1963-07-06 - Yogurt break
Summary: Relaxed talk of unorthodox exercise methods is abruptly cut off by news of a potential long-lost sibling, and the scene gets heated.
Related: None
Theme Song: Johnny Cash - Ring of Fire
rogue alex darwin scott cannonball 


It took some searching, but Scott finally found the gym. After some further investigation he even came across some work out pants to change into. Standing at one of the heavy bags with his t-shirt laid across the weigh bench nearby, the sweating Summers is standing on the balls of his feet circling around the bag with taped knuckles throwing quick strikes as he cuts and turns his body to create angles.

He's switched over to his visor to give himself more mobility options over his usual glasses. They're bulky, but far more secure in their position on his face. Especially considering he's built up a thick and heavy sweat by this point.

His hair is slicked back out of his face, but a few strands straggle down across his forehead as he turns and twists, a thick fist slamming into the side of the bag where a man's kidney would be.

The strike sends the bag wobbling to the left and Scott follows it with a snappy one two, jab strike. ''Ring of Fire'' off of Johnny Cash's new album plays on a nearby record player.

*

Over in one corner of the room, a pair of gymnastic rings have been combined with some bungee cords and climbing gear into an improvised suspension harness. A thin, unusually tall blond teenager, decked out entirely in Xavier Institute-issued gym wear (blue shorts with yellow trim and an embroidered X crest; heather sleeveless shirt with the school's name printed in an arc across the chest) has, for the past ten minutes, been dangling from it and repeating minor variations on what he's doing right now:

Body parallel to the floor, he extends his fists in front of him and whispers, "Blastin'." Dropping his fists to his side, he continues. "Stopped blastin'. Now Ah gotta swing around…" He tilts forward slowly, curling into a ball, then straightens and extends his fists again. "…and Ah blast again! Wait…" He's inverted, but not nearly as level as he was to start with; he wobbles and tilts, and ends up flailing a bit before he can get himself still again. Muttering some self-recriminations, he restarts the process.

Scott's record, finally, interrupts this foolish cycle. Tilting upside down, the teenager turns his bright blue eyes to the visored boxer and asks in a distinct Kentucky drawl, "Hey now, is this Johnny Cash?"

*

Even a girl has to get some fresh air or fresh exercise, for all the magazines suggest it's dangerous to be too active. Wouldn't want to get bulked up and scare off all the boys, right? Nor do the culture conscious fashion houses yet produce garments suitable for leisure or athleticism for the fairer sex, unless they involve cute pleated white skirts and polyester shirts, swimwear, or the occasional pair of rebellious cutoffs. Thus it might be totally unreasonable to find a Bohemian redhead sauntering in wearing a pair of stolen cotton pants and a long-sleeved cotton tee. If she had a brother, he might be wondering who raided his closet. Pulling her hair back with both her hands, she flips over her braid several times to secure it with a hairpin previous trapped between her lips.

The moment it's freed, she can focus upon a proper greeting. "Good day to you, gentlemen!" The usual New York accent bares its southern origins in the slightly more sophisticated enunciation. She gives a glance to the equipment present, and then veers away from any punching bags or targets for the nearest mat. There she finds her stance easily enough, feet shoulder width apart as she bends over in an easy stretch to limber up. It might look vaguely like she's about to practice a gymnastics routine, but not so, as time will show. Leaning over and grasping her ankles is a feat of careless flexibility, made all the more so when she straightens until jack knifed at an angle to the floor, and holds that position. Yoga is a rarity on these shores, but the Bohemian knows it, evidently.

*

Armando isn't often to be found in the gym- most of his heavy lifting done in the library. Still, its wise to keep in shape. He wears a tracksuit- in blue with a white stripe. A simple white t-shirt sits under the jacket as he looks around the room with a quiet smile. Even in a room full of mutants, Armando stands out. He's tall, stretched out. Long limbs, white eyes and gray skin. "Hey there!" he offers to the others as he enters, "Good to see you all. I'm Armando." the greeting more for Rogue and Scott's benefit.

The speedbag is what Armando seems interested in, heading over to begin working the fast-bouncing thing. Its not exactly a graceful display, however. Violence, even against speedbags, does not come naturally to Armando.

*

Scott catches the bag with an extended hand and leans his forehead in against the leather canvas with huge sucking breaths. Each blows a few drops of sweat from the end of hi snose, dripping out of his hair, and running down his back and through the smattering of chest fuzz. Scott is not a huge man, but he's a very fit one. His muscles are thick, corded, especially along his upper arms and at his core.

When Sam tumbles to the floor, Scott glances around the side of his heavy bag and nods to the posed question. "Yeah.." In response, real social like, but maybe it's the appearance of a bohemian woman in cotton boy clothes shaking up social norms that interrupted his otherwise lacking response.

His palm slaps against the leather of the canvas bag and pushes it out of his way to a towel draped across a weight bar. Sweat wiped from his face and along the back of his neck, "I didn't think anyone did yoga…" He says to her, coming closer to the edge of her mats after stopping beside Sam to offer him a hand. "Scott." To both, then to Armando as well with a nod. The last he watches for a second and, rather than staying to watch Rogue bend, moves over to join the less graceful of them at the speed bag.

