7/22/07 - Jubilee
OOC: Possible Harry Potter spoilers hidden under this cut. Or then again, possibly not.
---
The chair is not in evidence today, though it has had its moment in the sun as an appendage to Professor Xavier's breakfast appearance. In the hallows of the afternoon, he resorts to canes and crutches instead, alternating between one and the other as the day wears on. It is an awkward transition, and unusual enough to prompt whispers; the dignity of the man is handicapped by the ungainly devices, and the straight back is bowed as he labors down corridors. Exhausting work. Humiliating work, though the strong, old face forbids commentary on that aspect of it -- at least until he has long left the room.
In the small green classroom that is used for math and physics, therefore, he takes his rest, far from the weekend centers of activity. A student chair makes his support; the desk, scarred by generations of graffiti, a bed for his crutches. Scalp dappled lightly with perspiration, garbed notwithstanding in an elegant grey suit, he sits back and regards the chalkboard with blank and frowning eyes.
Jubilee prowls the halls too! Though with far more sneak and ease. Under one arm is tucked a huge book, the cover easily identifiable as one that has taken over the student (and staff, don't deny it!) population. She's a few steps into the classroom before she realizes the solitude the room had promised isn't going to materialize immediately. A sling supports the other arm. Though power-mended, not all the damage of the hours of neglect are healed away, and it'll be a few more days of rest and immobility before the ache and tenderness are gone as well. "Whoops. Sorry, Professor," she greets cheerfully, not at all repentant about stumbling across him in his apparent reverie.
The sizzle and snap of that particular personality shoves the Professor out of his meditation as little else could, and the swing of gaze that focuses on Jubilee is alive with all the force of that formidable mind. A single, frowning glance swings across the young woman, attentive to that arm, and then it softens into warmth and paternal resignation. "Jubilee," he greets mildly. Smile lines crinkle at the corners of his eyes. "No apologies necessary. I see you have the new book. Did you go with Kitty?"
"Nah. I was kinda outta commission that night. Ro picked it up for me." Memories of her night with the Morlocks swirl and stream beneath her understatement. She enters the room further and clambers up onto a desk next to him, crossling her legs and sitting the tome down on the desktop with a thump. "Have you read it?" she teases, amused by the thought of Xavier following the mass cult phenomenon.
Xavier glances down at the lurid cover, his eyebrows lifting, while the automatic, low hum of telepathy tastes the whirlpool of memory. "I believe I read the first book," he says with all the dignity at his disposal. Hazel eyes twinkle. "For purely academic reasons, naturally. As a teacher of English literature, it seemed important to have some minimal familiarity with the, ah, craze. I don't believe I've had leisure to read the rest, however. I am informed that it is quite engaging."
"Well, you died in the last one, but I think she might've brought you back in this one," Jubilee says, patting the cover. "I'm only halfway through though." That in itself is a feat, considering the girl's distaste for most things not electronic and flashing.
Xavier pauses, then blinks. "I beg your pardon?"
Jubilee looks just as puzzled for a minute, then bursts out laughing as she reviews what she'd just said. "Hah! Sorry. We've all kind of 'assigned' people to the characters. You're Dumbledore! An' Jean is McGonigal. Everyone else kind of fluctuates-like."
"Ah," says Xavier, continuing to look a little puzzled. "I ... see. Let me think, now. Dumbledore is -- surely not the rather abusive uncle? Or was it the groundskeeper? Regardless, I'm sure the association is appropriate." He looks a little hurt, regardless. Abusive uncle. Sad. A bit plaintively, he adds, "I don't believe I have ever thrust a child in a closet, although occasionally the temptation is--"
"Oh, noooo," Jubilee assures him gravely, eyes twinkling in repressed merriment. "Dumbledore was the headmaster of the school. A very kind and respected magician. The /most/ talented one /ever/, in fact." She doesn't need to add 'just like you' to the end of the sentence. It weaves in and out of the whole thing.
