8/24 - Jean, Rogue, Kitty, Zenith
8/19/2008
Logfile from Jubilee.
With the terror of bombs and launches far behind them, literally, and the panorama of space before them, there is little to /do/ in the interim. Unless you are easily amused. Jubilee attempts another summersault through the tiny room, one of a few on the shuttle. "Watch out, Kitty,!" she hollers.
Kitty,who is far more used to the sensation of being weightless (although, she has to admit, being tangible and weightless is certainly a novelty), is quick to push herself out of the way of the floating Jubilation with a low "gah!" as she just barely escapes the path of the other young woman's foot. "Have you tried a backflip yet?" she asks her. She learned years ago that Jubilee will be encouraged no matter what she says, so she may as well hasten the process.
"Yeah, but I accidentally kicked some machine, so Jean said I was grounded if I tried again." She pulls herself upright against a wall and floats like a giant miniature marshmallow in her white suit. Strands of escaping hair halo her face.
There was no room for Friz-Eez and a straightening iron when she was packing to go to space. Kitty has made a valient effort to contain her hair in a french braid, but several strands have escaped and sprung up here and there in bids for weightless freedom. "Not breaking the things keeping us from being sucked into the vacuum of space is probably a good idea," she agrees. "Although I'm not entirely sure how she could ground you out here," she notes.
"I think she was just bleedin' off her control issues," Jubilee laughs and pushes gently off the wall toward kitty, holding her hands out in front of her and making grasping motions.
"I'd be worried if no one here was bleeding off any sorts of issues," Kitty comments, grabbing hold of Jubilee's hands. "We'd have to figure out how to vent all the contained panic in to space without losing too much air in the process." Tug tug tug. "You really are going to miss the lack of gravity when we get back, aren't you?"
Jubilee grins and kicks a little as she's pulled in, then grabs for the nearest handhold. "Dude, if I knew how much fun this was, I /totally/ woulda been an astronaut." A beat, and then "Maybe we could use it for emergency fuel. "Totally environmentally friendly panic-fuel. Run the world while runnin' yourself!""
"We could probably power a small city, even after getting back from outer space," says Kitty, pushing herself upwards to match Jubilee's level. "I'm terrified of phasing at the wrong moment and ending up out there," she says, pointing a thumb out towards SPACE.
Jubilee sobers a little and glances in the direction she points, though all that is there at the moment is a neutral colored wall crisscrossed with electrical lines and pipes. "You're not gonna fall through the cracks. Promise, Kitkat." She winks as she says that and squeezes the other girl's hand.
"Yeah, I know. I haven't fallen through floors since I was fifteen or so- not counting the times when I had the concussion. But still. Now would not be the time to break that record," she tells her friend. "Besides, worrying about that is a distraction from the bigger, space-rock worries." They are the world's last hope! No pressure, guys!
"What? You need ta worry ta distract you from worryin'? Yer nuts, Kitty," Jubilee replies affectionately. "Here's somethin' for ya then." She leans forward to whisper conspiratorially, "I /really/ have ta pee an' I still aint figured out how this thing works."
That gets a giggle out of Kitty. "They probably should have given us non-astronauts clearer instructions for the more mundane equipment. You could always ask one of the pilots if you can't figure it out," she teases.
Jubilee groans and does her best zero-g impression of hanging from her handhold. "Riiight. I'm gonna march right up to the cute one and say 'Can I get you ta help me with my plumbing?'"
"Well, it's one way to break the ice," says Kitty, trying not to crack and laugh. Then, she wonders aloud, tapping the wall that seperates the room they're in from the rest of the ship, "these things are soundproof, right?"
Jubilee's eyes widen and she claps her hand over her mouth, releasing the handhold in the process. "Oh my gaw'" comes out muffled before she slaps her hand back on the hold.
Kitty floats free as both her hands clasp over her mouth as she totally cracks, giggling madly. It's good to have a sense of humour in the face of possible impending doom.
Hey, when better? Just then, the hatch door thing slides open and one of the other crew members floats through, giving the giggling pair a strange look. Jubilee sqwaks and tries to stuff her fist in her mouth whilst being careful not to actually damage any important bits, then leans forward to hide her face between Kitty and the wall.
