X-Factor Log: Siryn
X-Men: Movieverse 2 - Friday, February 13, 2009, 7:21 PM
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=XF= 201 |Terry| - Residences - Chemekata Military Base
The front door opens into a wide and airy space lit by full-length windows on the far wall. The California mountains spread lush beyond the glass, with the reservoir a glitter of light. To one side stands a coat closet, and to the other, a watercloset. A few steps further in, the kitchen curves around with a small stove, refrigerator, and sink. The counter wraps to form an island, beyond which the rest of the apartment is visible. The living area is wide-set with full length windows allowing California sunshine to spill across the thick carpet. Glass doors slide open, leading out onto a small stone terrace.
An alcove just past the kitchen counter opens to two rooms: one is a spare room, given over to any number of uses, while the other is the master suite, startlingly luxurious in choice of bathroom fixtures. The view from the large window in the bedroom is marvelous, sharing the same prospect as the living room.
(Exits : [O]ut )
(Players : Terry )
Terry's apartment bears unmistakeable evidence of having had more time to get set up thatn some of the others. Still furnished with the provided furniture, it is nonetheless homey, filled with photos and knickknacks from her travels. She chatters as she works in the kitchenette, prodding at the rather elaborate coffee maker that takes up an inordinate amount of counter top. "...sure what they were wanting /me/ for, but I'm supposin' they needed someone with brains in the gang."
"Brains, or common sense?" wonders Jean, standing in a small puddle of sunlight by Terry's patio doors and peering out at the California scenery while her erstwile hostess putters about. "But they're treating you well? No only-girl shenanigans that mean I'd have to break out Jubilee's old notebooks of prank ideas for you?"
Terry inhales suddenly at the name and bends her strawberry-colored head over the glass pot. When she speaks a moment later, her voice is steady and bright. "Aye, well, Remy's a practical joker, and Pete isn't above enjoyin' seein' me flat on m'face, but I hold m'own." She stands with the pot in hand and fishes out a mug from her cupboard, her movements with that hand slow and careful.
"Good to hear," Jean says, with a murmur as she abandons her sunlight to go stand at the kitchenette's edge and study Siryn and her coffee pot. A pensive pause later, she admits that "I imagine she'd loved to have been here with you, working on this."
Terry pours a mug and hands it over without looking up. "Aye. I cannae think of anyone better suited to this kind o'life." She fishes out another mug and pours herself a cup. "Cream an' sugar are over there," she says, nodding across at another counter. "Well, what do /you/ think, Jeannie? Surprised the ol' girl turned out after all?"
"Not as much as you might think," is Jean's answer, fond and with cream as she lifts her mug in a salute of a toast once it's been added to the coffee. "You're your father's daughter, but this seems a lot more to your style than his... and I'm glad you're here. Especially since there's other Xavier souls here now."
"Aye, I ran inta Jamie of all people this mornin'. He's still as much a scallawag as ever, but it was good to see him." Terry takes hers black, and toast met, she sips at it carefully, turning around to put the countertop at her back. The machine is worth its size, apparently.
A moment's appreciative pause in the other side of the conversation lends credence to the notion, Jean's eyes sliding shut for a small little slice of rest and peace before they blink open again, crinkled and tired at the corners. "I picked him up in San Franciso -- I'm hoping this will give him the purpose he was looking for. And then there's Tim."
Terry looks over at Jean with a faint frown creasing her forehead. "Tim? I do nae recall that name?"
"No reason why you should," Jean assures, hitching herself into a tentative lean up against the wall and nursing her coffee lovingly. "He's a newly-minted eighteen, and I just brought him in. He wants to help, and with his powers and mind, he surely can... but I'm a little worried," she admits.
Terry frowns more and makes a worried little 'tch' sound. "That /is/ awful young. But what are ye worried about?"
"Well, Tim's usual method of things is to be a stammering nervous wreck up until the point he actually goes and does them," Jean answers, with a vague wave of her mug after a sip from it. "Just tripping over a few people in the hall, I get the impression that he might need a friendly shoulder when it's not mission time. And I trust -you- not to have some agenda if you did it."
Terry wrinkles her face up into a kind of amused smirk and taps her fingernails against the side of the mug. "Aye, I'll keep an eye on him for ye," she says. "There's too many disgruntleds around here already. No need ta go addin' any others if we can help it."
"Definitely," Jean murmurs in agreement. "Speaking from experience, morale is a tricky thing to stay on top of... but are your new people having adjustment difficulties?"
Terry shrugs a shoulder, her right one, and takes another careful sip from the mug. "There's a few here arenae here /strictly/ by choice. And there's at least one with anger management issues," she says wryly.
Telepathy perks curiously at the PC-speak from Terry, but Jean restrains herself to an echo of "Anger management issues...?" in a slightly dubious tone. "Are we talking Logan on a bad day or Sabretooth?"
Terry glowers into her coffee. "She dislocated m'shoulder durin' her combat assessment."
"I see." says Jean, dubious tone traded in for something carefully precise. She sips her coffee with equal precision, before offering that "I trust you to handle yourself, but if you ever need someone dangled by their ankles, let me know, all right?"
A grin slips through and Terry looks up at her former headmistress. "Aye, I'll keep you in mind for a job as a heavy." She winks and turns around to put her mug into the sink. "Now, if yer hungry, I cannae help that. But we do have a messhall if yer not."
"Actually," says Jean, with a grin in return, "If you're allowed off base, I was hoping to take you out to dinner some time while I'm still out here -- from the sounds of things, you've had your hands full, and I -may- be passingly aquainted with being too busy giving to take for yourself."
Terry laughs and reaches to take Jean's mug. "Los Gatos is just down the road a spell. The local color is a bit... local, but it's better'n here. Let me grab m'jacket." She skimmies around the end of the counter and disappears into her room.
Impromptu morale officers need hugs too. Or at least dinner off the base.