(no subject)
Telepaths.
From the direction of Erik's office comes a short and somewhat miserable train. A broken up and somewhat blooded Jason is the engine. A weary and deep purple-garbed Magneto is the caboose, steering the young man before him with a hand firmly placed on his right shoulder.
The Brotherhood's infirmary is empty. There is a mop propped up against the filing cabinets on the far wall, a bucket huddling beside it. One of the flourescent lights in the ceiling has dimmed unto death, in need of a new bulb. The medic is not in evidence.
Jason's eyes are half lidded at this point, and swollen so puffy that they're scarce more than slits. He is still dragging. He makes a very poor engine. Because he cannot.
Magneto's limp has returned a bit in the course of his distraction, but for the most part, aside from the Jason situation, he seems to be feeling better, if the kingly shade of his dress shirt is any indication. Steel and ice scrape quickly over the infirmary and find it to be empty. Jason is steered in the direction of the first of the unoccupied beds.
It is not long before the rush of fleet footsteps in the hall outside the infirmary heralds Ellen's approach; she bursts through the door in a fit of haste, hair coming loose from its severe tail. Matched dirtstains mar the clean lines of her grey trousers from the knee down. "Sir, I--" Words breathless, they halt as she does, and blinks.
Jason remains malleable. Perhaps a little too. For the momen the front of his knees touch the side of the bed, he makes a fair attempt at taking a half oblivious collapse. Bonzai.
Magneto is helpful. Helpful in the sense that his hand clamps down hard at that collapse - helping to heft Jason up solidly enough that he will not tumble right back out of the cot. And then he is released, and Erik takes a deep breath and turns to face...Ellen. His brows lift immediately.
"--came as quickly as I could, getting your message," Ellen finishes, with some pretense not at having paused at all, although this really is futile. She yanks at her pale green shirt, attempting to straighten it out of its crinkled and less than professional shape. There is really nothing she can do about her pants.
Jason is not ogling, is not ogling. He is rolling a little bit and, that prevented, hugs at his pillow with /great/ affection. The atmosphere turns rather warm.
Ellen is dirty. Erik, somehow or another, manages not to smile at this, or the shirt tug - brows lowering instead as he angles his head back to indicate Jason, and reminds himself that their situation is a serious one. "...Thank you, Ellen. Jason has had an unfortunate encounter with Emma Frost. I will want," his voice lifts deliberately to include Jason, "a more complete report on what happened within the next few days, but for now, I want him sedated, and his wounds seen to."
Ellen's gaze falls upon Jason, both because meeting Erik's strikes her as a little on the humiliating side and because the young man is being a little bit odd with the pillow. She coughs slightly, clearing her throat. "Yes, sir." She turns and paces at a brisk step to the medicines on the shelves and reaches for a bottle of pills. She picks it up, turns around, looks at Jason again, and then puts it down and starts rummaging for a hypodermic needle instead.
Jason just keeps . . . squeezes the pillow and the cheerful warmth only intensifies. Aren't we glad that Jason is easily distracted from emotional trauma in the immediate? Sure we are.
Magneto curls a pair of fingers up under his already loosened collar to fluff a bit of air in under his shirt at the increase in warmth - a suspicious eye turned back upon Jason before he moves to pace slowly across the room after Ellen.
Ellen mops absently at her brow with one arm, aware of the heat more because she is aware of the increased perspiration than because she is actually all that aware of such concerns as temperature. Fresh needle found, she starts shuffling through drugs, looking for a sedative.
Well, we really don't need to reiterate what Jason is doing. Someone hand him a teddy bear already. The heat remains at a constant level, at this point.
Magneto draws slow to her left side - right hand drifting around her back to settle itself lazily upon her corresponding hip as he angles his jaw after her shuffling. His voice is lowered - for her ears only, even as he blinks a little uncomfortably in the warm air. "Emma has somehow managed to break or eliminate his conscious control over his projective telepathy, so if you see, hear, or feel anything unusual..." his head tilts to indicate that Jason is likely the cause. "Keep an eye on him, and try to keep track of anything significant that he tells you. I'm not entirely sure of what has happened, though I have my suspicions."
Ellen shifts into him despite the excessive warmth of room and body heat, almost unconsciously. She is frowning as she pulls down the drug to fill the syringe. "Very well, sir." Her voice is likewise low, despite the fact that Jason and his, er, cuddlefest, seem somewhat unlikely to decipher human speech at the moment. "I suspect that if he is under sedation he ... won't be able to do anything /too/ nastily unsettling."
Finally, the sheer intensity of the cuddling eases and Jason lets his arms relax into a simple half fold under the pillow. The warmth disappates to be replaced by an uneasy heaviness.
"I suppose that depends upon what his mind takes upon itself to regulate while he is dreaming." Erik mutters, a thin smile cast aside to her frown before he allows his hand to trail away, and turns to pace a little limpingly back across the infirmary. "If it becomes a serious problem, I will bring my helmet in. But until then, keep me informed." And he is on his way out.