Xavier says, "Ah," again, and once more twinkles quietly at Jubilee. "That's much better. Thank you. My ego is appeased. As the most talented magician ever, in fact, I believe I can comfortably say that the association is spot on. Almost uncanny, in fact. One might think that the author -- JK Rowling, is it? -- had a peculiar insight into the inner workings of our school. Barring the alternate realities and mad duplicates, that is."
"Oh, she had some of those too. Duplicates, I mean. Book four, I think," Jubilee replies, though her own good mood has been pricked by the mention of the troublesome guests. She uncrosses her legs and dangles them off the side of the desk, staring at her knees.
An apologetic mental touch brushes Jubilee's mind, like the touch a fingers on her cheek. "It has been an unfortunate week for you, my dear," Xavier says gently, his head tilting towards the young woman, pate gleaming. "How are you faring?"
"'m fine, mostly. Just kinda creepy, ya know?" Concern for Rogue and her reaction to the alternate Jubilee's rejection swirls up to color her thoughts, dragging assorted tangential thoughts and memories with them. Ahem. Sorry, Professor. "What're ya gonna do with them?"
"A difficult question," Xavier admits, loosely knitting his fingers together to allow one arm to hang off the other, elbow-pinned on the desk. "Do you have a preference?"
Jubilee says, "Er..." Jubiee is discomfited by the question. She holds a hand up and wiggles her fingers as she thinks. "I dunno. Guess it depends on what /they/ want. I mean..." her voice goes small as her sense of fairness and compassion swell to squeeze out self-interest. Mostly. "Things sound pretty awful for them." ""
Xavier says, "Yes," and weighs the single word with all the anxiety and distress due to the idea of his students -- of any reality, this or the other -- suffering. He looks down at his fingernails and their manicured beds, his brow creasing afresh. "If they return, we will naturally offer them assistance, I think. Supplies, at the very least."
Jubilee nods and scoots closer to the edge of the desk, bringing her knees within touching distance. "Professor? Is it really horrible o' me to be glad I'm here. And not there? I mean, I know I'm /there/, but... It's all wrong there."
The deep-set gaze returns to Jubilee, sharpening to attention. "No, my dear." The beautifully layered voice warms into understanding and sympathy. "There is nothing amiss with being grateful for what you have. I would not wish you to be there, either, though I understand the guilt. We have -- an embarrassment of riches, I think."
It eases it, just a little, though it combines with determination in her look at him. "We can't let it happen here," she says deliberately and slow, as if laying out an unshakeable conviction.
"No." That much is certain. There is an implacability to that simple word. Xavier frowns back down: at his crutches this time, laid out parallel in sleek, orthodox aluminum. "I think not. We will do what we must to prevent it -- and the first step is to close that rift before an army walks through it."
Jubilee inhales and straightens in surprise for that thought, though it is fleeting and quickly replaced with a nod of agreement and understanding. And then, a speck of impish amusement. "They'd meet Xavier's army if they tried." Wizards and incantations surge back into her thoughts.
Lacking reference, Xavier simply looks bemused, one eyebrow lifting quizzically as he murmurs, "I would prefer not to engage an army at all, naturally. However, if it should come to that--" He shakes his head. "I am very much afraid that our Erik has been inspired by his counterpart's reputation."
"Oh, shit." Jubilee looks faintly chagrined at the swear word popping out, but it is forgiveable, surely?
Surely. "Language, Jubilee," Xavier reproaches, but it is not heartfelt. He spreads his hands, folds them over his knees, and frowns absent-mindedly at empty air. "It was inevitable, I'm afraid. I had hoped that his departure from the Brotherhood meant that he had learned to take the long view of change, but this unfortunately does not seem to be the case. Last night he wore his uniform again. It was an ominous sign."
"You saw him again? Last night? Professor..." There is a very Jeanish-sounding edge of concern and reproof to her voice. "If he's thinking along those lines again, shouldn't we /do/ something?"