"Stop swinging where it is." He says as he steps up and grabs the bag with a hand out to Armando. "Bring your fists up here…" Indicating either side of his face, "And strike it with the back of your palms.." He demonstrates slow motion, swinging his right hand in slow hammer stricks. "Rhythm… Go slow." Motioning for Armando.

*

"Wow, Ah ain't heard this one," Sam says with a lopsided grin, still suspended upside down, staring into the middle distance and listening to the brassy Cash single. He bobs his head a little, then continues. "Wow! It's a real toe-tapper. Ah mean, it would be, if Ah weren't…" He gestures at his feet, which are currently pointed at the ceiling. The gesture causes him to wobble a little; he reaches out to touch the floor with one hand and steady himself.

He's mostly focused on the song, but he can't help but notice Rogue's arrival. His eyebrows inch together and peak in the middle as he watches her start her routine. When she holds one of her yoga poses for what he considers an unusually long time, he offers, "Careful, miss! You might pull somethin' if ya stretch too long." Full of useful advice, this one.

Shoving off from the floor, the farm boy rights himself and starts undoing his harness. "Ah don't reckon Ah'm gonna get this flip thing right today," he comments as he slides down to his feet. There's also the slight embarrassment of the whole arrangement: not the best way to make a first impression. Following Scott over to Armando, he greets the physically altered mutant with a mute, hesitant nod, then introduces himself to the stranger in the room. "Sam Guthrie, by the way. Ah'm a new student around here — startin' in the fall. Ah been here a couple weeks, but it seems like there're still new people to meet every day."

*

Folded into a standing bend, Rogue gently adjusts her position by stepping her left foot back on the mat into something of a lunge. She sinks forward, torso laid over the midline of her thigh, and there gains a moment of balance. Exhaling, her position is maintained while she tips her head slightly to make eye contact with Scott. "Yes, I do. The guru who taught me believed it provided beneficial mental as well as healthful effects, and he wasn't kidding. There is little room to think when you are trying to hold some of these poses." Eyes too bright a shade of leaf-green glitter in the frame of her tanned face, and she flashes a friendly smile to him, one that doesn't change much as Armando nods in their direction. "I don't think we've had the pleasure." With two years in the Institute under her belt, and adult status at that, she treads something of an unusual life above the younger students and below the actual teachers. So it goes.

Her toned arms are extended in front of her, stretched out to full reach parallel to the floor as though she might grab some invisible sceptre. Then she sweeps her leg back, elevating it completely as she attains the virabhadrasana, a pose where she stands on her straight right leg in some hint of a battle form. It may be elegant — and it is — but there is a frozen element of violence in the stance. Lowering her head slightly creates a nearly straight line teetering from shoulders to ankle, her foot pointed back. Then she simply hangs there, as it were, counting off the seconds with grueling determination.

The mirth flickers up slightly. "Thank you, Mr. Sam, though I should be good." Measured words follow as she adapts the warrior pose by rolling onto the ball of her foot and stretching up onto her toes, bearing her entire body weight on that narrow strip of contact with the mat. It dimples under her, even as she strives to keep from wobbling much. Her engaged muscles tighten, the expression on her face turning almost serene. "I'm Rogue. Let me know if there is anything you need. At least I can point you in the right direction."

*

"Nice to meet you, Scott." Armando offers, with a quiet nod of his head as he watches Scott's technique with the speed-bag. He nods, those solid-white eyes seeming to absorb all that information- although its difficult to tell if he's watching Scott's hands, or Rogue's yoga from where he's standing. "Ah. I see." he begins, as those over long arms rise again once the motion comes back to him.

The technique would take time, but Armando was clearly following Scott's advice. The rhythm would come with a bit of practice. "Oh, much better, thanks." he says towards Scott. "So, what's it you do here, Scott?" he wonders of the visor-wearing man. "I only just moved in a few days ago." he admits, "I'm going to be a substitute teacher, and tutor." he states, with an easy smile on his odd features.

Armando seems used to the odd looks- even from other mutants. He lets it roll off him like water off a duck's back. "Sam's good people." Armando offers with a smile towards Sam- a friendly thing. "Nice to meet you, too, Rogue."

*

Scott watches Armando with the bag for a moment more, the question posed at him hanging unanswered in the air for that time. When he finally speaks it's accompanied by a shrug, "Nothing." What he does here. "I just arrived yesterday." Turning towards Sam as well with a little smirk at his comment to Rogue.

"Builds core." Nodding his chin out towards where the lady is demonstarting a bit of that with her leg extended out behind her, "And balance. Flexability. Breathing control." Stepping towards Sam now to look around him at the ropes he was just hanging from, "Might help you with your balancing act up there…" Pointing at those same ropes.

His accent is… difficult. It's generic and bland, with hints from all over. Mostly midwestern, if anything stands out at all. His brown hair is tossled with the end of his towel and then it is draped over his shoulders.

"Everyone here appears like ''good people''." Observatory towards Armando, shrugging a little.

