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This morning dawned cloudy, staving off the season's usual balminess a bit. It's comfortable weather to work outdoors in, for the summer, which is fortunate for Sam Guthrie. The blond southerner has cleared a large space in the Xavier Institute's backyard gazebo, in which he has spread out sleeping bags, tents, and a tarp covered in camping supplies: gas stove, water bottles, purification tablets, fishing tackle, and more. Seeming satisfied with his inventory, the lanky young man is now just starting to roll, wrap, and pack the entire kit into a couple of tall, framed backpacks.
*
Jean was as.. well.. she was just Jean. She was getting around the kitchen, making muffins and preparing juice for the long haul of packing and taking inventory and what not. But the tray was assembled, along with a few cheese sandwiches since grocery shopping needed to be done, in which she'd ask before they leave for camping and just for basic permission to spend all of the monies that she'd be granted to get! Whee! Plus going outside. She gets to just.. go outside and in public and be normal.
All banter/mental ranting aside, she makes her way outside with the tray of drinks, sammies and muffins. The muffins don't taste like crap now.. they have a wee bit of flavor. But all in all, it could use some work.
"I think we should get weapons." Jean states as she places the tray upon the floor of the gazebo. "Like the one explorer who had a hatchet to climb mountains with."
*
Jubilee is building an actual practical routine. Coming outside for breakfast, she sits down with some cereal and juice. Sitting on the porch, she has a view of the people preparing, and gives them all a wave. "Good morning. Trying to enjoy it before it's sticky again?"
*
Nightmares. They've plagued Dani Moonstar ever since the snafu in Harlem. They've been about both scorpions and bears, but mostly, bears. Either way, the young woman has been a little less noticeable within the Mansion for the last few days. Eventually though, staying indoors grates on Dani's nerves and so, this morning, she finds herself pulling out a quiver full of arrows and her bow.
Practice, it seems, is in order for this Cheyenne. Stepping outside, Dani will pause when she sees students already out and about. Her eyes track across the expansive grounds, as she considers a good spot to practice in. After all, she wouldn't want to hit anyone with an arrow .. Well, Sam, maybe, but no one else.
As of yet, Dani doesn't notice Jean, but she will. She will.
*
Morning. While it might not be *appropriate* to be in pajamas and a robe around the kids, Moira just was having issues waking up this morning and sometimes all one can do it throw on a robe and shuffle down to the source of energy — coffee — before one can think. So, that's what she's done. She's in a long, slightly loud print blue satin robe with flamingos all over it. It's probably the loudest piece of 60s fashionable clothing that Moira owns, but it made her laugh when she saw it at a time in her life where she did very little laughing, so she bought it. Now she's in her screaming flamingos withs lightly mussed, dark hair and tired eyes. Even using her crutch is a bit slow this morning. But straight away she's moved for coffee and now she drowsily notices some of the students out on the porch, so that's where Moira and her friendly flamingos are heading.
*
Stranger danger. Scarlett hasn't been seen much in the last week around the institute except for a brief foray carrying a box out of the building. Not since she delivered Jean to her rooms has she crossed the path. It's summer, classes in Columbia are out. The short holiday season might necessitate having a breather outside the Danger Room and the expectations that lie upon an advanced student simply trying to save the world from itself. Four riots and one march later, here she is, emerging from the forest with pine needles stuck to her boots and a remarkably distracted air about her. She doesn't carry much with her but her usual book bag, at least. One might wonder how she ended up with alpine flowers in her hair, little white flowers that don't actually grow in New York even up in the Catskills. They will a little in the heat already, but they work. Her bearing is entirely detached, more than a little.
She slips into their company, lifting a hand in a distracted wave and veering inevitably towards the other redhead. "Team redhead," she murmurs, "greetings. Muffin?" She reaches over Jean and grabs one with a word of thanks, and looks at it as though she's ravenous. And a ravenous appetite means a ravenous soul.
*
The young man sits back on his heels and swipes one forearm across his brow. "Ah don't think we're gonna have much trouble climbin' mountains," he says to Jean with a look of wry amusement. "For one thing, Ah can fly. For another" — he hooks a thumb off in the direction of the rolling, forested grounds — "we'd be able to see a mountain from here. Xavier ain't got that much land."