This is why no one younger than 25 has ever been in space before. Clearly. To Kitty's credit, she regains composure fairly quickly. "Sorry," she murmurs to the passing crew member. "I'm kind of wishing I brought a camcorder," she comments to Jubilee. "If there were ever a time to start a video blog, now would be it."
Jubilee inhales deeply, taking a little longer than Kitty to bring herself back under control. "Kitty Pryde: Your Eye In the Sky."
"I really wish there could have been a reason for us to have lightsabers," says Kitty wistfully. "Between Forge and Stark, I bet they could have been possible."
"You are such a geek," Jubilee accuses with a grin, then adds "I woulda wanted a yellow one."
"Wanting a lightsaber transcends geek. Who /wouldn't/ want one?" Kitty challanges. "And if Sam Jackson can get a purple one, you totally deserve a yellow one. A really, really bright yellow one."
"Because I am /so/ much cooler than Sam Jackson." So much.
But would she like to talk to anyone about the Avenger Initiative? That is the important question. "You have more style, for one thing," Kitty points out.
You bet she would! "Well, naturally. Sam may be bad ass, but he's /old/. Can't help himself." Jubilee strikes a pose that looks like the Marshmallow Puff Man in need of laxitives.
Kitty reclines as she floats. "You think we'll have to deal with a whole lot of press when we get back? I'm not sure if we should be greatful or insulted by Magneto distracting all the news cameras during the launch." She pauses for a few seconds. "I wouldn't mind being on the Daily Show."
Jubilee nosewrinkles pensively. "Dunno. I think I got my fill o' press a while ago. I mean... I just kinda got my life all untwistimabobulated. Not sure I want my face plastered anywhere that doesn't haveta go through my agent." She starts an attempt at sitting cross-legged.
"I wonder if this will increase your chances of being cast in a sci-fi movie of some sort," Kitty wonders. ""
Jubilee snorts. "Probably as the special effects."
"I don't know. Actually going to space would be a really good thing to have on one's resume if you went the 'method acting' route," Kitty points out, cheerfully, rolling a bit in mid-air. Whee!
The dimensions of the Pegasus II, even with zero-g providing far more accessable space than usual, are really like what one would get if a summer camp cabin had been stuffed full of Science Stuff. Thus, sleeping is best done with as many ways to tune out your neighbours as possible. Jean has just been attempting some, twirled into the netting of her sleeping bag, and with an iPod's earbuds for company. But now the bag is twirling the other way, and a growing series of mutters can be heard from the sleeping area, as it proves somewhat resistant to her demands. Finally, a somewhat tousled auburn head pokes out, with a final mutter of "...worse than damned mosquito netting."
For all that Zenith shows it, they might still be on the ground, ruled by Earth's gravity. She walks normally along the floor of the shuttle, hair lying flat along her cheeks, and nothing else around her person showing a tendecy to float. Not that there are any real places for privacy in the shuttle, but she comes over from a corner where she has been sitting morosely for a while, to join the others.
"Luckily, I have experience sleeping while weightless," says Kitty to Jean. "I can give you pointers, if you like," she offers, attempting to push herself towards the floor. She waggles her fingers in greeting to Zenith.
"Oh, it's less the weightless," Jean sighs, rummaging around in a bag that's tethered inside the little locker alloted to her, and pulling out a hairbrush. One foot has hooked itself around one of the myriad grips available in the spacecraft, and it appears that the danger room training has paid off just a little: there is a lack of flail. Her hair, normally just brushing her shoulders in gravity, resembles a fine auburn afro in short order. "It's more that everything -else- is weightless," she concludes, just in time to stare slightly at Zenith as she passes. "...I'm going to assume you're not wasting valuble reserves of energy there."
"I need /some/," Zenith says, teeth-gritted. "Somewhere." She doesn't look at Jean.
"It's not that critical now," Jean admits, still staring slightly from amidst the mushroom puff of her hair, before she shakes herself and begins to corral it into a ponytail. "But when we're actually out at the asteroid site, every use of power used elsewhere is energy that can't be applied to the fragments. You don't have the reserves of some of us to begin with, so you may want to start... weaning yourself off it."
Zenith sits, still defiantly /on/ the floor, and fists her hands and rests her forehead again them. "Soon," she says. "Soon."
"It's something we're all having trouble adjusting to," Kitty assures Zenith as she attempts to get herself into a position where she can be secure in one spot, and still. "I may end up spending a lot of time phased when I get back," she admits. "It seems like a better option than falling on my face repeatedly."