*

The Cash tune ends, and Sam offers Scott a lopsided grin. "Well, welcome to the school. Ain't heard a good country tune in a while," he says, gentle wistfulness growing in his voice. "Thanks, Scott — that sound puts me right back in Kentucky."

The bit of culture Rogue brings to the meeting is a lot more foreign, and a bit less impressive to the southerner, judging by the confounded expression he turns toward her graceful poses. He plants one hand on the corresponding hip and scratches at a mid-upper-arm tanline with the opposite hand. "Yogurt? Goo-goos? Breathin' control?" He ticks down the list of alien concepts with growing skepticism, then practically barks out a disbelieving laugh. "Ah'll be sure to ask your goo-goo for advice if Ah ever forget how my lungs work. Y'all're pullin' my leg, right?"

*

"It's an Indian technique," says Rogue patiently. She swings her leg down and switches the position, though not without dropping back down into that forward bend where she nearly has to clasp her ankles to keep her hamstrings loosened up. "Yoga is the practice I am doing now. A guru is a teacher, an expert, in it. Just like the professor is a guru about all things related to us." She might wave her hand if she weren't doubled over, getting a fine view of her feet on the mat. "And breathing matters. I cannot exactly get all the air I would this way. Bend over and try." The flash of a daring grin is there, a shock of lightning on a sunny day without a single fluffy white cloud in the sky. "Tell me if you can get a full belly of air bent so. Doubt you can, but it's possible."

Then, she's back to reversing course, stretching her arms out and extending her right leg this time. "The music is good, by the way. I don't know where you found that but I like it. Something a bit longing, though. Man sounds like he looked too deep into the night and something looked back at him, as a manner of speaking." Her heel bears down and she winces slightly, extending her leg a little further. "You're to be a tutor? What is your specialty?"

*

"Don't knock it till you've tried it, Sam." Armando says, with a quiet smile as he continues to work at that speed-bag, he seems to be getting the hang of it. "Any idea what you'd like to do here, Scott?" Armando asks next of the buff man. "Its a good place for mutants. We can be ourselves here- its particularly a good thing for people like myself. Although I've managed fairly well in New York- New York is an exception to a great many rules." he smiles still.

"So, what's your mutation?" Armando wonders, "Its an interesting thing the innumerable variations among our kind- how wide and varied our abilities are."

"Oh, general schooling- I can tutor any subject on the primary and secondary school levels." Armando says, with a nod of his head. "I don't really have a specialty."

*

"Cash isn't country… Hank Williams, now that's country. Cash, he's rock'n roll." Scott says with a small smile of his own. Once he's gotten his hair mostly dried and his t-shirt back on, he reaches up to take his visor off and puts his red tinted glasses on in their place. For those few seconds between, his eyes are held closed.

"Yes, breathing control." Rolling his shoulders a little, "It has nothing to do with knowing how to breath, but how to breath right.. In the middle of a fight that's running longer than you thought it would, Rogue is breathing steadily through her nostrils…" Pointing over towards where she's using her breathing to keep paces in her poses with fingers spread a little. "Just like when you're up on those suspensions ropes.." Jutting his chin up at where Sam was hanging previously, "You're using your breathing, whether you realize it or not, to keep your strength and concentration. Especially during those extensions where you're relying on your core muscles." A quick slap of his knuckles against his own abdomen.

Then, slowly, he looks over to Rogue and nods. "It does, doesn't it?" A little turn of his head towards Armando, "I don't know yet. Still figuring that part out.. haven't really sat down with the Professor and hammered out all the details, yet." Flipping his wrist a little, then up towards his glasses. "Concussions blasts from my eyes."

*

The blond youth scratches at a point a few inches behind one ear, still raising a skeptical eyebrow. "Ah seen a lotta Westerns, but Ah ain't never seen an Indian doin' that. Looks like ballet dancin' to me," he says with a lopsided smile. Rogue's challenge is noted, but the Kentucky boy shepherds his few traces of dignity with too much care to let this particular wolf into the fold. "Not that there's anythin' wrong with dancin', but Ah'll stick to good ol'-fashioned work, if it's all the same to y'all."

He squints over at Scott, then shakes his head. "Aww, don't go tryin' to steal Johnny Cash. He rocks, sure, but that don't mean he ain't got his heart in the country." He hitches his bare shoulders and adds, "Hank Williams is great, too. There's room for both of 'em. Just because some highfalutin' city boys like it don't mean it ain't country. Just means they had a rare attack of sense."

He glances over at the suspension system, eyebrows lowering on the outsides. "Ah think Ah see where this is goin'. Y'all're gonna tell me Ah need an Indian googoo to teach me yogurt breathin' if Ah wanna learn to steer when Ah'm flyin'." He crosses his bare arms across the name of the school and exhales sharply. "Well, what do Indians know about flyin', huh? Answer me that."

*

Rogue stands up, dropping her leg back, and this explains entirely why she needed to borrow someone else's gym attire. Else they would all have a very interesting view of matters. She bounces back onto her heels, her braid threatening to pull free of the barrettes and hair tie used to hold it in place, the foxfire strands revealing her telltale streak of white from her brow. "Indian like India, not like arrows, feathers, and tribes here. They are quite a bit different. I've studied with them too." Her smile isn't a tease there, put back behind the mask. "Trust me, darlin', you miss out not getting some freedom in your thoughts and exploration of the wilds here. I love that the Institute feels like a park, but there are days I long for a field and the empty, endless sky. I may be a city girl, but even a city girl can lament for a lack of real wilderness."

