OOC: Kurt Log
X-Men: Movieverse 2 - Tuesday, January 20, 2009, 5:52 PM
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=XS= Library - Lv 1 - Xavier's School
Light from bay windows gleams off glossy plastic dust jackets snugged over an assortment of old books, while volumes less delicate peek out from high oak bookshelves in a multicolored array of bindings and sizes. Stretching twelve feet high, ladders on rolling tracks are needed for access to the highest shelves, bearing the oldest books. On lower shelves, the bright colours of paperbacks catch the eye, along with binders of academic journals. A few marble busts compete with the potted plants scattered here and there to rid the room of any qualities of stagnation and Victorian must, Long wooden tables serve as group work spaces, or even teaching space in a pinch, but the majority of the furniture consists of comfortable armchairs and overstuffed sofas, with coffee tables in position for tired feet or coffee cups. The darkness of the wood panelling and the rich green carpeting is relieved further by a plethora of reading lamps, lighting the room where the tall windows leave off. Around a corner narrowed by two offices, doors lead out of the genteel history of the library and into the cool future of the main computer lab.
[Exits : [G]reat [H]all, [C]omputer [L]ab, [X]avier's [O]ffice, and [J]ean's [O]ffice]
[Players : Kurt ]
Kurt breathes out, his tail slashing with agitation as he pushes his shoulder against the wall next to Xavier's office door. He had knocked, but no answer. Xavier is not home. Kurt tugs at the knit scar around his neck, the cold still soaked into it from the outter winter air. "Hrf," his mouth repeats the troubled grinding in his mind.
Indeed, one Charles Xavier is down in D.C., doing what Xaviers do best. (Unlike Tiggers, it is definitely -not- pouncing. The wheelchair is not a clever disguise.) There is someone heading for the office next door to it, however, surrounded by a whirl of papers, coffee and various electronic devices: Jean. "What's wrong?" is wondered, as she comes within range of the lashing tail, and the mind that drives it.
Kurt twitches, his tail retreating to hide amongst the the tails of a thick woolen coat. "Oh! Oh..." he murmurs, eyes averting. "Yes, of course." The mind quickly replies with a solid 'No'.
"I asked what was wrong," Jean murmurs, with a small smile, crooked and sympathetic as the collection of papers an things is gathered together and tucked under her arm. "Not if everything was all right -- you feel very upset over something."
"Noth--ing?" Kurt attempts to rewind with a wrinked up nose. "I am not one to push my troubles on others," he explains when his distracted mind focuses enough to realize Jean is not easily fooled.
"Ah," says Jean, setting the papers down on a handy end table (They share space with some bit of classical sculpture that has yet to encounter a teenager.) as the collection proves uncomfortable to trap under her arm. "But I'm a telepath, and so in a sense I'm already sharing them. I won't pry," she assures, with a solemn peer at her german professor, "But please don't think that you have to bear things alone."
Kurt hesitates. He leans back against the walls, tossing his gaze back and forth to search for droppers of eaves. When none are found he turns back, still looking a little uncomfortable. "I am having a problem." His mind seems to taunt the simple statment. << Women problems of all sorts. Hah. >>
"Want to step into my office to talk about it?" Jean offers, after a security scan of her own turns up no nearby students, but the potential for random arrivals. A nod indicates the door she'd been angling for. "It's not as grand as Charles, and I don't have a bottle of good Scotch hidden behind a trick panel of my desk, but it keeps students out."
There is a short slump of Kurt's shoulders and he tucks his chin to his chest. "That sounds... just about perfect." He steps behind Jean, allowing her the lead. "It is about Norah. In a way. Not that it's why I would really come to the Professor, however. As wise as he is, that would still be a bit awkward, yes?"
"Indeed," Jean agrees, pushing the door open and nodding Kurt in ahead of her while she collects her things from the end table. "He still twitches at the notion that I have a love life, much less one of the later crop of students." She follows after him, motioning for a seat to be pulled up, before she scoots around her desk to drop the papers, plug her cell phone and PDA into their respective chargers, and then rummage around for a teakettle.
Kurt rotates his hands around as he moves to the guest chair in the office. "Well, it is not the actual... /intimatness/ of the relationship with which I would beg his mind's knowledge. But something to prevent it from," he hands continue to wheel. "From failing of my own... blue... aesthetics."
