Holiday Visitors:
X-Men: Movieverse 2 - Wednesday, December 30, 2009, 7:30 PM
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The Christmas spirit has yet to be removed from Xavier's, although the requisite mistletoe has been Scrooged away from public doorways as soon as anyone dared cross the redheaded elf in a headmistress suit that put it there. The tree in the library is still fresh, green and decorated, although the presents have fled, and lends a crisp note to the air as Jean sits in one of the overstuffed leather armchairs by the library's fireplace, a tea service drawn up beside it with cups and plates and nibbles for three arranged upon it. "Hopefully your flight was clear. I tried to suggest to Ororo that she go stand out at O'Hare and keep the clouds away, but she just gave me a look."
Though there is no overt display of unease, the hint of tension to Pete's posture, and the watchful quality to his gaze, might suggest that the current surroundings are not, perhaps, entirely comfortable. Even so, humour glitters briefly in his eyes, and one corner of his mouth quirks slightly upward in a faint, wry smile. "That does seem to be one of the more frequently /useful/ abilities out there," he notes. On the flight, there is nothing. Perhaps they blur together after a certain number.
Settled in with a teacup, rudely sans plate, snugged into her lap and a leg drawn up under her in the chair, Kitty laughs softly at the imagined look that would be directed at that conversation. Compared to Pete, she is a picture of comfort in her familiar habitat. She offers, "It was good. The temperature change was not, though. Could have used Ms. Munroe there making it /warmer/, for sure."
"Well, I haven't bothered to revoke your access to the Teachers' Lounge, if you get too cold, my transplanted Californian flower," says Jean to Kitty with an amused look from over her own (Correct, with saucer, for the saucer can be used to hold cookies.) teacup. "The hot tub awaits... as does the rest of the school, except where it's not. Try and avoid ending up in my medical bay, you know the drill. Oh, and don't mind the dinosaur."
Pete's look of bemusement, shortlived as it is, suggests that, X-Factor or no X-Factor, the thought of pet dinosaurs is still distinctly /odd/. He does not, however, ask. (Possibly he doesn't really want to know.)
"I never do, love," Kitty responds with a grin quirking at her mouth, reaching over to pat Pete's hand playfully. "Don't worry. You'll like it." That being said, she falls silent for a moment before /slyly/ changing the subject with a question of, "How're the students?"
"She's very friendly. It can just be a little startling to visitors, and although we used to keep her in a kennel away from the house, she was getting lonely..." With a 'what can you do' shrug, Jean sips at her tea, savours Pete's bemusement as it brushes against the edges of her mind, and gives Kitty a smile. "Driving us down the road to madness as usual. Our Caribbean foundling is doing well, all things considered."
Pete gives Kitty a brief, pained look, though it's unclear whether it's at the linguistic piracy or the assurance that he'll like the not-quite-dinosaur. (The livid scars from its much larger, far more reptillian, and dubiously existant cousin might suggest otherwise.) "That's good to hear," he says after a moment, and there is genuine, if very, very muted, relief lingering somewhere in his voice.
If Kitty notices the look, it might crickle the corners of her eyes lightly in humor though she doesn't respond directly to it. Instead, she continues with questioning after Aurelie with a casual, "Oh? Is she making good grades and friends, hopefully?" Eyes slide just slightly towards Pete before she's hiding behind her teacup, though most would call it taking a drink.
Veiled amusement twinkles in Jean's eyes at the oh-so-casual questions. She does not look in Pete's direction as she nibbles at a chocolate shortbread, and then gives another slight shrug. "I'm less concerned with her grades at the moment than I am with her emotional wellbeing. She'll probably need an extra year of school to catch up, but she has friends, and she's latched on to my gelding to the point where I think I may end up just getting myself another horse. Or bugging his mane to catch what she tells him, either or."
Pete raises one hand to pinch the bridge of his nose between two fingers. Clearly, the pressure antics of the plane from which they've so recently disembarked have to be responsible for the apparent headache. Clearly. "If she's canny about using Creole, you might need to find yourself a translator to go along with the audio equipment," he notes on the edge of a laugh.
Clearly, it can't be his adorable girlfriend at all. "It's too bad you can't have a Kelsey wander through school all the time," Kitty says wryly, though there's a flash of something buried before she's shaking her head. "Anyways, you could always do both. Bug him and get a new horse."
"I -like- my horse," Jean points out, amusement less veiled as a soft breath of laughter escapes her. "But I suppose it's too late and she's too old to tell her that Risky only understands English. But now that we've got that report out of the way," she concludes, fingers knitting together on one knee after the teacup and saucer are let go of to go float down to the coffee table without the need for Jean to stretch out in a reach, "What can I do for you two for New Years? Do you need anything, or is a place to sleep about it?"