"I imagine you're getting the worst of it," Jean admits, softening just a little as Kitty's reassurances spur some small bubble of guilt at being mean to the dancing queen. "None of our abilities leave us so sensitive to gravity, or the lack thereof."
"We did pack candy bars, didn't we?" Jubilee butts in, having moved onto the game of trying to catch her toes in weightlessness.
"It's like stepping off a cliff. There's nothing /there/. Nothing anywhere." Zenith jerks herself off short. "I'm whining." She scrubs hands through her hair, which slowly begins to float.
Kitty winces a little as her head collides with the ceiling. Ow. "You'd really hate being intangible, then," she tells Zenith. "I'll make a note not to phase you unless it's completely necessary."
"You are," Jean confirms the whine, but not without a crooked smile. "But... I think heading out to save the planet allows you at least a -little- whine-time if you want it. Just be sure you've cut down enough that you're not going cold turkey on Wednesday night -- that's the current ETA for the asteroid belt. I have enough drug patches to help you find some calm if you need it, but I'd rather not hand out too many... and check with Major Leithan," she names the flight commander, back for another rematch with his space rock, "I think I saw him sneaking them out to hide them, after he watched you tackle the first three."
(The latter bit of conversation is said with a turn in the air to face Jubilee.)
Zenith engages her brain with an audible grind of gears, and starts gathering in long floating hair into a braid. "I don't think that would make any difference. It's not that /I/ have no gravity, it's that there /is/ no gravity. It's like--there's suddenly no sky or ground or something."
"I have to admit, I find it really neat that you can not only manipulate it, but generate your own," says Kitty. Since she is in space, her Geek Mode is prettymuch constantly engaged. And she still wants a lightsaber.
"You know," says Jean thoughtfully, drifting along gently after detatching herself from her foothold. "There's still gravity out here. Microgravity, the pull of the sun on the rest of the solar system... How sensitive are you at detecting it? Meditation might allow you to feel the subtler pulls of things."
That gets Zenith's attention properly, and she lets herself go, moving with the grace of an otter in water in the weightlessness, over so she can put her hands against the side of the ship, to feel. "Never been good at meditation," she says, but it's patently clear she's searching for it now.
Kitty watches Zenith, curiously. The workings of other mutants' powers are always interesting. She pushes herself to the opposite side to give her room.
"Happily," says Jean, continuing to drift to the fore of the cabin where the galley, such as it is, lives. "There are a lot fewer distractions out here. I need to eat and then try out the space shower, and I'd be up for a spot of teaching after. In practical terms, it will also help you combat the strains of the work ahead of us."
"Okay," Zenith says, if not cheerful, at least no longer sounding like she might have an agoraphobia fit. "I'm still gonna probably use my powers in the shower," she teases, limpingly.
"If I wasn't afraid of using up too much of your energy stores, I'd ask you to stand outside and un-weightless me when I shower," says Kitty. "My hair is hard enough to manage when there is gravity."
"She's probably right," Zenith admits, now Jean isn't there. "I'm not really that strong." She gives Kitty a tentative smile. "So you're okay with weightlessness, though?"
"Just a word of warning," says Jean, with a laugh in her voice at the mental images presented by the plans. "But I -think- they may be designed to work in null-gee. Let me know how it works out, though." With that, and a few flippering motions, Jean heads first for food, and then to the cockpit, where the older non-Magneto members of the crew are congregating.
8/23/2008
Space. The final frontier. Now closed upon the shattered chunks of Loki, the Pegasus II is treated to a vista not previously seen outside of television screens and space probe footage. Tumbling gently in the black, smaller fragments glimmer like sparks as light hits them, plentiful but with a velocity matched by the spacecraft, and thus safe to maneuver around. No Scenario 11 here, although the human factor has upped the difficulty all the same.
Inside the airlock, suited and tethered figures are waiting for the air to be sucked away for safekeeping, radios crackling over last minute checks and cross-checks. For company, they have a lot of hexagonal frames, and several cases worth of silvery material, bundled and secured. "Now," says Jean, looking meditative inside her helmet. "Ideally we'd be doing this while Dr. Lensherr and another group handled another of the Red Alert fragments, but... we'll work with what we've got. I believe they dragged Mr. Stark out of someone's bed to double-check the placement numbers, so let's hope this works. Any last questions?"