The kettle is found! The water level in it is checked, found to be good, and thus it is mated to its base, and a switch flipped to start it heating. Behind Kurt, the door closes with a quiet click and a pulse of telekinesis as Jean settles into her own seat with a thoughtful look. "I take it that you're not referring to a fondness for an interior design palette."
"Mm," Kurt putters, sinking into the chair with his pointer fingers tented on his lower chest. "It's exterior design I am far more concerned with." He chuckles, but it's that lifeless, pitiful sort of a man down on his luck. "Are you getting my meaning?" << The fur! >> he mind-groans.
"Yes," Jean confirms, brief but not without sympathy as she studies him from across the table. "But -- forgive me, again, I don't want to pry any more than you want to share -- but what has you worried about it now? I may be out of the loop," she admits, "But I was under the impression that your colour didn't bother her."
Kurt sits up, twisting in his seat to peek at the doctor. But! But she wants to further her career. She is interested in politics." The p-word is said with a subtle spit, his upper lip curling down under his teeth. "As the theme of today goes.... how many of me did you see on the TV this morning?""
"Not many," Jean agrees, smile still present, but gone sad and tired as she sinks a little deeper into her chair. "And I have to admit, political slugging matches often leave no muck unflung... but there are differing levels of politics, and differing levels of muck. What's she thinking about?"
"Of that, I am not sure. Dumping me, perhaps? Keeping me away from the public eye? In either case I have got a problem, you see?" His tail taps against the leg of his chair. "There must be a way...?" Yellow eyes watch her. << To hide. But still be by her side? >> "Er."
"I meant," Jean notes with a slight crook to her smile, "What level of politics is she thinking about... but as for lying low but still being near her, I might offer the suggestion that not everyone drags theit significant other into the spotlight with them. I don't," she admits. "And I don't think anyone who knows us would say that Logan's not by my side when it counts."
"I am still not sure... local at first. She wishes to work up." Kurt wonders, propping an elbow to the arm of his chair, and a chin to his palm. "But does it matter? I am noticeably harder to hide than your Wolverine."
"Local politics, it's less likely to matter," Jean counsels. "The press is a lot less interested, and the rivals less likely to go to extreme smear campaigns. She'll keep most of her life her own. For higher levels..." She trails off as the kettle bubbles up to a boil, and then clicks off. "Well, for higher levels, you may be harder to hide, but Norah's own status as a mutant is one that would undoubtedly come up as well."
Kurt frowns, staring down at his hands. "Still. It troubles her. And therefore... it is a problem." His tented digits fold down, one hand leaving it's chest-perch and flutters towards Xavier's office next door. "If Scott can have something for his eyes, surely...?"
"Scott's visor... was a fiddly bit of engineering design, or so I've gleaned, but still based off of current technology" Jean reflects, tenting her fingers together. "Something that would be both portable and capable of concealing your entire body, it would take a little more doing. But I suppose we could see about whether it would be possible -- there has been interesting work on what's basically an invisibility cloak coming out of the DOD's research labs."
Kurt perks at this, his pointed teeth grinding against each other. "You think? I mean. It is a start. As close as one can get to being a real boy, yes?" His feet tuck under the chair, tail flopping into his lap.
"-Maybe-," Jean offers, hedging bets as a proper doctor-and-scientist ought. "I'd suggest finding a way to get along without one, up until the point that one is ready."
Kurt fidgets, taking his tail with a careful wring. "I am sure we can survive. But... thank you. It would be a fairly large help. Tell me, how have you been? I feel that our talks revolve around me, and I shan't want to be that sort of person."
"Me?" The question comes paired with a laugh and a sigh, as Jean breaks out a pair of teacups from a tray of them, washed and left ready to hand by some invisible bit of Xavier staffing. "Oh, busy as usual. I have a bright blue mouse to study, a charity auction to organize, my classes to teach, students and city-dwellers alike to patch up, and an upcoming PTA meeting for my son's school which has me more stressed at the thought of than any of the above."
"The tail might be deceptive, but I hardly say I look like a mouse," Kurt jokes, picking up his tail to examine it. "Is that so? I am unsure what a PTA is? Not bad, I hope?"
"Just politics of an even smaller sort than local," Jean assures, with a wave of her hand. "I just keep running up against the feeling that I don't quite -fit- the rest of the group." Soccer moms vs. superhero. "But no matter. Tea?"
It's not easy being greenblue...