Ellen shifts from foot to foot, again lifting her arm to wipe her brow -- though the heat really is negligible, at this point. She frowns again, even as she nods. "Yes, sir," she says, more of a mumble to Magneto's departing back; and then she walks, her step slow, across the infirmary towards Jason's bed.
Here does Jason finally squint open an eye and press his cheek flat against the pillow to allow him to peer suspiciously down his shoulder at her approach. A transparant wall leaps up between him and Ellen, only to drain away into a gelled puddle on the ground. Then evaporate.
Ellen looks at the floor for a moment, suspiciously. Then she starts walking again, standing by his bedside. "Jason," she says, her voice low and soft and as, well, as soothing as Ellen can manage to /be/, anyway, although she has doubts about things such as coherency. "I need to administer some medicine."
"Do it," Jason says, and his voice is so utterly drained of tone as to be unnatural. In fact, Ellen's last word, medicine, is likewise utterly drained. Color snaps out, leaving only vague outlines. And then the world is exhaustedly back to normal.
Ellen blinks once; twice; again. Then she leans over him, pulling on sleeve until she finds skin, and letting cellular awareness expand to find a good place to pump sedative into his blood. She follows the drug with her mind through his body, vision unfocused.
Jason flinches. Something almost takes form in front of him, but whips away as if blown. His eyelids pull down and he shivers. The body shows swift signs of slowing, amenable to such change.
Ellen breathes a hushing syllable, a soft 'sh' sound. She lets her eyes close and sends her mind running through his systems, checking for physical damage to repair.
Nose, of course, and little malaises riddled throughout Jason's body. A touch of nausea here, a hairline fracture in a right toe (who knows why?) there, beginnings of a sinus infection, beginnings of a fever. And Jason's mind is just driiifting.
The nose is repaired forthwith; the toe next. Her lower lip caught in her teeth, Ellen hunts the smattered and disparate minor problems all over Jason, no sooner finding one and fixing it than having to chase another down it seems. When the work is finished enough to halt, she blinks her eyes open and draws a deep breath. "All right, my chaos creature," she says to him very softly, her hand sliding down his arm to press fingertips briefly to his palm. "I will stay with you awhile."
Drifted. Gone. Jason's mouth is dragged slack in his face and he's limp against the cot. His palm is flaccid. But it is there.
Ellen waits a moment there, her mind running a last vague inspection of his body; then she steps back, lets go, and sits down. She sits on the bed beside his for just a moment, and then she chuffs a little snort and gets up and trots over to the mop. She can keep a productive eye on him.
From the direction of Erik's office comes a short and somewhat miserable train. A broken up and somewhat blooded Jason is the engine. A weary and deep purple-garbed Magneto is the caboose, steering the young man before him with a hand firmly placed on his right shoulder.
The Brotherhood's infirmary is empty. There is a mop propped up against the filing cabinets on the far wall, a bucket huddling beside it. One of the flourescent lights in the ceiling has dimmed unto death, in need of a new bulb. The medic is not in evidence.
Jason's eyes are half lidded at this point, and swollen so puffy that they're scarce more than slits. He is still dragging. He makes a very poor engine. Because he cannot.
Magneto's limp has returned a bit in the course of his distraction, but for the most part, aside from the Jason situation, he seems to be feeling better, if the kingly shade of his dress shirt is any indication. Steel and ice scrape quickly over the infirmary and find it to be empty. Jason is steered in the direction of the first of the unoccupied beds.
It is not long before the rush of fleet footsteps in the hall outside the infirmary heralds Ellen's approach; she bursts through the door in a fit of haste, hair coming loose from its severe tail. Matched dirtstains mar the clean lines of her grey trousers from the knee down. "Sir, I--" Words breathless, they halt as she does, and blinks.
Jason remains malleable. Perhaps a little too. For the momen the front of his knees touch the side of the bed, he makes a fair attempt at taking a half oblivious collapse. Bonzai.
Magneto is helpful. Helpful in the sense that his hand clamps down hard at that collapse - helping to heft Jason up solidly enough that he will not tumble right back out of the cot. And then he is released, and Erik takes a deep breath and turns to face...Ellen. His brows lift immediately.
"--came as quickly as I could, getting your message," Ellen finishes, with some pretense not at having paused at all, although this really is futile. She yanks at her pale green shirt, attempting to straighten it out of its crinkled and less than professional shape. There is really nothing she can do about her pants.
Jason is not ogling, is not ogling. He is rolling a little bit and, that prevented, hugs at his pillow with /great/ affection. The atmosphere turns rather warm.
Ellen is dirty. Erik, somehow or another, manages not to smile at this, or the shirt tug - brows lowering instead as he angles his head back to indicate Jason, and reminds himself that their situation is a serious one. "...Thank you, Ellen. Jason has had an unfortunate encounter with Emma Frost. I will want," his voice lifts deliberately to include Jason, "a more complete report on what happened within the next few days, but for now, I want him sedated, and his wounds seen to."