He returns a big, friendly wave to Jubilee, and turns to include Dani in the gesture, even though her impulse to lodge an arrow in his behind isn't exactly a mystery to him. Friendly overtures! He'll just have to be very careful not to make any thoughtless references to peace pipes or — God forbid — treaties. "The weather's pretty good," he confirms at Jubilee's question. "Just hope it holds out and doesn't rain."
He stands, snags a muffin from Jean's tray just after Rogue does — offering the redhead a nod of greeting — and then a second when he sees Moira approaching in her loud sleepwear. "Jean made muffins!" he calls out to the sleepy-looking teacher. Misery loves company, he might as well add. With a couple of loping strides, he offers the baked good to Moira, simultaneously taking a bite of his own, as if trying to convince a puppy that what you're offering it is, in fact, food. To his surprise, the muffin isn't half bad — he flashes Jean a thumbs up and a crumby smile.
*
The first thing Moira's *really* aware of is the muffin that is being offered in her direction and then the young southern man offering it. Moira gives a drowsy blink and reaches out for Jean's pastry with a thankful mutter. Only after setting her coffee mug down on the patio table, though. Sometimes only having one free hand while standing really sucks. "…Muffins… sound lovely. Why are Monday's so awful to wake up to?" Moira mutters tiredly, her own accent slightly Boston, especially when she's THIS tired. She gives Jean and the other redhead brigade a small smile and wave before folding herself down into one of the patio chairs.
*
"Yes!" Jean calls out to Jubilee with a smile. "Though I am thinking of swimming later!"
Her gaze falls upon Sam now, a little frown given. She felt dumb, but it was alright. She was starting to get used to that. "Well I know.. we can fly but.." Oh hell. She can't argue with the guy. There was really no point.
With a glance over towards Dani and a quick look and a raise of a brow, faint recognition there.. and as Scarlett emerges from the woods like a phantom, Jean giggles and leans out of the way so that a muffin could be had. "They're fresh. Cinnamon. I'm getting better I think. I'm not throwing up now."
*
Jubilee smiles around, waves a bit more, as she takes her seat and digs into her breakfast. Suddenly it's very busy out here. Which is kind of the opposite reason why she took to eating outside, but that's what happens sometimes. A bit lost in all the sudden hullaballo, she digs into her cereal. Maybe eating something will help keep up. Though she will get up briefly to snag a muffin to go with the rest of her breakfast, with a quick "Thank you."
*
The petite, small bites Scarlett uses to decimate the muffin still have the desired end effect: it's reduced to crumbs and a wrapper in a shocking amount of time. They might have no memory of her actually consuming it, especially given she bows her head to prevent anyone from watching the undeniably violent ends of the treat. No licked fingers follow; that would bend propriety too far. Instead she dusts her hands off, and replies, "You are doing wonderfully. We should try morning glory one morning. They have carrots but you would never know." No touches are provided, no easy hug to the other redhead or the rest, for all that she nods. Her hands are twined around one another, as though to present the very narrowest likelihood of contact possible short of floating upside down twenty feet above them all. "Mondays are hard because the happy memories of the weekend past lie at arm's reach and the reality of work to do throughout the week weighs heavily down upon your shoulders. Let's look forward to something else to distract us." Whatever that distraction should be, the tone in her voice suggests she'll attack it as fully and freely as the muffin. Which is concerning, no doubt, given this is the resident bohemian pacifist in the Institute who still regrets hitting illusions. She actually apologizes at times to practice dummies, after they're pulverized.
*
"That's real philosophical, Ah must say," Sam tells Rogue cordially, smiling at her and Moira as he delivers the muffin. "Ah'm more of a simple soul, Ah guess. Don't much mind Mondays, so long as Ah ain't expected to go to school on 'em."
As Sam returns to his camping supplies, he says to Jean, "If it'll make you feel better, Ah can see if the Professor has a little .22 or somethin' around the house. We could use it for huntin'. But Ah figured…" The southerner trails off and winces; for once, it has occurred to him in advance that the thing he's about to say might bother someone. Still, he's going to power through it. "Well, Ah mean, some ladies might not be keen on me shootin' and skinnin' a rabbit. Fishin' for dinner ain't quite as, uh…" He waggles one hand around, searching for a word. "…Bambi?" Swing and a miss.
