Mess Hall Fuckery! [OTA]

[and_intothefire]

Jean was currently positioned in the middle of the mess hall. Her mind was wide open, her eyes closed softly, and she was listening. The din of psychic voices around her was soothing, feeding her a nearly giddy energy. She wasn't honing in on any one thought, just loving that she had the ability to sit there, free to dip into any open mind that

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[mad_asahatter]

Ophelia was at the far end of one table, a spread of odd foods in front of her. She'd already spread peanut butter over a slice of bread and strawberry jam over another. Gherkins were added to the jam slice, and broken pieces of biscuits to the peanut butter slice. All around the Mulberry Bush, the monkey chased the weasel. She hummed along while singing to herself, carefully placing chocolate buttons on her peanut butter and biscuit bread.

The monkey stopped to pull up his sock, POP! goes the weasel. She giggled aloud, a smiling face sitting in her peanut butter. She licked the sticky mess from her fingers before slicing a banana carefully and covering the jam and gherkin with it.

All around the Mulberry Bush, the warthog chased the weasel. The warthog pulled out his elephant gun. POP! goes the Weasel. Ophelia wasn't rightly aware that anyone would be listening in on her thinkings. Emma had done it once, and once only. Ophelia found that while the telepath was clever and pretty and felt so very much, she wasn't too keen on the

[mad_asahatter]

Ophelia giggled, rocking on her seat and dropping her sandwich. She'd guessed right, Jean was one of Stryker's powers, one that Stryker would have a hard time controlling.

"Oh, such a pretty, such a dear. Not Gods grace, but that's very clear. Perhaps a grace, but unto your own. Play a game, atop your throne." Crazy, maybe, but Ophelia wasn't stupid. The feelings; the smug satisfaction, the lingering power, the giddiness of overthrowing another power.

Ophelia could tell. Stryker had his work cut out for him with this one.

[and_intothefire]

She smiled, honestly amused by Ophelia's response to her emotions. It was true that Jean was pretty hollow outside of the boxed away and buried parts of her psyche, but she had her moments.

She almost liked the girl. And the word throne? Well, if that didn't appeal to her ego, nothing would.

"You're a very smart girl, Ophelia." Her voice was encouraging and ominous at the same time. It was more commentary on what Jean had picked up from her in their short, odd conversation than a reassurance to Ophelia herself. Unexpectedly, Jean felt she might have found a sort of alliance with a girl who's mind she didn't dare tap into beyond the functioning thoughts she forced together.