Jubilee snakes her elbow through a handhold and hold up a hand, thumbing her own com on to ask, "Yeah. Does our insurance /really/ cover this?" Her small nose crinkles behind the faceplate and she starts to flex and fist her hands nervously.
Rogue lifts a hand to smooth her hair. Clunk She lifts her head, wrinkling her nose at the helmet that prevents such small luxuries. "Ah'm pretty sure 'saving the world' is covered by anyone worth a damn," she replies with a small glance over to the other.
"Yeah, well. I don't think the University Clinic is set up ta handle injuries and illnesses associated with this kinda thing," Jubilee retorts saucily.
"Guess you're screwed then, clutzo," Rogue smirks.
"Aren't you lucky you've got me out here to play Dr. Crusher, then," is Jean's answer, somewhat dry and somewhat clipped and clicking thanks to the radio. But beyond that, there's nothing more from Jean, eyes on the dials giving the atmosphere reading as they drop, drop, and drop some more. And then her eyes are closed, trying for one last snatch of meditation to still nerves.
Which is next to impossible in the current company spread out in the waiting area. "I nominate Kitty to be Wesley Crusher, if we're assignin' roles. I'll take that chick with the attitude and the nose ridges." She licks her lips and listens to the last vestiges of atmosphere hiss free as mechanisms clink and clank, and the door opens.
And beyond them, the stars. Meditation may fail before the forces of Jubilee and Rogue, but awe survives. There's the sound of an indrawn breath from Jean's suit as she turns and lets herself float up from her seat, paired with an unseen frisson that rises the hair on her snugly-wrapped arms. "My god," she says, watching the play of starlight and blackfield. "My god."
Rogue narrows her eyes shut as the door cha-chunks open. "Huh," she mumbles under her breath. She does fidget, looking just slightly nervours. She reaches, fumbling to at first to clutch at Jubilee, but awkward space gear and sudden second thoughts make it a half-assed hold before it's dropped. "Wow."
So it is up to Jubilee to be the one to break the star-struck pauses. She blinks once, twice, looks around, inhales slowly, then pushes away with enough force to float past the dumbstruck ones, nervous hand on the thrusters of the suit, the other reaching out to steady the jerk of the attached bits of gear and material. "C'mon, slow pokes. Didja forget your bran muffins this mornin'?"
"Just... give me a moment," Jean requests, although a thread of amusement runs through her voice beneath the awe. A moment she takes, whether given or not, to simply stare out at the gently spinning stars, one hand holding to the airlock's exterior handhold. But eventually discipline prevails, and she moves into position to help tow the hexagons and their solar not-yet-panels with a directive to the cockpit of "Give us a spot on our target please?" that's soon followed by bright lights snapping on and illuminating the surface, one part craggy and ancient and other faces smoothly fractured. It is Big. "Damn," says Jean, spell broken. "You could park the Milennium Falcon on that."
Rogue follows suit with Jean, rubbing her suited hand off on her suited front with a secret snort at Jubilee. She keeps her eyes on the sights before them, breathing heavily as more nervousness sinks in. "What's a Milennium Falcon?" she wants to know hastily. Anything to take her mind off being in SPACE.
"Jean, if you drop one more sci-fi reference, I'm lockin' you in the storage room with Kitty for the ride home," Jubilee growls in fairly good imitation of an amused Wolverine. She turns in place, using her handholds on the repulser equipment as leverage. She rolls her eyes at Rogue over the top. Not like the expression can be seen, hidden behind shiny reflections of rocks.
"Rogue, if you don't know that that's Han Solo's spaceship, I refuse to speak to you further," sayeth the Phoenix, before breaking this vow immediately afterwards by saying "All right, everyone find a grip, and orient so that we're ninety degrees to that flat face there. Call out when ready, hold suit thrusters 'til my mark."
Rogue cruises to her position, taking up her grip on the equipment. "Han-- oh! Harrison Ford was hot in that." She bounces, still gulping down deep breaths and closing her eyes for a split second.
Jubilee calls out quickly, having been moving into position before Jean called it.