He glances over at Moonstar, blue eyes wide and worried. Those arrows are sharp. "Not that huntin' for dinner ain't a thing a lady's allowed to do! Ah mean, if that's how her folks raised her."
*
"Summer. Enjoy the summer. We *all* should be." Moira states with a drowsy, wry smile that actually does reach her pale eyes. She breaks another piece off of the muffin and pops it past her lips, actually rather enjoying the flavor. It was mild and properly what she needed this time of the morning. She then does the brilliant and dips a piece of the muffin into her coffee. Perfection. A slow, deep breath is taken in and exhaled through her nose and, while there is that lingering brush of worry she ALWAYS feels for the students, Jean might get this radiating, absolute sense of peace off Moira this morning. Like this is what life was supposed to be. All is, for once, well with the world. It's the calm, comforting sort of feeling one could wrap around themselves like a blanket.
"This isn't actually that bad…mornings here have been pleasant. It's like having family again." She mentions towards Rogue. Though, the questions of hunting for dinner get an arch of her brow and a slight smirk, "I believe hunting for dinner is what the market is for." She teases lightly.
*
"You're welcome.." Jean murmurs towards Jubilee, finally taking a seat down upon the grass near the gazebo. She was quiet, focus on the trail of conversation and thoughts that flow around the area. She lays back upon the grass then, her necklace.. newly fixed, thumbed around her good hand as she lifts the other to stare towards the cast. "I don't mind hunting.. in some books I've read.. some people actually take the experience one notch and attempt to survive naked. Naked with rocks and traps and huts that they've made with their bare hands. Something about that is liberating.."
Psychedelic Jean, mostly floating off the good feelings within the area.. "Family.. it's great."
*
Jubilee looks over to Moira, making room for the other lazy one to join her if she decides to. Sitting back down, nibbling on a muffin to go with her cereal and juice. Now it's a complete breakfast, of sorts. "Hunting with a gun is probably a lot neater than if I went hunting."
*
Let everyone be glad that Scarlett's a confounding labyrinth for emotions to be read, reflecting all and none of them. For simple empathy though, she is very much shielded within herself, contemplative. She follows Jean when the young woman takes to the grass, settling herself out of arm's reach. Flipping over so she is on her knees, she stretches her leg out behind her and flexes the left until her calf lies flat to her thigh. Grasping her toes, she pulls down until the point of her toe rests equal to her hip, giving a sharp stretch while opening up the line of her shoulders and chest. Though initially leaning forward, her palm pressed to the grass stabilizes her as she enters into a sharper backbend, arching her spine lightly. The crack of vertebrae induces a nearly euphoric sense for a blinding moment, expression calm. "Hunting for a purpose is worthwhile. Hunting simply to take something down disrespects life, and doesn't sit easily with me." Of course. She's the peacenik.
*
"Well, yes, Miss Moira, but there ain't no market in the woods," Sam says politely, rolling a sleeping bag into a tight little cylinder and then tying it off with cords. "Jean suggested a campin' trip, since the Professor's got all this nice woodland out back. We'll bring vittles, of course, but it ain't proper campin' if you don't catch somethin' to eat."
Jubilee's comment elicits a laugh, the blond boy ducking his head and scratching at a spot behind his ear. "Yeah, you ain't kiddin'," he says. "Huntin' with my powers would be a real mess — and that there's a description works at a whole bunch of levels. Some that ain't fit for polite company."
And speaking of polite company… Sam's about to make a comment about Rogue's yogurt when Jean's comments about nude camping sink in. At first, his jaw goes slack, and he rocks backward with shock at the impropriety. Then, his blue eyes bug out as he contemplates the full implications of the situation: a girl (Jean), a boy (him!!!), naked together in the forest. It probably goes without saying that he blushes so hard it's a wonder his straw-colored hair doesn't catch fire. He flails in the general direction of a response, manages a muffled wheezing noise, works his lips open and shut like a fish trying to get water over its gills.
