..." Zenith swallows. "Space thing. You want to meet her?"
The proferred arm is commandeered with all due speed, Reed frowning heavily as he - at last - prevents the inevitable collapse downwards. It would be hard to explain away footprints on the torso after he'd been trampled, after all. The 60's stereotype brushes off his tweed jacket, granting Storm a rather worried little smile. "Yes... I'll.. try to be." He clears his throat, and slips aside to form a more geometric figure, to prevent leaving the poor lass he nearly crumpled atop of out of the loop. "Sorry about that. I'm not quite used to elbowing my way through dense packets of humanity! Although, in the very least, I managed to dispense all of my dockets.." A pat along his jacket reveals a last one, which he moues at. Before holding it out to Alyssa. "Program?"
"Ms. Munroe?" Lark echoes blankly, shooting a look up at John as if to check whether he knows this mysterious person. "I don't think so. Though the name sounds really incredibly familiar. I'd love to meet her in any case."
Aly's smile is utterly, thoroughly charming; you would think she is used to nearly being run over, or something. "Thank you," she says as she accepts the program; her nose wrinkles slightly as she flips through it, but she doesn't comment before slipping it into her pocket. (The one with the sketchbook.) "I'm Alyssa," she offers in lieu of anything better to say, and sticks out her hand. "Nice to, um, meet you." (This is to Reed, because he is being so very nice and including her.)
"She's at the school. With Dr. Grey." Zenith gestures for Lark to follow, and pauses along the way at Reed. "Dr.--uh--" She flushes, having started the introduction without remembering his name. "Doctor. Thanks for helping for the programs!" She gives him a sunny smile instead.
Ororo's smile warms her eyes, a slight curve of her lips as she tips her head acknowledgingly. When she is certain that he has found his feet, she withdraws the sturdy support of her arm to straighten her jacket with a slight tug at its hem. "Crowds can be overwhelming," she says, tone light. "Well done. Only one mishap."
"Hmm? Oh, yes. Ms. Alyssa. It's a pleasure." The proferred hand is taken after a moment's hesitation - to make sure he feels all full of bones around the hand - before he pauses. Having briefly overstepped an important facet in social ettiquette. "Ah! I'm Reed. Richards. Doctor." A pause. "Doctor Reed Richards, advanced physics. You're a student here?" He questions, before his attention is drawn aside by Ororo. The good fellow smiling wismically a bit. "I think so. Frankly, I was tempted to spend the night in my cell.." Dry academic humor ".. but decided to pitch in and help the.. the cause, as it were. For tonight. Did you enjoy it?" And, at last, Zenith! "Hmm? Oh, it's quite alright, Ms. Zenith. My pleasure, really. The more options available to people of .. to people, the better." A sagely nod.
Catching at John's sweater to pull him along once more, Lark follows in Zenith's wake. There is a faint frown creasing her brow as she tries to piece together Munroe, Dr. Grey and 'the school' to find that wisp of memory still eluding her.
"This is Lark Acarin," Zenith tells Reed, and Ororo if she's listening. "She's a fellow performer. It's--cello." Zenith looks proud, like a pet just having successfully completed a trick, for remembering. "In the symphony."
"No," Alyssa answers Reed, sticking to this one thread of conversation with somewhat dogged determination. "Not a student here." She seems terribly relieved by this, for some reason. "Do you actually teach here, or are you just a researcher?"
"It is good work which needs doing." Ororo's tone is mild, an understatement suggested by the quirk of her brow. Turning slightly on her heel to open towards Zenith and Lark as they arrive, her smile returns in a fleeting wisp, eyes warmed by it. "Lark Acarin," she says. "I remember you, I think. A friend of Chris's, yes?" Canting her head at a slight angle, she holds out her hand to first one and then the other for a shake. "Nice to meet you, Doctor Richards. Ororo Munroe. I teach history at Xavier's School."
"The Phil," Lark agrees with a nod and a smile for the group. Recognition sparks in her green eyes first for Alyssa, and then for Ororo, as she turns at the sound of her name being repeated. "Ororo! I wondered why your name sounded familiar. You're right, a friend of Chris's. Though I haven't seen him for a while now."