"Congratulations, you live another day," says Jean, counting Rogue's comment as a call-out after a check to be sure she's there. Hand over hand, legs kicking against nothing, she positions herself as well, and then calls "Three... two... one... -mark-." in approved fashion, triggering her suit's thrusters on the 'mark'. Slowly, the bundle of repulsors and solar panels begins to move.
Jubilee triggers hers a half-breath behind Jean's mark. In the distance, and too close for comfort, their destination appears to stand still in the ghostly light of the shuttle.
With a grunt, Rogue churns herself into use, following along in the group. Her eyes are wide and alert now, checking everything once. Twice... she keeps a silent tab on every movement, quivering in her suit.
Looming like a monolith, but without any nifty black matte finish or 9-4-1 dimensions, the massive chunk of asteroid waits, patient and implacable, and continuing to hurtle towards Earth, for all it seems stationary. The odd little collection of spacewalkers and Stuff approaches it, with Jean training a little laser rangefinder off the surface. All the better to not pancake, my dears. Time passes. On the ship, -someone- begins piping a little music over the radios.
"I love the mountains. I love the clear blue sky. I love big bridges! I love when Great Whites fly..."
"Har de har har," Jubilee scoffs, thumbing her boosters off to rotate the first in the train of crates into position for the next stage.
Rogue hums, picking up on the tune and rolling with it. She looks to Jean, braving a small smile through the reflective helmet face. "This isn't so bad..." she allows.
"I wouldn't want to stay here, but it -is- nice to visit," Jean agrees, as they slowly cross the distance between ship and space rock fragment, bodies in motion staying in motion after the short pulse of the thrusters. "Now, I admit I'm concerned about debris. Punch a hole through these panels, and the repulsors won't pulse too well -- Rogue, once we've got the repulsors placed, I think Jubilee and I may have to do some target practice, just to be safe, before we unfold the panels."
"I've got that song stuck in my head," Jubilee wails, eliciting a chuckle from somewhere over the radio com.
Rogue nods, though the movement is completely smothered by her helmet. "Need some extra spark?" she wonders. "Ah've been drinking enogh space-o-rade to fuel myself for a good long while. Just pray Ah don't have to pee any time soon."
"That's why these come with diapers," says Jean about space suits. "But what I was thinking, Rogue, was if you can call up the memory of magnetism, you'd be in an ideal situation to latch on to the asteroid and hook up the power leads. It's fiddly work, but I think you could do it."
"There is /no/ way..." Rogue starts, clutching her part of the load in disgust. She doesn't finish the thought. "Magnetism. Got it. Ah'll start pullin' up some nice ol' Magneto memories."
Jubilee shoots Rogue a glance, the gesture equally lost in the confines of the suit. "You gonna be okay?" she asks unnecessarily. They had been training for weeks now. It wasn't unexpected.
"I think she meant the diaper, and how she's not going to use it," Jean suggests, although not without an abstraction to her tone as telepathy peeks over to see if this is so.
Rogue grunts in agreement to Jean," puttering along with her mind sinking down into the depths of old memories. The biggest sources... the strongest pool of her magnetic flicker, being that obtained on a misty night on the top of Ms. Liberty herself. Under her breath, and with a dark simper, Rogue growls."
Rogue grunts in agreement to Jean, puttering along with her mind sinking down into the depths of old memories. The biggest sources... the strongest pool of her magnetic flicker, being that obtained on a misty night on the top of Ms. Liberty herself. Under her breath, and with a dark simper, Rogue growls.
Jubilee's lips round into an 'o' and she subsides, though not without continued glances toward her friend. The floaters detangle, moving in practiced, though not perfect, motions to establish bases and connections.
Jean's mind continues to monitor Rogue's, tracking that memories, once called, do not spill too invasively and permanently over into personality. Also, there is the matter of the little laser tracking beam, which hits some perimeter reading that chimes in her helmet and leads to a warning of "Prepare to reverse thrust for... two seconds... in ten... nine... eight... seven..." And et cetera.
Rogue herds and nips at the heels of said memories like a pro. Her training clicks in and not once does the sudden concious of Magneto threaten it's host. Rogue keeps her head above the old-man waters, clearing her thoughts now enough to follow orders. She matches the glances with Jubilation.
Let's all glance together, like a latin men's synchronized swim team. Or something. Jubilee's gloved hand fumbles on the booster switch, holding on a moment too long and starting a slow spin on the unit.
"Problem?" The question from Jean is clipped, concerned.