"Indeed," Charles says. He rubs at the lines dug into his forehead, smoothing out the aged skin. "I believe we must. But /what/ that something is -- eludes me at the moment, I fear. It requires thought, and some planning. Diving into such a volatile situation without thought could very well cause the very thing we wish to prevent." He smiles faintly at Jubilee from under the shade of his palm. "A problem worthy of Harry Potter."
Jubilee nods and eyes him in concern. Not for his mental capacities, but merely for the strain of such a heavy burden. She slides off her desk and squats at the side of his. "I know I'm not like... Scott or Storm or anything, but if you need me ta do anythin' ta help, you know I will."
The old, wise eyes look down at solemn brown ones and smile, affection bright and kindly in their depths. Xavier reaches with a dry, warm hand to cup Jubilee's cheek gently in its palm. "Thank you, my dear. I have never had any doubt of it. You are a great comfort to me." And a great source of worry -- but tact leaves the latter unspoken. Laughter lines web again as he adds, "And to Rogue as well, I daresay."
Jubilee colors, but grins through the embarrassing mental montage of meanings "comfort" now holds in regards to Rogue. She folds her hands on his desk and wrinkles her nose, responding cryptically with "Just promise me if you leave me anything in your will, you explain about it?"
Charles is startled. "I beg your pardon?" And then: "Ah. Another Harry Potter reference, I presume? My dear, if I am required to read this series in order to understand your conversation-- I suppose I can make the sacrifice," he says with some resignation, folding his hands primly on his lap again. He regards Jubilee owlishly and adds, "For both our sakes, I believe I will not inquire further into ... hm. How /is/ Rogue doing?"
"Good. Happy, I think." She sounds confused by this, but it is a confusing enough event. "She got kind flusterated by the... other one o' me. I guess she's kinda pissy. Her Ro died, 'pparently."
"Yes." Charles knows about this. "The device in the other reality -- Magneto's device -- worked. Or rather, we were unable to stop him in time." He leans forward, folding his hands into a double-clasped fist, to rest the bottom half of his face behind their barrier. "I have already asked Sean to keep a close eye on her, but -- of all the people in the school, I rather fear that Rogue could be the one most at risk, now that the rift has opened. From our Erik, or from theirs; I cannot help but worry that they may attempt to repeat the experiment here."
Jubilee sucks in a hard breath and worry immediately clouds her eyes. "I'll stick close to her too," she promises quietly.
Charles smiles. It is the barest curve of his mouth, but it lights the deep-set darkness of his eyes. "A mutual promise is in order, I think," he says gravely. "If she watches you, and you watch her, perhaps we can avoid too many more incidents in the near future. She would be better prepared if she were warned. May I leave it to you?"
Jubilee can't avoid the slight pout at the mention of incidents, but she doesn't refute it. "I'll warn her, Professor," she acknowledges.
"Thank you," Charles says, leaning forward to pat Jubilee on the hand. A paternal gesture, quaintly old-fashioned, and yet a matter of habit for the telepath: a legacy of his generation. He straightens to tug his crutches from the desk, setting rubber tips to the floor with a vigorous, "I believe I have rested enough. It is time and past for me to go about my business of the day."
Jubilee is used to the gesture and takes it as it is intended, exchanging it for an affectionate, and now somewhat worried, smile. She straightens and steps out of the way, backing up to bump against the desk holding her copy of Harry Potter. It will have to wait, and forgo solitude. There are promises to keep now, after all. "Okay. I'll see you later then," she says, scooping up the book and edging back toward the door. "You really should read the other books. I know the library has a couple copies of them. Though maybe not right now," she adds as an after thought.
Charles levers himself up, leaning into the crutches with a semblance of his customary dignity. "I will make a note," he promises with deadpan solemnity. "The first opportunity I get. It is, after all, important to know the vocabulary of your generation. To stay hip to the 411, as it were."
Jubilee stops in the doorway and grins back at him, then just shakes her head and moves out. Her laughter, light and sweet, floats down the hallway behind her.
[Log ends]
A little quality father daughter time. Jubilee checks in with Papa Chuck and talks Harry Potter at him. He's down wit dat.