Pete's gaze traces the cup and saucer's path to the table. Poltergeisted chinaware is, after all, /interesting/. There is a half-beat of hesitation, but - he leaves Kitty to field the question. (Maybe they both have ulterior motives! Maybe.)
"The place to sleep is just a fringe benefit to visiting you, cher," Kitty fends off with inspiration from Remy, winking at her former teacher as a grin touches her lips. "We were thinking of travelling up to New York City and doing the Times Square thing. What're you and Logan doing?"
Pete manages to choke off a laugh as Kitty borrows Remy's idiom as well, though the sidelong glance he shoots her from beneath slightly raised eyebrows glitters with amusement anyhow.
An eyebrow twitches at the 'cher', unsourced as it is. (For some strange reason, Jean and Remy didn't much cross paths at Lost Waters, -or- back at Old Home.) The twitch soon turns into a small smile, and Jean retrieves her teacup in the same fashion she sent it away, holding out one hand palm up for it to settle on. "Oh, hopefully something to horrify the students if they forget to knock," she assures. "Logan and large crowds aren't the best mix ever, given his senses. We'll probably fetch up at Harry's with some of the other X-Faculty. Assuming there isn't some terrorist strike on Times Square, in which case I'm sure we'll run into you."
The choked off laugh draws Kitty's gaze to Pete, who meets that amusement with an exaggerated look of innocence that is shattered when her nose wrinkles at him playfully. When she turns back to Jean, her cheeks color up slightly despite her age and she agrees teasingly, "Horrifying, yes. Even without Logan, I'm sure you'd have a reason not to join us in our stupidity. Not my brightest idea, but..." Her shoulder shrugs up before she leans forward to set her own cup down on the table. "It's Times Square."
"Let's hope any terrorists are too busy getting pissed to bother organizing a strike," Pete mutters. "Or that they get lost on the way and end up in the river." The couple in question having never been his instructors, he shows no reaction to the good Doctor Grey's plans beyond another brief flicker of amusement. "--Stupidity would be Carnivale without sunscreen."
"Been there," says Jean ruefully. "Done that... you know it's bad when your fellow resident cycling through burn care with you wants to use you as a case study." Auburn hair fluffed slightly and then patted back into smoothly shoulder-length order once more, she sips at her tea, chases it with more nibbling of her chocolate biscuit, and then balances cup and saucer on her knee. "I've had the blue suite made up for you. Moira's found something too fascinating to leave Muir Island until it's sequenced properly, so unlike Terry you shouldn't have to worry about sudden interruptions."
That color, on Kitty's cheeks? It grows a shade darker as she mumbles, "Thank you. We'll appreciate that." Despite the growing redness, she does shoot a vaguely amused glance towards Pete, eyes softening a touch as an eyebrow drifts up. "Did you want to check out the school, or go get settled in first?"
Pete's amusement deepens, and lingers this time; there is no attendant embarassment. "It's much appreciated," he agrees. Kitty's question sparks a moment's deliberation, but in the end, he comes down on the side of, "I think I've got to meet the dinosaur, at the very least."
A chuckle escapes Jean, before her eyes shift to the vagueness of a telepath tapping into the observation network that is a building and grounds full of inquisitive young brains. Blinking to refocus herself, she allows that "The last sighting was in the Victorian garden, apparently being taunted by a cat... I'm sure Kitty can steer you there, if you don't mind me excusing myself."
"I can," Kitty assures with a smile for Jean, eyes dancing mischievously. "We could even go through my short cut." Pushing herself to her feet at her former teacher's words, her head bobs in easy agreement. "I don't mind. We will see you again before we go. I have presents and everything, so we had /better/." A step is taken forward to wait expectantly for a hug.
"We wouldn't want to keep you long enough for the hordes to organize a mutiny," Pete assures. Because what else would teenagers do when left to their own devices? He gets to his feet, and moves to stand a short distance away out of habit, as though lending the illusion of privacy to the teacher-student hug ritual.
Have sex with each other, probably. Jean rises, and although her hug for Kitty is the hug of a telepath -- brief and light on the contact that isn't shielded by clothing -- it's a true hug all the same. It concludes with holding her at arms' reach to study her for a moment, and nodding in pleased confirmation of what she finds. "I'll be around," she assures. "My door's always open... unless it's closed for a good reason."
Mutinous sex?
Mutantous, anyways.
Teenaged Mutant Nympho Turtles.
Without the turtles. Hopefully.
Turtle mutants need love too.
Guys. I lost my train of thought.
New Years' guests, old year's news. Perhaps they should open Xavier's Secret Agent B&B?