"Um. No. No! I... er. Got it!" Jubilee responds, the crackle of the intercom system hiding some of the panicked tones. Jubilee steadies herself, then eyeballs the direction of drift. "I think I'm still good for the target."
Rogue flips herself into reverse thrust, and blah blah techno mumbo jumbo. She does what she's told. With only a /slightly/ shaking hand. "No problem here," comes another stiff response.
"In the spirit of another pop culture reference from before you were born," Jean intones, still sailing towards the flat face of the asteroid, now with decreasing speed, "Let's -keep- Space Oddity as nothing more than a David Bowie song. I don't want to rename you to Major Tom."
"Wha-?" is Jubilee's intelligent reply to that.
Rogue concentrates. Memories churn around in her brain. "Such mindless banter," Mr. Magneto comments.
"Oh, like yours is any better for all it's grandiose," Jean mutters in reply, belatedly catching herself with a cough and a laugh and a "God, that's still creepy," shortly before all three mutants and their phat loot touch down on the asteroid fragment. "All right," she says, businesslike again. "Let's get the central one placed, and fan out from there, like tiling a floor." (Whether or not floors are supposed to be tiled like this is not Jean's concern.) And lo, the next several hours' plan is in place.
8/24/2008
Logfile from Jubilee.
There really isn't a lot of space aboard the Pegasus II. This remark has been floated many times, and has lately been met with joking responses of 'Because it's all out there' by the second-in-command of their two NASA pilots. Senses of humour apparently do not improve when canned. Sleeping quarters, complete with biobed for medical use, common area with the tiny galley, and then the open space of the cargo hold, much emptier now with the hexagons of the repulsors out of the way. This is where Jean can be found, tucked in behind some still-secured crates of food and medical supplies. She has her iPod, her Kindle, and a headache.
Aw. Poor headache. Jubilee prowls the ship restlessly, having been chased from the sleeping quarters by other sleepy teammates after the third time she literally bounced off the walls. Jean's hair is a flame and she gravitates to it, mothlike, popping over the crates and laying across the top.
Mind closed to outside traffic, attention buried within something Elizabethan and quasi-historically-accurate, Jean is thus a perfect target to be snuck up on. The flicker of motion out of her peripheral vision as the Jubilee swoops in is enough to trigger a loud "Gaaaah!" and a brief flail that sends the e-reader tumbling end over end into the middle of the cargo bay, to hang there. And to laugh at her. "-Jubilee-," she groans, familiar sound even in the midst of their strange little world of ship and space.
Jubilee grins, grounding the exchange even further. "You know, I totally treasure these moments," she says. "I totally don't get ta do that enough." She digs her fingers around the straps on the crates and pulls herself into a cross-legged sitting position that is hampered by the thin, white suit she wears, baggy on her smaller frame. Her hair floats loose in a dark halo around her head.
Grumbles from the sleeping area to the tune of 'Shut -up-!' float back into the cargo bay. Jean flushes, eyes the Kindle now floating out of any easy reach, and pulls loose her iPod earbuds before hauling herself up, or at least -on- to the crates using similar straps. "You are such a brat," she informs the younger X-Woman, but with a smile and a muss of the poofy hair to make it a mutter of fondness rather than frustration. Her own hair is contained in yet another ponytail, trailing behind her as she moves.
"You totally miss me and you know it," Jubilee chirps, ignoring the grumbles with the same indifference she showed while being kicked out of the sleeping area. She turns her head to follow Jean's movement, and her hair swirls, showing off a faint streak of maroon from a fading temporary dye job. "One of these days..." she carols in mock warning.
"One of these days I'll call you a brat again?" Jean finishes, quiet out of deference to the sleepers in the cabin ahead of them, but with a twinkle in green eyes. Out in open air, the Kindle continues to tumble, ignored by a Jean whose finer control of telekinesis has been in need of recalibrating since leaving the familiar pull of gravity behind. Quiet still, she cocks her head slightly, and wonders "Having trouble sleeping?"
"Yeah. It's kinda like trying to sleep while strapped to a waterbed. Those things /always/ make me sick," Jubilee answers, shifting a little in her self-made seat and tossing her head so that her hair floats out of her eyes. She wrinkles her nose and settles. "You?"