---
The chair is not in evidence today, though it has had its moment in the sun as an appendage to Professor Xavier's breakfast appearance. In the hallows of the afternoon, he resorts to canes and crutches instead, alternating between one and the other as the day wears on. It is an awkward transition, and unusual enough to prompt whispers; the dignity of the man is handicapped by the ungainly devices, and the straight back is bowed as he labors down corridors. Exhausting work. Humiliating work, though the strong, old face forbids commentary on that aspect of it -- at least until he has long left the room.
In the small green classroom that is used for math and physics, therefore, he takes his rest, far from the weekend centers of activity. A student chair makes his support; the desk, scarred by generations of graffiti, a bed for his crutches. Scalp dappled lightly with perspiration, garbed notwithstanding in an elegant grey suit, he sits back and regards the chalkboard with blank and frowning eyes.
Jubilee prowls the halls too! Though with far more sneak and ease. Under one arm is tucked a huge book, the cover easily identifiable as one that has taken over the student (and staff, don't deny it!) population. She's a few steps into the classroom before she realizes the solitude the room had promised isn't going to materialize immediately. A sling supports the other arm. Though power-mended, not all the damage of the hours of neglect are healed away, and it'll be a few more days of rest and immobility before the ache and tenderness are gone as well. "Whoops. Sorry, Professor," she greets cheerfully, not at all repentant about stumbling across him in his apparent reverie.
The sizzle and snap of that particular personality shoves the Professor out of his meditation as little else could, and the swing of gaze that focuses on Jubilee is alive with all the force of that formidable mind. A single, frowning glance swings across the young woman, attentive to that arm, and then it softens into warmth and paternal resignation. "Jubilee," he greets mildly. Smile lines crinkle at the corners of his eyes. "No apologies necessary. I see you have the new book. Did you go with Kitty?"
"Nah. I was kinda outta commission that night. Ro picked it up for me." Memories of her night with the Morlocks swirl and stream beneath her understatement. She enters the room further and clambers up onto a desk next to him, crossling her legs and sitting the tome down on the desktop with a thump. "Have you read it?" she teases, amused by the thought of Xavier following the mass cult phenomenon.
Xavier glances down at the lurid cover, his eyebrows lifting, while the automatic, low hum of telepathy tastes the whirlpool of memory. "I believe I read the first book," he says with all the dignity at his disposal. Hazel eyes twinkle. "For purely academic reasons, naturally. As a teacher of English literature, it seemed important to have some minimal familiarity with the, ah, craze. I don't believe I've had leisure to read the rest, however. I am informed that it is quite engaging."
"Well, you died in the last one, but I think she might've brought you back in this one," Jubilee says, patting the cover. "I'm only halfway through though." That in itself is a feat, considering the girl's distaste for most things not electronic and flashing.
Xavier pauses, then blinks. "I beg your pardon?"
Jubilee looks just as puzzled for a minute, then bursts out laughing as she reviews what she'd just said. "Hah! Sorry. We've all kind of 'assigned' people to the characters. You're Dumbledore! An' Jean is McGonigal. Everyone else kind of fluctuates-like."
"Ah," says Xavier, continuing to look a little puzzled. "I ... see. Let me think, now. Dumbledore is -- surely not the rather abusive uncle? Or was it the groundskeeper? Regardless, I'm sure the association is appropriate." He looks a little hurt, regardless. Abusive uncle. Sad. A bit plaintively, he adds, "I don't believe I have ever thrust a child in a closet, although occasionally the temptation is--"
"Oh, noooo," Jubilee assures him gravely, eyes twinkling in repressed merriment. "Dumbledore was the headmaster of the school. A very kind and respected magician. The /most/ talented one /ever/, in fact." She doesn't need to add 'just like you' to the end of the sentence. It weaves in and out of the whole thing.