*
The offer if space is always appreciated and, so, Moira happily takes the chair nearest Jubilee, where she can sit, be comfortable, and eat her muffin in peace. She fully sets the crutch aside, preferring to keep it out of visual range because sometimes, when it's not in sight, she can forget she even needs it. Especially on pleasant mornings like this. "Thank you, young lady…" She murmurs to the asian girl she doesn't quite know yet, but is still comfortable enough near not to worry about dashing inside for real clothes. The screaming flamingos robe covers plenty, especially compared to the dresses in fashion these days! The conversaiton of hunting draws an arched brow from her, but nothing more.
Then Jean's comments set in herself or, more so, Sam's response to Jean's comments does and Moira arches a single brow. (It's an oddly Xavier-like expression, but there were reasons the pair got along so well.) She cannot help bu laugh a little bit. "Jean…I think you are going to give Sam an aneuryism talking like that. Women don't have bodies, you know. We are just amorphous forms with clothing on them." Moira completely dead pans that joke.
*
"True. We are nothing but clouds and mist floating around the grass when we raise our arms to dance in the rain, our clothes a heap without the mass to sustain them on the rock or the log several yards away," Scarlett follows up on the steam erupting from Sam's ears by supporting Moira's wisdom. She may be slightly less wise in some ways of the world. In others, not at all. "If by chance we should get dirty, we sublimate into a gaseous form and then reconstitute ourselves clean and pleasant again, like steam becoming an ice cube. You have much to learn about the ways of women, much less those who like to go sky clad and dance o'er field and meadow and woods." If there were any prisoners to take, she's thoroughly rounded up imagination and creativity, marched them out the door, and thrown restraint into the gulag. "But then, my idea of camping is a bit rougher and wilder than perhaps the refined sensibilities of my dear friends."
She flexes a little further back, shoulders winging together to maximize the punishment on her muscular structure. It eases out the tension elsewhere, though her display of the ashtanga yoga position is finessed, rather than brutal. It looks easy, which is entirely the point, since the sphinx smile she offers Sam is maybe just the final touch to torch his ears off.
*
Gosh..
"No one should ever disrespect life.." Yep. Jean was -gone-. There was a little hint of a southern drawl to her words but that was gone with the quickness as well. And she positively rolls upon the ground like the lithe little figure that she was, one knee over a thigh, arms spread out in close proximity to Rogue.
"We.. do have bodies. We have curves to have.. to hold.. to love… to kiss.. to touch.." Oh, there go those hands. And the mention to dance.. And boy does she rise upon her feet, her arms a flailing limb of gorgeousness as she sways her hips, a flower child lost to the groove of ill-tempered love that was not returned.. in fact.. her heart was breaking bit by bit.
"If you prick us.. do we not bleed.. Let me shed my outer skin so I can die a million death's beneath my loves embrace.."
Or some shit like that.
*
Jubilee is kind of lost. She's pretty well into the modern drug culture, to a degree. Not a total pothead, but you know. She indulges. But seeing Jean doing her thing is a bit.. much. She snickers, covering her mouth, and resumes eating.
*
"Ah am well aware, Miss Moira, that women have got bodies," Sam manages to hoarsely reply. Harry Truman's tone was no more dire when he announced to the world that the Soviet Union possessed atomic bombs.
Then, as if their talk weren't enough to set his face aflame, the redheads are cavorting around in the grass like woodland nymphs and running their hands over their bodies and giving him mysterious smiles. Now, perhaps in his heart of hearts (or some related organ), this isn't an unwelcome development, but while Sam is physically mature, he couldn't be farther from emotionally prepared to deal with this sort of behavior. He has no prepared reaction, no mental roadmap for anything even remotely like this.
And here? Now? A matronly figure wearing a flock of flamingos is mere paces away, and these flower-laden, muffin-bearing sylphs are going to spring this on him? The crimson-faced teenager very coincidentally holds a half-rolled sleeping bag in his lap area and whimpers.
*
"…Girls…I do think you are going to give Samuel here a heart attack, you know. One of you should just ask the other on a proper date and get it over with." Moira calls across the lawn, grinning a bit too wide, true amusement on her features at this all. She then looks back in Sam's direction and arches that brow once more, her smile unable to help but linger, "…You really should get the courage to ask a lady out, Samuel. It'd be best for all of you. And…such reactions are completely natural. Don't worry too much about it." Moira might still be in her 30s, still be attractive where adults are concerned, but she definitely has that MOM vibe in situations like this which probably just makes it worse.