"A delight, Ms. Acarin. Cello, you say?" A slightly wistful gaze crosses Reed's features. "Audial harmonics setup by vibration, producing geometrically decellerating concentricities in the air. The reception of which determines depth, pitch, and audation." A pause. "I think I once played the piano. Well done, Ms. Acarin." Ahem. His attention is shucked towards Alyssa again, before Reed rubs that chin. "I teach, actually, though I was originally tenured for research position. Because of the public funding aspect of the En Why You, I can't accept their resourced without adding to the extend of education parted upon the purveyors of physics. Are you enrolled at another school, then?" And, at last, Ororo! Reed is getting a bit overwhelmed here, but trying to stay afloat. The hand shaken quite firmly, though Reed forgets to make it feel boney. Like a real hand. "Hmm? Oh, delightful! I just finished speaking.. that is, the other night.. several nights ago, in fact.. maybe even a week." A pause. "To Dr. Grey. We had a few dilemnas and questions to work out!"
Happy to have accomplished her introductions effectively, and a little worn out from being 'on' during the presentation, Zenith settles back, content to just listen.
"The man is elusive," Ororo murmurs for Lark's benefit, a wry laugh reflected in her eyes where it is not given voice. Faint puzzlement creases her brow as her glance slides along to Reed, hand withdrawn from his as she settles her weight back on her heels and examines her own palm as though it is the source of her confusion. "Did you?" she says. "Interesting. Dr. Grey and I go way back. Perhaps she was of some help to you, Dr. Richards?"
Despite it's apparently being for her benefit, Reed's burst of scientific verbiage clearly goes right over Lark's head. She gives him a friendly but blank smile, and just nods. Addressing Ororo instead, she says, "Say hi to him for me, if you get a chance." And, before it can slip her mind, she turns her gaze to Aly and wonders hopefully, "Have we met? You look incredibly familiar."
Aly follows the thread of Richards' conversation with wide eyes: it is like listening to someone read a book, or something. "Am I-- what? Oh. No, no, I'm not actually ... enrolled anywhere. I'm an artist-- can you explain something? Anything." Before she can fangirl his vocabulary any more painfully, her attention is caught by Lark's question. "I-- yes, I think? You were -- you threw a pillow at my head."
"Actually, I rather hoped I helped her." States Dr. Richards, with a single laugh. "I don't suppose I could come tour the campus sometime? I've actually never been to Manchester.." His mind is beginning to wander, allowing Zenith the privacy to slip away without his barrage of questions and queries about stress band creation - that he'd originally meant to pose - before he turns to Alyssa. "Hmm? You know, there -is- a prestigious art program here.. but, I'd be glad to answer what I can. What's the matter?"
"I would be glad to," Ororo tells Lark, inclining her head slightly, before returning her glance in Reed's direction. "It's Westchester actually," she says mildly, flicking silver-white strands of hair away from her ear, "but I am certain that we can arrange a tour for you at some point. When you have the time free, of course; you may want to make an appointment just in case."
"Oh!" Lark seems to have found meaning in Aly's somewhat cryptic reply. "I remember now. At Elias' place. That was a strange night. Apologies for the pillow," she offers the other girl. Flicking a look between Ororo and Reed, she doesn't try to cut in on their conversation, but slips her arm back through John's and just watches Ororo's face for a moment.
"I don't actually have a problem," Aly answers Reed, wrinkling her nose again. "I just liked listening to you explain the thing to Lark--" Speaking of Lark, she gives the other girl a shrug, and dismisses the apology with a, "Don't worry about it. 'parently I snore."
Reed bites his lip briefly as he considers Ororo's offer, before dipping his head. "Hmm. It should probably before the spring semester gets into full swing, then. What about... tomorrow?" A single eyebrow goes up. "Or is that too soon?" Another worried little smile, before Reed's attention is seized by - a willing audience? He blinks as he finally undestands the request, and clears his throat. "Ah. Well.. what about why Ms. Zenith and I are about to create history?" A sly grin as Reed glances towards the Zee for support, only to find the woman disappeared! He blinks, vaguely disappointed, but continues. "Namely through her ability to generate stable gravity stress bands without apparent physical alteration, presenting further evidence in the Standard Model for particle assimilations? It'll revolutionize the nature of advanced physics as soon as my work into manifestation is complete.."