Xavier says, "Ah," again, and once more twinkles quietly at Jubilee. "That's much better. Thank you. My ego is appeased. As the most talented magician ever, in fact, I believe I can comfortably say that the association is spot on. Almost uncanny, in fact. One might think that the author -- JK Rowling, is it? -- had a peculiar insight into the inner workings of our school. Barring the alternate realities and mad duplicates, that is."
"Oh, she had some of those too. Duplicates, I mean. Book four, I think," Jubilee replies, though her own good mood has been pricked by the mention of the troublesome guests. She uncrosses her legs and dangles them off the side of the desk, staring at her knees.
An apologetic mental touch brushes Jubilee's mind, like the touch a fingers on her cheek. "It has been an unfortunate week for you, my dear," Xavier says gently, his head tilting towards the young woman, pate gleaming. "How are you faring?"
"'m fine, mostly. Just kinda creepy, ya know?" Concern for Rogue and her reaction to the alternate Jubilee's rejection swirls up to color her thoughts, dragging assorted tangential thoughts and memories with them. Ahem. Sorry, Professor. "What're ya gonna do with them?"
"A difficult question," Xavier admits, loosely knitting his fingers together to allow one arm to hang off the other, elbow-pinned on the desk. "Do you have a preference?"
Jubilee says, "Er..." Jubiee is discomfited by the question. She holds a hand up and wiggles her fingers as she thinks. "I dunno. Guess it depends on what /they/ want. I mean..." her voice goes small as her sense of fairness and compassion swell to squeeze out self-interest. Mostly. "Things sound pretty awful for them." ""
Xavier says, "Yes," and weighs the single word with all the anxiety and distress due to the idea of his students -- of any reality, this or the other -- suffering. He looks down at his fingernails and their manicured beds, his brow creasing afresh. "If they return, we will naturally offer them assistance, I think. Supplies, at the very least."
Jubilee nods and scoots closer to the edge of the desk, bringing her knees within touching distance. "Professor? Is it really horrible o' me to be glad I'm here. And not there? I mean, I know I'm /there/, but... It's all wrong there."
The deep-set gaze returns to Jubilee, sharpening to attention. "No, my dear." The beautifully layered voice warms into understanding and sympathy. "There is nothing amiss with being grateful for what you have. I would not wish you to be there, either, though I understand the guilt. We have -- an embarrassment of riches, I think."
It eases it, just a little, though it combines with determination in her look at him. "We can't let it happen here," she says deliberately and slow, as if laying out an unshakeable conviction.
"No." That much is certain. There is an implacability to that simple word. Xavier frowns back down: at his crutches this time, laid out parallel in sleek, orthodox aluminum. "I think not. We will do what we must to prevent it -- and the first step is to close that rift before an army walks through it."
Jubilee inhales and straightens in surprise for that thought, though it is fleeting and quickly replaced with a nod of agreement and understanding. And then, a speck of impish amusement. "They'd meet Xavier's army if they tried." Wizards and incantations surge back into her thoughts.
Lacking reference, Xavier simply looks bemused, one eyebrow lifting quizzically as he murmurs, "I would prefer not to engage an army at all, naturally. However, if it should come to that--" He shakes his head. "I am very much afraid that our Erik has been inspired by his counterpart's reputation."
"Oh, shit." Jubilee looks faintly chagrined at the swear word popping out, but it is forgiveable, surely?
Surely. "Language, Jubilee," Xavier reproaches, but it is not heartfelt. He spreads his hands, folds them over his knees, and frowns absent-mindedly at empty air. "It was inevitable, I'm afraid. I had hoped that his departure from the Brotherhood meant that he had learned to take the long view of change, but this unfortunately does not seem to be the case. Last night he wore his uniform again. It was an ominous sign."
"You saw him again? Last night? Professor..." There is a very Jeanish-sounding edge of concern and reproof to her voice. "If he's thinking along those lines again, shouldn't we /do/ something?"