Ellen's gaze falls upon Jason, both because meeting Erik's strikes her as a little on the humiliating side and because the young man is being a little bit odd with the pillow. She coughs slightly, clearing her throat. "Yes, sir." She turns and paces at a brisk step to the medicines on the shelves and reaches for a bottle of pills. She picks it up, turns around, looks at Jason again, and then puts it down and starts rummaging for a hypodermic needle instead.
Jason just keeps . . . squeezes the pillow and the cheerful warmth only intensifies. Aren't we glad that Jason is easily distracted from emotional trauma in the immediate? Sure we are.
Magneto curls a pair of fingers up under his already loosened collar to fluff a bit of air in under his shirt at the increase in warmth - a suspicious eye turned back upon Jason before he moves to pace slowly across the room after Ellen.
Ellen mops absently at her brow with one arm, aware of the heat more because she is aware of the increased perspiration than because she is actually all that aware of such concerns as temperature. Fresh needle found, she starts shuffling through drugs, looking for a sedative.
Well, we really don't need to reiterate what Jason is doing. Someone hand him a teddy bear already. The heat remains at a constant level, at this point.
Magneto draws slow to her left side - right hand drifting around her back to settle itself lazily upon her corresponding hip as he angles his jaw after her shuffling. His voice is lowered - for her ears only, even as he blinks a little uncomfortably in the warm air. "Emma has somehow managed to break or eliminate his conscious control over his projective telepathy, so if you see, hear, or feel anything unusual..." his head tilts to indicate that Jason is likely the cause. "Keep an eye on him, and try to keep track of anything significant that he tells you. I'm not entirely sure of what has happened, though I have my suspicions."
Ellen shifts into him despite the excessive warmth of room and body heat, almost unconsciously. She is frowning as she pulls down the drug to fill the syringe. "Very well, sir." Her voice is likewise low, despite the fact that Jason and his, er, cuddlefest, seem somewhat unlikely to decipher human speech at the moment. "I suspect that if he is under sedation he ... won't be able to do anything /too/ nastily unsettling."
Finally, the sheer intensity of the cuddling eases and Jason lets his arms relax into a simple half fold under the pillow. The warmth disappates to be replaced by an uneasy heaviness.
"I suppose that depends upon what his mind takes upon itself to regulate while he is dreaming." Erik mutters, a thin smile cast aside to her frown before he allows his hand to trail away, and turns to pace a little limpingly back across the infirmary. "If it becomes a serious problem, I will bring my helmet in. But until then, keep me informed." And he is on his way out.
Ellen shifts from foot to foot, again lifting her arm to wipe her brow -- though the heat really is negligible, at this point. She frowns again, even as she nods. "Yes, sir," she says, more of a mumble to Magneto's departing back; and then she walks, her step slow, across the infirmary towards Jason's bed.
Here does Jason finally squint open an eye and press his cheek flat against the pillow to allow him to peer suspiciously down his shoulder at her approach. A transparant wall leaps up between him and Ellen, only to drain away into a gelled puddle on the ground. Then evaporate.
Ellen looks at the floor for a moment, suspiciously. Then she starts walking again, standing by his bedside. "Jason," she says, her voice low and soft and as, well, as soothing as Ellen can manage to /be/, anyway, although she has doubts about things such as coherency. "I need to administer some medicine."
"Do it," Jason says, and his voice is so utterly drained of tone as to be unnatural. In fact, Ellen's last word, medicine, is likewise utterly drained. Color snaps out, leaving only vague outlines. And then the world is exhaustedly back to normal.
Ellen blinks once; twice; again. Then she leans over him, pulling on sleeve until she finds skin, and letting cellular awareness expand to find a good place to pump sedative into his blood. She follows the drug with her mind through his body, vision unfocused.
Jason flinches. Something almost takes form in front of him, but whips away as if blown. His eyelids pull down and he shivers. The body shows swift signs of slowing, amenable to such change.
Ellen breathes a hushing syllable, a soft 'sh' sound. She lets her eyes close and sends her mind running through his systems, checking for physical damage to repair.
Nose, of course, and little malaises riddled throughout Jason's body. A touch of nausea here, a hairline fracture in a right toe (who knows why?) there, beginnings of a sinus infection, beginnings of a fever. And Jason's mind is just driiifting.
The nose is repaired forthwith; the toe next. Her lower lip caught in her teeth, Ellen hunts the smattered and disparate minor problems all over Jason, no sooner finding one and fixing it than having to chase another down it seems. When the work is finished enough to halt, she blinks her eyes open and draws a deep breath. "All right, my chaos creature," she says to him very softly, her hand sliding down his arm to press fingertips briefly to his palm. "I will stay with you awhile."
Drifted. Gone. Jason's mouth is dragged slack in his face and he's limp against the cot. His palm is flaccid. But it is there.
Ellen waits a moment there, her mind running a last vague inspection of his body; then she steps back, lets go, and sits down. She sits on the bed beside his for just a moment, and then she chuffs a little snort and gets up and trots over to the mop. She can keep a productive eye on him.