She looks pointedly at the ceiling as Sam finishes, and for all his good-natured dare, the response is simple enough. Since he went and asked nicely, as all. She sits down on the ground, legs crossed in a classic lotus position with her heels tucked against her thighs and hands resting on her knees. "You've never heard of the yogi flyers? Maharishi Mahesh Yogi claims we can free ourselves of our burdens and heal in a sense. Oh, that's the very basic form, but some people have results." And while she speaks, she starts to float in midair, carried up by nothing more than sheer will. "It makes a good focus to hold in place when you meditate on a matter. Clear your thoughts, puts you in touch with the world around you. Sometimes you can even lift yourself away from business. I'd say it is rather useful mentally though /flying/, well, that's another business."

Those green eyes glitter in amusement and Rogue curves a tiny smile. "Tell me what you know about flying, sugar, and we'll see what these gentlemen here can instruct you on."

*

"You're a citizen of the world, Sam." Armando says with a quiet smile- good natured. "Its in your best interest to broaden your horizons and try new things." the grey-skinned mutant says with a nod of his head.

To Scott, he looks back at the visor- "I'm guessing you need to wear that fairly often, then." he says, "I evolve." he offers, then. "That's what I do- I'm in a constant state of evolution- evolving to survive every situation as it occurs in real time." he gives a bit of a grin, "It makes drinking a lot less fun, that's for sure."

"So, Sam's from Kentucky- and I'm from New York City." he says towards Rogue and Scott. "Where are the two of you from, originally?"

*

"I believe we can share him." Scott says with a genuine smile crisp upon his face at the idea of city boys trying to steal Cash away from his country fans, "There's enough Cash to go around for everyone." A good natured slap to Sam's upper arm.

As for their discussion of yoga, "No, just pointing out that it's applicable. You can learn to fly by doing what you were doing, but it wouldn't ''hurt'' to pay attention to what the lady's doing…"

Scott rubs at the back of his neck with one taped up hand and looks to Armando, "Alaska, I think. Grew up in foster care, family was killed when I was very young." He doesn't say where this foster family was or is, nor does he sound at all like he wants to talk about it. His entire demeanor closes off a little and any hint of his smile is absolutely gone in a heart beat.

*

Guthrie stares at the hovering Rogue for several seconds, jaw working silently, then throws his hands into the air, blurts out a curt grunt of frustration, and drops his backside to the mat with a thump. "Ah swear, ever since Ah got up north, every time ah hear of anything completely ridiculous and embarrassin', within five datgum minutes someone is tellin' me that doin' it repeatedly for an audience is the only way Ah'll ever learn to steer," he rants, crossing his legs in the classic 'Indian style' rather than the more refined lotus position — and managing to do so with an air of begrudging grouchiness that provides a perfect inverse of Rogue's calm openness.

Slapping his hands to his knees and glaring at each of them in turn, he resentfully explains, "Ah explode and ah keep explodin' and the explosion shoots me into the air like a rocket. But if Ah need to turn or stop or anythin', there ain't nothin' for it but to stop the explosion, 'cause for all it's speed 'n power it ain't got no more means to steer than a dang-ol' cannonball."

His grumpiness finally spent, he looks around the group. "Alright, Miss Rogue. Mr. Armando. Mr… Scott?" With a long exhalation, he asks: "Lay the yogurt on me."

*

The floating Bohemian tucks a strand behind her ear, her expression almost as smooth as the interior of a shell when the smile fades. Concentration is needed to keep her in place, after all, the natural intent to rise. A fine line appears between her brows for a moment, then vanishes when the conversation around her fades in and out. "Sounds like someone needs to be in a physics class, at least for understanding momentum and opposing forces. You sure no one calls you Newton?" Her voice is soft, not entirely couched in a dreamy lassitude. No, she is altogether too awake for that, refusing to surrender control to just float away.

"Mr. Sam, I am not saying doing it in front of an audience helps any, but sometimes it might. They are tutors, and I know one way to get airborne. It could well be either of them fly, but I fear you're out of water in your bucket for options if they can't. Mr. Scott, is there anything you can suggest to him? It sounds like you might be familiar with the idea of… ah, blasting. Explosions." She purses her lips and peers back at the shuttered young man, gauging his expression and not pushing any further there. "I couldn't tell you," she adds to Armando. "May be I have lived in New York City all my life. Maybe not, but if anyone knows, they aren't telling."

*

"Sorry to hear that, Scott. I know that's hard." And, Armando does know- he doesn't even go further than that, letting Scott's history be just that. "Its a good thing you're here now, though. A lot of the kids here are going through tough times." Armando explains. "Knowing that they can get through them is a real balm to them. Its one of the best things we can do for them- give them hope."

"Hey, I don't know any Yoga." Armando notes, "I'm just saying people want to help you out- might as well give it a try. You can't be sure it won't help if you never try it, right? Hell, maybe you'll like it, even. Its like trying new food- which, by the way, I'm still taking you to Chinatown to get some real authentic Canotonese cooking." he says towards Sam. "You're all welcome to come." he offers next.