Ororo gives Reed a look that suggests vague familiarity as well as tolerant patience, brows lifted slightly while her mouth twitches at one corner. "I have an ex-boyfriend who talks a little like that," she says, tone desert dry where it bears recollection, "from time to time." She folds her hands in a loose interlace before her stomach, head tipped down with the quiet exhalation of a snort. "If you would like to come by tomorrow, we can attempt to accomodate you," she adds directly. "I have no idea off the top of my head of anything that would prevent you from having a tour."
Lark flashes Aly a grin, saying, "It's a reflex I developed to ensure a good night's sleep. Snorers do tend to stop snoring if you throw a pillow at them. Generally though, I'm better acquainted before I go flinging things."
Alyssa follows like someone with a passion for science, but without the grasp to go into the field itself. That is, very intently. "You're researching manifestation from a physics angle, rather than a biological or chemical one?" Two people is much easier to juggle: Ororo gets ignored, in a passive sort of way. "I'm Alyssa-- I'm not sure if we ever got introduced at Eli's."
"Oh." States Reed to Ororo, briefly thrown off his tirade by the mention of an ex-boyfriend. "I'm.. sorry I remind you so." He states, clearing his throat. And quite lost for precisely how one handles such faux pas as this! None the less, he soldiers on with a brief nod of his head. "It's a date, then, for tomorrow!" A pause, followed by a brief reddening along the neck and ears before he musters on: "I'll be certain to leave the ol' alma mater at home while on campus, eh?" Academic humor once more, to cover the embarrasing vocal blunder. Another clearing of the throat, before Reed's attention is once again back to Alyssa. With a curiously pleased expression on his face. "Precisely. Animalistic mutations are easy enough to understand, from a genetics standpoint.. even telepathy, if you consider MagnetoEncephaloGraphy and it's nature. But creating gravitonic stress bands? Magnetic forces? Plasma bursts? What possible organic combination could release such forces, much less at a controllable level dependent on the mental capacity of the wielder?! There is something far deeper occuring."
"Mmhmm." Lashes dropping over her eyes to hide the gleam of humor that lingers there, Ororo tips her head. "Good idea." Curling her fingers into a fist, she brushes her knuckles along the line of her jaw, contemplative. "I wonder where along your spectrum you would place meteorologic control, Doctor." A quiet laugh is buried in her voice, richening it like the warm drape of a cloak. "I am given to understand that it is, mostly, scientifically bizarre."
"If we did, I can't remember it. Good to meet you more officially, Alyssa," Lark returns. Then as Reed launches into his explanation, she cedes the conversational floor to him and murmurs a question to John. He more audibly replies, "No, I don't think so. Why?" Blushing faintly, Lark shakes her head at him and goes back to listening attentively to Ororo and blankly to Reed.
Alyssa, firmly in the realm of biology-based mutations, just flashes a grin at Ororo, and tips her head at Reed. "I'm sort of curious, too."
Reed blinks towards Ororo's question, reaching up to grip and tug at his chin. A motion that pulls at the solid-state demi-rubber nature slightly as he ponders. Deep within his stretchy brain, nueral pathways are switching at an alarming rate: "Hmm. Frankly, it would depend on the -degree- to which the manifestation occurs. Modern science can control the weather to a degree, through seeding clouds. In fact, Atlanta is creating its own weather as we speak from the heat generated from its city-mass." Another pause, a glaze beginning to overwrite Reed's eyes. "Weather itself is formulated via the simple global water cycle, which itself is powered by temporal circumstances, aka temperature fluxuations, which cause wide-scale pressure depressions. Which, in and of itself, is caused by solar interference. So!" Hands clap together quite suddenly, and Reed paces. "Does the manifestation solely effect the ambient temperature over a wide-scale area to slight degrees? Or the pressure itself in millibars? Can it be localized, or is it solely a broad-band experience? How broad? What of areas that lack in moisture to form proper weather patterns, or those which are too saturated for temperature changes to effectively occur..?"