"Actually finding it easier to sleep," Jean admits, with a crook of her mouth. "It's a little like a sensory deprivation chamber, if you can get past the people snoring. But I could give you a patch, if you needed it," she offers, not bothering to explain why -she- is still up.
"Sure," she shrugs, lowering her lashes so that only a glint of blue peeks through as she watches the doctor even closer. "Missin' your cigarettes?" she hazards.
Jean's answer to that is an even crookeder crook of her mouth, and an upwards peel of the hem of the cami-tank she's wearing. paired with a flight suit that's had the top unzipped and tied around her waist. A quartet of clear plastic patches march upwards along her spine, providing nicotine, Gravol, painkiller, and some drug so new it doesn't have a trade name yet, but which NASA scientists have assured her will decrease stroke risk. "I think I'm my own floating pharmacy right now. Possibly I should just add a sedative too."
Jubilee leans forward to look closer, then looks up and flashes a grin. "You got any blood left in your bloodstream?" She scoots to the edge of the crate and hangs her legs over the edge, feet floating downward by force of habit more than actual sense of direction. She looks a touch more serious and cants her head. "Are they affectin' your powers?"
"I honestly can't say how much would be the drugs, if they were," Jean admits, casting a glance to the middle of the cargo bay, where the reader is still hanging. Careful not to let go of her handhold, she nonetheless shifts so that she's hugging her knees in to herself with her free hand. "I should have thought about how badly this would affect Magneto and Zenith," she admits still more, quiet confession in the middle of the night. "But what's happened with my powers is just that all of a sudden a downwards force I assume is always there... isn't. I can't imagine--" But belatedly she catches herself, and looks cautiously at Jubilee, 'lest the question was code for something. "How are yours?"
No, no code. Jubilee hitches a shoulder, the gesture making a gap in the ill-fitting suit right where breasts would be handy to hang upon. Sigh. "Different, but not too weird. Just... /feels/ different. Like... actually kinda easier to pull together, if that makes sense. It's interestin'."
"-Someone- deserves to have something go easier than planned," murmurs Jean, eyes ghosting shut and her free hand lifting to massage one temple as pain spikes there. "I'm glad it's you."
Jubilee tilts her head. "You don't have a painkiller in the pharmacy on yer back?" she asks, concern and curiosity mingling in her voice.
"Top right," is Jean's answer, weary but amused. "But skin contact isn't working as well as I'd hoped, and I don't want to use anything stronger in case it muddles my control. So..." Wave, goes her hand. It's the one that had been holding on to the strap, and thus Jean drifts a bit, before a half-bitten curse and a flail get her secured again. "I think we did pretty well with clearing the space around the repulsor solar arrays, though," she reflects. "So... worth it. And worth it to work with you beside me."
Jubilee's smile tightens as she bites her lip and glances down, a light blush creeping across her cheeks underneath the golden tone. A second later, she laughs and lets go of her hand hold, pushing off at the same time to send her in the direction of Jean's abandoned kimble. "/You're/ the one who should be sleepin' then."
"In a bit," Jean decides, watching Jubilee bounce off after the Kindle with a little smile ghosting across her lips. "It's been a long time since I've been away at summer camp, and the bunkhouse up there's a little crowded."
"I wonder if they got any marshmallows on this boat," Jubilee wonders mid-flight, snatching the device as she passes with one hand and holding the other out in a futile attempt to stop from bouncing into the far wall. She grabs on and turns, waving the target at Jean.
"Probably freeze-dried," Jean muses. "Although I -did- notice something claiming to be s'more flavoured instant oatmeal." Spotting the waving, a soft laugh escapes her, along with the warning of "If I faceplant into the far wall, it's your fault," before she pushes off from the crates to join Jubilee and the book-reader, legs kicking as she goes, as if swimming.
"I /woulda/ tossed it to ya," Jubilee answers with a roll of her eyes. She holds out a hand to Jean, conveniently forgetting that she /needed/ that handhold to anchor /her/. Oops.
Grabbing for an outstretched hand is really quite automatic, and thus Jean's taken the anchoring hand before it can go back to anchoring. A slow whirl commences, as her angle and momentum pull Jubilee off the wall to join her in the middle of the cargo bay. Says Jean? "Oh dear."
Care to dance? They pivot in place, momentum canceling momentum, Jubilee's legs and arm flapping uselessly. "Er." She shoves the Kindle into Jean's hands.