He turns to Rogue, nodding quietly. "I can't fly. I can survive being dropped from a height, though. From what I recall, so can Sam." he notes, looking to Sam with a little grin. "Hey, how'd that job with the horses work out?"

*

"So you have to learn to control your motions in mid fall, then reignite your explosions." Scott says with a slow nod, looking around the gym for a second. "I'm pretty good at spatial distances and angles, but I'll simplify it into mathematics that shouldn't be to hard to consider…" Snapping a glance back at Sam, "Which is not to say you're incapable of complicated mathematic equations, but if you can do so in the midst of bodily explosion you shouldn't be having ''any'' difficulty controlling your descent."

Scott looks to Rogue and shrugs, "My eyes wont be lifting me off the ground, but it might destroy the ground I'm standing on… either way, I think I can help him.. and it wont require even a little bit of yogurt." He single hand claps his fingers towards himself for Sam to follow him on his way back over to the hanging bars.

"Look at these bars and ropes…" Motioning with a slow movement of his hands, "Sixteen inches from that rope to that bar…" Indicating them, "Another seven to the cross beam.." Indicating it as well, "What that means to you is relativity to your own position… You have to find markers for yourself." Provided Sam follows him, Scott turns to face him. "It's like throwing a punch, you're using body mechanics to dictate applied force… So if I swing.." He does so, very slowly, at Sam's shoulder. "And you move, turning slightly." If he doesn't do so, he'll reach out to slightly shift Sam's position, then returns his fist to its original position running along the front of Sam's chest. "You're aware of my fist in relation to your body… Same, I'd think, with your flight." Pointing up at the bars, "You drop your explosion, see your surroundings, turn your abdomen towards the bar, or feet, whatever extremity you want to dictate your new flight path, and then explode.." Clapping his hands together and sliding his right out in a straight line in another direction.

*

"Well, Ah guess Ah'll just work my way through every darn-fool thing one by one," Sam says to Armando with a grimace. "Eventually, somethin' has to work." He doesn't sound like her relishes the prospect.

"Physics, shmysics. The science boys already told me my powers don't make no sense," Sam tells Rogue with a clueless shrug. "They had this whole thing set up so Ah could blast indoors, and in about two seconds, Ah smashed it to bits and nearly took Mr. Summers' head off with a chunk of Bobby's ice. Somethin' about my momentums don't add up." His face and upper arms go a little pink: it seems he feels personally embarrassed for his powers' failure to earn the Newton nickname. He's just about to try to puzzle out Rogue's cryptic statement about her origins when Scott beckons him up off the mat.

"Ain't so bad at math as Ah am at pretty much everythin' else, but Ah'm the first to admit Ah ain't a brainiac," Sam reassures Scott. "If you got a way to make it easier, make it easier. Ah ain't insulted." That said, deflecting the punch seems almost instinctive: the farm boy tilts aside even before Scott tells him to. "So, you're sayin' Ah need to be measurin' where Ah am the whole time Ah'm flyin'?" he asks, giving this only a slightly smaller measure of skepticism than he gave yoga a moment ago. "Y'all might not be aware of just how fast Ah go."

*

Quietly Rogue slips down to her feet again, not in the mood to much demonstrate her powers. As it goes, she rarely makes a point of them, and it's stranger still to see her on display outside the danger room, but it's neither here nor there. The corner of a smile follows when Scott goes and mentions he might destroy the ground, and Armando can simply imagine falling without too much damage. "We all have our ways of dealing with it. I'll be content to watch and learn from here, if no one minds. It gives me a good opportunity to see what you can do, and how things are in the world." The easy movement carries her over towards the grey-skinned mutant, and she settles outside of arm's reach into a seated position almost identical to the one that she held while in the air. It suits her better not to be identified such, perhaps, and there's a quiet sort of acceptance for the lesson unfolding before her eyes. Let it not be said much about her being a distraction; when she doesn't wish to intrude, she can be more than a little skilled at falling silent.

*

"I'm a little out of my element when it comes to 'control' with our abilities." Armando admits, a hand coming up to scratch the back of a bald head. "I've been like this since I was born. I've never had to do anything- it just… works." he continues, "And, it seems to be constantly working, if I'm to believe the scientists who wrote that paper on me."

"I'll help you with the schooling, Sam. Happy to do it. Education is really important to everyone." Armando offers, "I'm sure if you can make a dead reckoning, it'll be good enough- just a best guess, until you get more practice in."

*

''Mr. Summers''

Scott narrows his eyes a little behind his glasses, "Who is Mr. Summers?" That trumps everything else. He does not go back to explaining what he intended regarding physics, he doesn't even seem to be aware of anything else in the room besides Sam, at that moment.

His entire demeanor is intense, pointed, almost threatening suddenly. Like he was slapped and is rising to the challenge of it. He knows he's not ''Mr. Summers'', at least not the one Sam's talking about, anyways.

