X-Factor Log: Madrox
X-Men: Movieverse 2 - Tuesday, February 10, 2009, 3:36 PM
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=SF= Golden Gate Park - San Francisco - California
Two tall windmills flank the western edge of the park, beyond which stands little but sand and ocean. Golden Gate Park stretches eastward in a large reach of green. Footpaths and paved roads cross beneath tall trees, while rounded, grassy swards spread beneath the California sun. A number of famous statues populate the park's lanes. There are water features in plenty, with two lakes and a number of fountains, with the popular Japanese Tea Gardens featuring several ponds. The gardens are striking, with one of the world's largest conservatories filled with flowers. There are two museums: the de Young Museum for fine arts and the California Academy of Sciences, one of the largest natural history museums in the world.
[This room is set watchable. Use alias SFGoldenGate to watch here.]
[Exits : [O]ut]
Madrox is seated in one of the scattered gardens, seated on a park bench, clad in his old traditional trenchcoat and T-shirt, but both are looking a little tired. He is fiddling with his cell phone, flipping it open and closed, open and closed.
Jean is as neat and tidy as any businesswoman taking an afternoon jaunt through the park. It is her, rather than her clothing, that is looking tired, with the dual weights of stress and jet lag sagging at her shoulders and dragging at her heels. But she soon comes abreast of Madrox's park bench, settling in a soft rustle of an A-line skirt and resting her attache case atop it. "It's been too long since I've gotten to really smell the sea," she reflects.
"Different smell than you get in New York, right? The smog tends to muddle it a bit." Madrox flips his phone closed and tucks it away. "Come to think of it, that's true for most of California, too. How are you?"
"Smog," Jean agrees, hands stacking atop the attache case. "The fact that the water's actually brackish if you're around most of Manhattan. Possibly too many people in cement shoes at the bottom of the Hudson." Suggestions floated with a bit of brittle energy that passes for cheer, she sits back against the bench and reflects that "Well... I've got jet lag. I've also got an offer for you."
"I'm sorry about the jet lag," Madrox says with a quick duck of his head that leaves his eyes half fixed on Jean's face. "But I am interested in the offer."
"Well, it's not like you're responsible for the rotation of the earth -- how -are- you, by the way?" Jean asks, as some random connection of synapses links geography with courtesy. Her fingertips drum against the attache case, offer on hold as she mulls over words and angles.
"Are you sure about that?" Madrox asks, casting a swift grin and a cant of his head. "I'm fine. A bit limbo-ed, but fine." It is quite apparent he is not interested in himself today, rather still set to wait for that dangling hint.
"Without further testing, I must admit I can neither confirm 'nor deny," Jean confesses, studying Madrox as if assessing his earth-rotating potential. The mild clowning fails to reach her eyes, or really do more than tinge her expression with a moment's light, before she falls back to business, and fishes a file folder out of the case. She does not hand it over yet. "I'm actually come a-courting as a representative of the government," she begins, eyes going lightly vague as the gossamer folds of an SEP field wrap 'round them, screening the conversation from casually curious rollerbladers. "They're assembling a team of mutants to serve as a covert response force, and they've grabbed me to help pull in people I think would be good for it."
Madrox folds his hands in his lap so demurely that it has to be fake. Really. Fake sentiment and all. Demure, hah. "Representative of the government? What ever happened to your iconoclast ways?" he queries, soft-voiced, but still the faintest bit edged. Not that great a fakery. He glances aside, out at the bikers, and, "So you're offering me a job."
"They disappear when something big comes up." Edge meets wall, and Jean hands over the dossier. "International ring of kidnappers. Targeting young mutants, including four Xavier's students just days ago, without time to even hit their panic buttons. I'm sure you can see my interest in stopping this."
Madrox takes the dossier, his eyes skipping over the top bit, "Yes. Yes, I can see your interest. Fortunately, in this case? Your interest, my interest."
"I should probably note that this is not a one-case deal," Jean points out, as the array of young names and faces spills forth for Jamie's delectation. "This is likely to be a lot more permanent than any offer Charles would make you -- you're in, you stay in."
Madrox flattens his lips together, his oft flippant (but increasingly less flippant in recent months) manner quite absent. "I'll take it. I mean, hell, I'll be honest." The flash of smile again, rather wan. "What else do I have to do? In order of importance."
"Well," says Jean, with a flashed smile of her own, wryly sympathetic. "If you opted against this, I'm sure I could find you something else... but how long would you need to pack? And are there other Jamies that would need to be informed?"
"We're altogether all together today. And I have nothing to pack." Jamie flaps a hand. "I'm a wild goose flapping over San Francisco, searching out a place to rest. All that, you know."
"Just don't leave goose droppings on the seat of my car, and I think I can do something about that," Jean quips, fastening up her attache case again. "It's a rental. But the base of operations is reasonably close -- if you want to jump in with both feet, I can at least take you to the pool."
"I appreciate it." Madrox flattens his expression just as flippancy makes a re-appearance. "The bus schedules are impossible."
"Hard to get service to secret government installations anyways," Jean agrees, with a crack of a grin as she rises from the bench, and turns to offer him a hand up as well. "Speaking of which, there's a cover story I'll fill you in on, on the trip. The usual top secret, tell no-one, applies... and these people have no sense of humour on that front."
"Yes, yes, if you spill this, you're compromising national security and possibly a traitor." Madrox stands easily, not taking the hand presumably because he is too manly. "I am no blabbermouth or traitor, good Jean. Believe me, believe me."
"I believe you," Jean assures, and withdraws the scorned hand to swing by her side as she picks up her walk. "But then, I know you -- incidentally, so will someone else. Terry Cassidy was the one who turned up to meet with -me-."
Madrox folds his hands behind his back and strolls alongside. "Oh? Terry, Terry - I'm sorry, my memory's sometimes holier than the Sistine. Former student, right? Red-headed?"
"Sean Cassidy's long-lost daughter," Jean confirms, reaching into a pocket of her skirt to retrieve a rental car keychain with a logo on that promises something sleek, expensive and fun to drive. "Want to hit a restaurant before we get going? The food is much better here in the heart of culture and earthquakes."
"All right - but do you mind paying? I mean, wild geese have no pockets or income - speaking of," Madrox adds as he hurries his steps, "this is a paid position, right?"
"Paid, and you even get full medical and dental," Jean confirms. "Dinner's on me."
"Medical /and/ dental? I'm bankrupting this outfit." Madrox unlinks his hands to stretch. "And terrific."
"Pick a place," Jean suggests with a grin, before leading them both off towards the parking lot at a good clip. "I can explain more about the situation once we're sitting down some place easier to screen."
Some recruitments are easier than others...