"Right," says Jean, tucking the reader up against her stomach. "I... suppose we could each try and push off against the other?" The idea of calling whoever's on night shift in the cockpit to come help? Totally not an option.
Totally. Jubilee grips the other woman's arm and suddenly smiles brilliantly, a laugh for the situation sitting right at the top of her throat. "You've just been /lookin'/ for an excuse to kick me, haven't you?"
"Hey, -I'm- not the one who let go of the handhold," Jean promptly quips back, after a moment to tuck the Kindle into one of the many pockets the flight suit has to offer. (Kaylee's fashion sense? Amazingly appropriate for outer space!) Both hands now free, she reaches to grip Jubilee's other arm, tucking her knees up against her chest again.
"You /are/ the one who threw that thing at me," Jubilee accuses, shifting herself into a different set up. "You push off me. You've got a better chance o' reachin' me from the wall than I got o' reachin' /you/."
"All of a sudden, I am very glad that Erik Lensherr's not up and about," Jean mutters, acutely aware of the lack of dignity presented by the scene. But push she does, after waiting to have her back angled at one of the walls, rather than something crate-shaped and pointy-edged. And lo, the Phoenix sails through the air, to land with an audible thump beside a handhold. She grabs. She grabs like the -wind-. If the wind could grab.
Jubilee drifts away from the push, but not far enough to grab onto the wall on her side. So she's left drifting. In space. In a shuttle. She rotates even. And rolls her eyes.
Jean, back on a wall, has -options- now. One of these takes the form of eyeing some of the disused cargo straps, all neatly snugged against the wall and bound tight. The other is to cock her head at Jubilee, and note that "I -could- give telekinesis a try. You're squishier than an asteroid, but I don't think my control is -that- off, for something your size."
Jubilee eyes Jean dubiously. "You /think/?"
"I am 90% sure I won't smack you into the wall hard enough to concuss you," Jean offers, with slightly more detail.
"Jean, what happened to your reassurin' bedside manner?"
"You're not in bed."
"Damn." Technicalities aside, she braces and whimpers for dramatic affect before saying, "Ok. But if you punch me through the side, I'm /so/ going to paf you."
"I think I'd have bigger problems to worry about, if that happened," Jean murmurs, with visions of explosive decompression dancing through her head. This, perhaps, is why the initial touch of telekinesis is little more than the force being the batting paw of an inquisitive kitten.
Jubilee giggles. "That tickles!"
"OK," says Jean, with a rueful smile. "So I was being too cautious." The next pulse is a tangible one, a sharp nudge that, while not painful, is definitely enough to get her moving, free of other influences like gravity.
It definitely does. With a "Wooooaaah!", Jubilee sails toward the wall and hits it, slapping her hands onto cables and support beams. She really doesn't have much to say beyond, "Nnnowghrmph."
"Any side-punching to report?" wonders Jean from the other side of the cargo bay.
Jubilee grunts and turns her head to look over her shoulder. It's a tough feat with her feet floating in the air behind her. "Ok, next time? We don't do that," she vows.
"Agreed," says Jean with a laugh and a sigh intertwined, as she returns to her little nook in the lee of the crate. "For now, though, I think I want to finish this chapter, see if Magneto will take anything to try and help him, check to see if there's news from Mission Control, and then sleep."
"How about /I/ see to Mission Control, you see to Magneto, and the chapter can wait?" Jubilee suggests with a surprising burst of maturity. She crawls hand over hand around the wall and toward the door.
"Part of Mission Control ties in to Magneto," Jean counters neatly, but does concede the bulk of the battle with another laugh-sigh hybrid, and a slow drift towards the door herself. "And isn't that sort of maturity usually -my- line? It's like you've grown up or something."
"Gasp. Never." Jubilee drawls, hauling herself upright next to the door and wrinkling her nose at Jean while she waits for her to pass through in front of her.
"Night, you," bids Jean, with a brief brush of her fingers against Jubilee's cheek as she passes, telepath-equivalent to a peck on the cheek. "Busy day tomorrow. And tomorrow. And the day after that."
"Just another day in the life of an unbearably cute superhero. Hey, when do I get the spandex and boobs?" Jubilee retorts after Jean, eliciting another chorus of "SHUT UP!" from the sleeping bunks. This time, she finally does.