*

"Ah appreciate it," Sam tells Armando, breaking eye contact and rubbing his triceps. "Ah have quite a bit of catchin' up to do…"

Scott's sudden focus on such an odd point is intense enough that Sam, who was following the older man a second ago, takes an instinctive step back. "Huh? He's one of the younger teachers here," Sam answers, eyebrows peaking in the center. "Wears a funny suit — helps with his powers. Same as Nancy's gloves and those glasses of yours, I guess." Obviously perplexed, he continues to ramble: "He doesn't like me callin' him Mr. Summers, so I try to say 'Havok' when Ah'm around him, but Ah feel a little silly doin' that, and 'Alex' just seems rude."

*

"Alex, yeah." Armando offers towards Sam, "He does prefer Havok for some reason. Still don't understand that- calls it his Mutant Name." the grey-skinned man offers as Sam begins to ramble. "What's up, Scott?" he asks of the older man now, taking a step to be beside Sam. "Everything okay there, buddy?"

*

"Alex Summers." Scott says under his breath and glances towards the exit. Everything else goes right over his head, "… Alex… ''Summers''…" His head tilts just a little, one hand resting against his temple and he looks like he might be getting dizzy. So much so that he stumbles a little and has to reach out to grab one of the ropes that Sam was previously using to keep himself up in the air.

"He's grew up in foster care…" Scott takes a ''deep'' breath, fists curling into fists tight enough that his knuckles pop. People are talking to him, saying things, but all he hears is that wooshing sound of blood pounding in his head, "My name. Scott Summers."

*

"So… y'all're related?" Sam guesses, blithe as only someone who has been tripping over a growing cadre of younger siblings since he was old enough to walk can be. Scott's unsteadiness, at least, is comprehensible to the farm boy: he rushes forward to grab the man's free arm and hold him steady and upright. "Ah thought you looked a bit familiar."

*

Rogue remains quiet at the shock of revelations, if only because there might be a fairly weighty shard of quiet envy and an iceberg of worry holding her afloat. "Easy," she says out of the blue, eyes full on Scott at this point. "You going to be okay or you need to take out your emotions on something? I'm here if you need to. I reckon you may want to sit down, though." A glance of her gaze moves towards the mat she's on, as though that could be suitable for a man whose world may just be tipped upside down. "Someone ought to warn Alex. I can go seek him out as we need."

*

Armando takes a step over, to offer a bit of support to Scott- the grey-skinned mutant has a hidden physical strength to him- not as great as one who works out constantly, but easily on par with any man on the street. More than enough to survive. "So, that's a good thing, right? Some family?" Armando offers, with a nod. "Yeah, maybe take a smoke and a drink…" he says, agreeing with Rogue with a nod, "Yeah, for sure. Family reunions, I'm guessing." he says, a hand on Scott's shoulder. A steadying thing.

*

Scott blinks a few times behind his glasses and leans weight upon Armando out of necessity more than genuinely wanting to be supported by anyone, but he looks like he's about to lose his legs from beneath him. With a little effort and something like a controlled fall, Scott works his way down onto the mats and stares at the ground infront of his knees.

Inside he just wants to go find Alex, find out if it's true, assure himself that this is just another trick or a mistake. Mistaken identity, surely there's more than one person named Alex Summers on the planet, there has to be right? "Alex died… They all died. I saw it."

Full on rambling, but he's getting his senses back about him.. and an icy sort of edge to his demeanor.

*

Losing a family member, on the other hand, Sam can understand just fine. He eases Scott down and puts a bracing hand against his shoulder, looking into the impassive lenses covering the man's eyes as he says, "Our Alex Summers is blond, blue eyed, just a little shorter'n Ah am but not as thin. Mid 20s, maybe? Ah'd guess a little younger'n you are. Ah don't remember him never talkin' about his family." He grimaces, wishing he could offer more to confirm or deny the man's identity. "Mutant, obviously. Absorbs energy and shoots it out, kinda uncontrolled, which is why he needs a suit. How long ago did you lose … your Alex?"

*

Rogue tugs at her long sleeves, and folds the cuff down to rest over her wrist. She hugs her arms to her sides, leaning forward to consider Scott with a worried look on her face. "Sugar, you've taken a bit of a shock. I'm going to leave you with these two and fetch you a glass of water, and assure all's well." That much is spoken gently, and the flower girl pivots again, straightening up and shedding some of the languid, almost detached nature. To Armando, a firm nod. "Watch over him, will you? No telling how hard this could hit if the trauma is true, but I trust you can keep the roof on." A smile follows, a tendril of golden trust in the midst of madness. "I'm going to dash out and be back in almost a flash. Makes me wish I could go right through the walls like some kind of ghost, but I don't intend to be long. And Mr. Sam…" She doesn't finish, nor need she, the shining smile a rarity in the scope of things. Giving him a thumbs up, she turns and zips out of the room with light, bounding strides like an antelope. If that antelope, say, had the strength sufficient to pulverize boulders and hurl dump trucks fully loaded with ore at passing satellites for fun.