Ororo laughs aloud, a warm sound borne on a gust of breath. "If you'd like to try that again in English," she says, the sweep of a broad gesture cutting through the air. "I got about half of it, Doctor." She glances around the dwindling company of the lecture hall, gauging the likelihood of riots, perhaps, considering the purposes of the fund and et cetera, but with few enough folk still lingering amongst the seats, she remains serene, though an accent draws a little heavier over her voice, heightening somewhat with an offer. "Perhaps a small demonstration would be in order, rather than an explanation I am ill equipped to invent?" White mist curls through the blue of her eyes as she cups her hands before her, a wisp of a breeze stirring in the still air of the lecture hall. The ambient temperature in their immediate vicinity warms a few degrees as a thin shred of grey fog coalesces before her opaqued-white eyes, forming a little baby cloud.
"If, in fact, the actual area of concentration has no effect on the manifestation of the meteorlogical event, then we have three powers co-existing. Temperature control, pressure control, and the ability to manifest moisture. Which then leads to the problem of -where- these changes are comming from! Is the ambient energy surrounding the personage being effected, or is there simply a formation of the required catalysts?!" NOW Dr. Richards sounds quite exited, his pacing becomming nearly frantic. "If so, it lends -further- credence to a grand unified theory of Standard Model bosuns, where all properties of matter are distributed by the zero-sum vacuum particle entities, neatly bridging the gap between relativity and quantum mechanics and subsidizing my hypothesis into Zenith's prowess! But proof awaits -detection-, a-" Reed's rant is cut short as Ororo 'demonstrates', the stretchy Scientist briefly snapped out of his reverie by the sudden warm breeze. And the physical alteration of Storm herself. But those brown eyes are locked onto the 'baby' cloud. Rather than being alarmed, horrified, or otherwise reacting as a -normal- human would - Reed seems exstatic. Elated. Energized. Quite literally cupping his hands beneath the cloud, briefly forgetting to look like has bones, as he stares with something approaching adoration. For the manifestation itself. "Brilliant." He murmurs. Before starting, and 'filling' his hands out again. The illusion of bones, blood, and the works. "I'm.. I must get back to the laboratory, immediatly! You. I. Tomorrow, right? Good! And goodbye, Ms. Alyssa, Ms. Lark!"
Having heard plenty of references to 'god-like powers', Lark is quick to catch on to Ororo's intention even before the first breeze ruffles her long hair. Green eyes wide she tightens her hold on her friend's arm to a white knuckled grip. John himself looks a little panicked, and not at all prepared for this situation, but Lark's grip on his arm holds him in place. They both throw a glance after Reed as he hurries away, before returning their attention to the much more fascinating weather event.
In contrast, Alyssa looks completely nonplussed: she has, after all, seen this before!
"On the morrow, Dr. Richards," Ororo replies in tones of mild warmth. With a curling flicker of her fingers, Ororo dissipates the fog. It does not vanish completely, but thins and spreads, a shred of mist to curl in the air and fade away like the steam of breath on a chill day. The white mist recedes from her gaze, and her grin, as it flashes, is a trifle crooked. "I've never had quite that reaction, I don't think," she says in a musing tone, a faint tremor of mirth reawakened in her low voice for this acknowledgment, before she turns an arch-browed look towards Lark and her friend. "My apologies, if I alarmed you," she says, courtesy quieter and withour humor. "The good doctor's enthusiasm perhaps overwhelmed my better judgment." And of course, she could hardly be more out of the mutant closet without signs and parades; little enough reason to hide.
"I--" John is unable to enunciate exactly what he is, but Lark steps in to say in an almost normal tone, "Don't worry about it. I can understand the impulse." She even manages a small amused smile with little trouble, the first shock fading quickly.
Ororo attends a presentation on the Sanctuary Fund, and meets some new and old people! Also this scene sort of petered because of internet deaths.