"Indeed," Charles says. He rubs at the lines dug into his forehead, smoothing out the aged skin. "I believe we must. But /what/ that something is -- eludes me at the moment, I fear. It requires thought, and some planning. Diving into such a volatile situation without thought could very well cause the very thing we wish to prevent." He smiles faintly at Jubilee from under the shade of his palm. "A problem worthy of Harry Potter."
Jubilee nods and eyes him in concern. Not for his mental capacities, but merely for the strain of such a heavy burden. She slides off her desk and squats at the side of his. "I know I'm not like... Scott or Storm or anything, but if you need me ta do anythin' ta help, you know I will."
The old, wise eyes look down at solemn brown ones and smile, affection bright and kindly in their depths. Xavier reaches with a dry, warm hand to cup Jubilee's cheek gently in its palm. "Thank you, my dear. I have never had any doubt of it. You are a great comfort to me." And a great source of worry -- but tact leaves the latter unspoken. Laughter lines web again as he adds, "And to Rogue as well, I daresay."
Jubilee colors, but grins through the embarrassing mental montage of meanings "comfort" now holds in regards to Rogue. She folds her hands on his desk and wrinkles her nose, responding cryptically with "Just promise me if you leave me anything in your will, you explain about it?"
Charles is startled. "I beg your pardon?" And then: "Ah. Another Harry Potter reference, I presume? My dear, if I am required to read this series in order to understand your conversation-- I suppose I can make the sacrifice," he says with some resignation, folding his hands primly on his lap again. He regards Jubilee owlishly and adds, "For both our sakes, I believe I will not inquire further into ... hm. How /is/ Rogue doing?"
"Good. Happy, I think." She sounds confused by this, but it is a confusing enough event. "She got kind flusterated by the... other one o' me. I guess she's kinda pissy. Her Ro died, 'pparently."
"Yes." Charles knows about this. "The device in the other reality -- Magneto's device -- worked. Or rather, we were unable to stop him in time." He leans forward, folding his hands into a double-clasped fist, to rest the bottom half of his face behind their barrier. "I have already asked Sean to keep a close eye on her, but -- of all the people in the school, I rather fear that Rogue could be the one most at risk, now that the rift has opened. From our Erik, or from theirs; I cannot help but worry that they may attempt to repeat the experiment here."
Jubilee sucks in a hard breath and worry immediately clouds her eyes. "I'll stick close to her too," she promises quietly.
Charles smiles. It is the barest curve of his mouth, but it lights the deep-set darkness of his eyes. "A mutual promise is in order, I think," he says gravely. "If she watches you, and you watch her, perhaps we can avoid too many more incidents in the near future. She would be better prepared if she were warned. May I leave it to you?"
Jubilee can't avoid the slight pout at the mention of incidents, but she doesn't refute it. "I'll warn her, Professor," she acknowledges.
"Thank you," Charles says, leaning forward to pat Jubilee on the hand. A paternal gesture, quaintly old-fashioned, and yet a matter of habit for the telepath: a legacy of his generation. He straightens to tug his crutches from the desk, setting rubber tips to the floor with a vigorous, "I believe I have rested enough. It is time and past for me to go about my business of the day."
Jubilee is used to the gesture and takes it as it is intended, exchanging it for an affectionate, and now somewhat worried, smile. She straightens and steps out of the way, backing up to bump against the desk holding her copy of Harry Potter. It will have to wait, and forgo solitude. There are promises to keep now, after all. "Okay. I'll see you later then," she says, scooping up the book and edging back toward the door. "You really should read the other books. I know the library has a couple copies of them. Though maybe not right now," she adds as an after thought.
Charles levers himself up, leaning into the crutches with a semblance of his customary dignity. "I will make a note," he promises with deadpan solemnity. "The first opportunity I get. It is, after all, important to know the vocabulary of your generation. To stay hip to the 411, as it were."
Jubilee stops in the doorway and grins back at him, then just shakes her head and moves out. Her laughter, light and sweet, floats down the hallway behind her.
[Log ends]
A little quality father daughter time. Jubilee checks in with Papa Chuck and talks Harry Potter at him. He's down wit dat.