*

Armando lowers himself with Scott- easily shouldering the weight of the other man as he goes down to his knees. Armando joins him on the floor in the end- just sitting next to Scott and letting him work through this. He's at a loss for words- just letting Sam do the talking for now. Armando is just there- close by. "Someone should go get Alex, maybe. No need to.. draw this out, right?" he finally finds some words- looking to Sam and Rogue both for confirmation that this was the right course of action. He nods, as Rogue heads out- just sitting quietly beside Scott- there if he's needed. "Unless you'd rather wait, Scott. I mean, if you're here- you're going to see Alex eventually. He lives here."

*

Scott shakes his head, a steady sort of motion, "Can't be him.." He manages for himself, at first paying attention only to his own thoughts. Probably it's just a coincidence, "What?" Still shaking his head, this time like he's clearing cobwebs. "A long time ago… plane crash." It's all robotic responses, but Scott's expression tells it all. "I developed my mutant abilities during a flight with my family… energy started blasting out of my eyes and tore through the side of the plane.. We went down.."

These are not public thoughts, these are private thoughts that are spilling out uncontrolled. "I hit my head when I landed…" Squinting behind his glasses, "That's why I have to wear these…" Motioning to those same glasses. After that are the dark days, the horrible things, the reason Scott is so cold. They are very private and unrelated to any Alex's that may or may not be his dead brother.

"Someone should go talk to Alex." Someone who isn't him. He may ''want'' to do it, but he knows better.. Glancing up at Armando, "No, he should be told. If it's true…" And he's still not sure whether he believes it is… or if he even wants it to be.. "He should know."

*

After giving Rogue a nod and a wave, Sam turns back to Armando and Scott. "It ain't right to let him think it might be true when we can't say for sure," Sam says with conviction. "But Ah ain't got the slightest idea where Alex might be." For the first time, Sam notes a serious drawback to living in a mansion. His head swivels and he lets go of Scott's shoulder and stands. "Ain't we got an intercom or somethin'?!"

He jogs over to the gym doorway, sticks his head out, and looks up and down the hallway outside. "HEY, ALEX!" he bellows in a tone of voice reserved for Guthrie dinner calls and 'soo-ee pig pig pig' and definitely not approved for indoor usage. Spotting a baffled second year, Sam points. "You! Alex needs to get to the gym, lickety split. Pass it on!"

*

Armando watches as Sam takes matters into his own hands- there was a certain grace to how Sam did things. It was not unlike a run-away train crashing into a car stalled on the tracks. A terrible kind of grace that was impossible to look away from. He remains seated next to Scott, though- just quiet and nodding. "Alright, well, looks like that's going to be happening sooner as opposed to later." he says, with a touch of a sigh. "It'll be okay, Scott." Armando offers, as weak support. He's out of his element here.

*

So is Scott, the emotional stuff, that's not Scott's bag. He shakes his head at Sam and reaches out like he's going to stop him, but Cannonball is a little too quick. That or Scott is a little too slow, "I can't do this right now." He says quietly and hops up to his feet. "I need to talk to the professor…" That seems to be the general concensus when anything goes amiss, right? Go find Xavier.

Scott walks towards the hallway, out of the gym, possibly out to his motorcycle…

No, no running yet. There's a chance this is all a big case of mistaken identity. That or Mister has started playing games outside the compound. That's still a very big possibility.

*

Sam watches Scott's rush toward the door, openmouthed, then turns to Armando and waves after the departing Summers in disbelief. "You're kiddin' me. We're just gonna let him suffer in suspense?!" The southerner looks a bit the worse for the palpable tension himself. "Take less'n a minute to set the record straight!"

*

"I don't think its that easy, Sam." Armando says. "He thinks he killed his family." he notes quietly. "You got a lot of family, Sam. How would you feel if you thought you killed your younger brother- and all of a sudden you found out he might not be dead. That he survived that kind of accident." Armando shakes his head quietly. "I think this is outside of our league, Sam. Like- way outside. Its probably something Charles should take care of- he's good at those kind of things." Armando frowns, "Still, I do think it be better to just get it over with- but.. its not up to us. Its not our lives."

*

Scott turns sharply at Sam, all hints of friendliness is ''gone''. Behind his glasses Cyclops is glaring, "What you do is your business… I said someone should tell him, talk to him, do whatever.. but it wont be me. Not until I ''know''." Backing out of the gym, "This isn't a soap opera drama for your amusement, this is my life.. my family.. and I don't find any of this entertaining. So.." He motions with a sweep of his hand, "Go find Alex and be my guest, tell him that he ''might'' have a brother, but if it's not true, that fallout is on ''your'' head, not mine."

*

"Don't neither of y'all know a damn thing about me," Sam snaps back hotly, not hesitating or backing down in the slightest. "If Ah found out my pa might be alive — might be right here in the same buildin' with me — the WORST thing possible would be not knowin' for sure. Thinkin' on the one hand Ah was just gettin' my hopes up, that Ah was just settin' myself up to lose him all over again; thinkin' on the other that he might really be that close, screamin' to believe that Ah was about to get an honest-to-God miracle." He clutches at the sides of his head. "And then to drag that out?! It'd tear me right in half."

He bares his teeth, then spits — yes, actually spits, right there on the gym mat — with contempt. "Y'all do whatever the hell you want. Pardon me for tryin' to help." He storms toward the door.

*

Today, Alex is dressed in a pair of slacks and a button up light blue shirt, with the sleeves on said shirt pushed up to his elbows. He carries a notebook, looking serious and about to be at business, but his expression looks a little bit bewildered as he steps into the gym.

*

Armando rolls his eyes- or at least, that's what the motion seem to show as he gives a sigh. He rolls to his feet and stands. "Lets be civil now, gentlemen." he begins, lifting a hand towards each- palm out. "Lets not let emotions get the better part of the day. We can just let this lie, because both of you are in a hard place."

"I'm sure you're both hurting, in regards to your families." Armando says quietly- "And that you both feel strongly about the situation- but, that's no reason to take all this energy out on each other." he looks from Scott to Sam- and then to Alex as he appears. "Oh jeez." he sighs quietly, straightens his shoulders and just prepares for the worst.

*

"I'm not you." Scott says flatly, stepping to the side so that Sam can storm out without any hint that he'll stop him, which turns him face to face with Alex. This is exactly the oposite of what Scott wanted and he takes a deep breath, slowly blowing it out through his nostrils. "Alex Summers."

Scott's tough, very tough, but the emotional stuff is not his thing at all… but in for a penny, in for a pound. "We should go talk to the professor… or talk at least somewhere private."

*

All Armando's pleading really manages is to downgrade Guthrie from angry snapping to resigned muttering. "Yeah, well, ain't that obvious," Sam replies to Scott, turning to shake his head at the man as he passes. His head swivels back to look where he's going just in time to squeak to a halt on the gym floor inches before running headlong into Alex. Arms out to his sides to stabilize himself, Sam reverts in an instant to his usual sheepish, timid demeanor. "Oh."

"Mr. Summers."

"That was fast."

*

Armando begins towards the door- putting a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Come on, Sam." he says, "This isn't our place- you know anything about cars?" he wonders, changing the subject. "I just bought a really nice 1936 Cord 812- but it needs some work. Maybe you can help me with it.." he continues out the door, trying to guide Sam away. He looks back towards Scott. "Nothing worth having is easy." he offers, perhaps cryptically. "Good luck." he says then, "If you don't know anything, you can at least take a ride with me- might be a good way to clear the head, yeah?" He's back talking to Sam.

*

Oof. Alex is run into, and he lifts his hands to ward Sam off, "Oof. I told you not to call me that. Alex is enough." He brushes himself off, and says ruefully, "Well at least you weren't powered at the time so I didn't explode."

Then what Scott says is registered and Alex focuses on the man, "Hey, yeah, that's me." Alex smiles, a little awkwardly, lifting his hands in a 'peace' gesture, "Hey, look, Rogue came and got me and told me there's some sort of … something. A misunderstanding in here." That's not really at all what she said, but he's in Denial so hard its a little difficult to say one thing or another. But, he puts on a sympathetic, placating expression, because he's trying to defuse whatever this is, "I understand there's some coincidence about names? I don't actually have any family. Well, not real family— my adoptive sister still sorta counts I guess— but they all died in a plane crash when I was 8. I don't actually remember that at all, though. Just the stories the Brandings told me that the adoption agency told them." He grins a bit, "If we're both Summers maybe we're distant cousins or something? Or probably its a crazy coincidence." He grins wider, as if to cast doubt on such an event of distant relatives, like that'd be some freak thing and hey, weirder stuff has happened, right? Denial, thy name starts with D. There's no feels going on because this is flat out impossible. This is not happening.

*

Scott glances back over his shoulder because he wants very much for this to be a coincidence… as much as he hopes it's not. That's something new, hope. Not at all something he's use to feeling at all. Scott looks back to Alex slowly, "My family, my mom and dad, my little brother Alex… they died in a plane crash when I was twelve…" He's done the math, "My brother was eight."

Hope. That's a dangerous thing.

Coincidence, apparently, don't exist. "We should go talk somewhere private…" All the heat is gone from his voice and his expression looks drained and drawn tight.

*

Sam backpedals from his collision with Alex quickly, nearly knocking into Armando this time. "Ah can take a hint," Sam hisses at the pale mutant, in flagrant defiance of all evidence and precedent. He sidles gingerly around the pair at the doorway, trying not to cross the invisible perimeter of their long-lost family drama, then makes for the exit at top speed. "A car sounds good," he says, loud but inarticulate. More quietly, he adds, "Blastin' straight into the sun might be preferable, though."

*

"Well, this car has a supercharged V8." Armando just lets the hiss pass. "I'll be out front if you want to go for a ride." he offers simply, as he continues on his way- it seems like a nice day to work on making his vehicle as good as it can be.

*

Alex's mouth opens, and then it closes. He has this wide-eyed deer-caught-in-headlights look as he stares at Scott for a moment, his mind processing, trying to find a way to deal with what Scott just said. He doesn't dare to hope, because this is all impossible. This can't be happening. So it isn't. That's Science.

But suddenly he has a really, really powerful urge for some alcohol. "Riiight." He isn't disbelieving exactly, just not processing, "Let me show you to my room. I have some whiskey. We'll figure out what's going on." Because its not that his brother is back from the dead, that is totally not happening.

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