*
Is that the way it's to be? Scarlett releases her foot, flexing her knee to lay her leg gently against the grass. She resembles naught but a sphinx or a siren sunning herself under endless azure sky, though the supple backbend stretches only so far before she shifts, swinging her legs to the side, rotating on her hip to resemble the mermaid of Copenhagen harbour. Even the spill of her loose, wild tresses blaze a faerie plummet of fire towards her lean thigh. Expression softened, her eyes turn up to offer blazing emerald mirrors to the sky god ruling from a distant throne under a sylvan bough. "Thou hast made for me for thyself, O Lord, and my heart is restless until it finds its rest in thee." Another pause as she closes her fingers to her palm, and the softened pulse of her voice cleaves an elegy of unbound emotions. "Bind us in time, o seasons clear, and saw. O minstrel galleons of Carib fire, bequeath us to no earthly shore until is answered in the vortex of our fate the seal's wide spindrift gaze towards paradise."
*
"What she said.." Moira had a point, Jean was commiserating with the elder with a sway of hips that allows her dress to dance along with limb.
Whether or not she was picking up on anything else in the area was suspect, but she was spent, a flourish of a twirl and a fall down upon her bottom, and a high pitched giggle that has her rolling with her hand snatched in between her legs for god knows only what reason it could have been..
"I'm in love with life!" She hollars out. Yes. She's embarrassing two people here. Guess who?
*
Jubilee looks to Moira, and then to Sam. she's trying to eat, and then giggles hard. "You guys are mean," she grins. "So bad. Only way I could get meaner would be to start walking down the hall in a towel after I shower or something, and that just wouldn't be right."
*
Sam had resigned himself that this situation was as bad as it could possibly get. The dance of the naturists, the amused observation of the school's unofficial mom and its designated firework-packing cheerleader, his own incendiary embarrassment at the mere mention of companionable nudity. There was nowhere for the situation to go but up.
Until…
It takes Sam a second to work out the meaning behind Moira's circumspect diction, but he gets there eventually, turning to stare at her in horror. It is one thing to advise him to ask a girl out in front of that girl. Awkward, sure, and practically guaranteed to doom his chances, teenage logic dictates. But to openly draw attention to the … condition … that he went to such pains to casually disguise?
To do so in front of a bunch of girls?!
He lurches to his feet and stumbles out of the gazebo, still super casually carrying that sleeping bag. His cover has been blown, but there's basic decency to maintain. "Uh, well, that's… Ah have to… go. Do. A thing," he stammers. There is, in fact, nowhere to go but up. With an explosive boom, a forceful pressure wave washes over the gathered women, and Sam is rocketing into the clouds. Maybe flying through a cloudbank at a few hundred miles per hour will suffice for a cold shower.
*
A slight wince crosses Moira's features as the girls continue to tease, and even Jubilee actually gets in on it, even with her chiding. Moira tries not to chuckle to herself, but Sam's immensely embarrassed exit has sent some wheels turning in her head. "Do as you need, Samuel…be well." She calls after him, warm and unaccusing. Nothing is BAD right now, he's fine. Maybe she can help reinforce that. Probably not, but she can try.
She then looks back to the girls and does tsk softly, "…that was somewhat cruel on all our parts, but I have a feeling there is a wide range of… understanding among the student body here about… well, their *bodies*. Especially with this many teenagers in one house, I think I should probably teach you all some sort of course on physical, or sexual, education. It'd be healthy for everyone."
*
The blank green gaze returned from assessing a trajectory into the heavens mirrors Jean's tumble through the grass and that most telltale of gestures. Scarlett's lips round, an admixture of confusion, recognition, and amusement simmered to a rolling boil by the underlying fire of her passionate nature. "And life loves you, Jean," she says in a deadpan tone, though the dreamy bohemian might be finally figuring out how to tether herself back to solid earth again with a little focus. It isn't her Jean embarrasses. Openly at any rate.
The radial crack of Cannonball reaching a dangerous vertical speed, to the chagrin of all birds and planes, her head tips back further and then she drops onto her back, sprawling in the grass. Heat radiating off the ground seeps into her limbs through the thin veneer of material wrapped around them, a blend of ragged cotton and durable polyester, preventing the inadvertent transfer of memory and power for the unsuspecting. She slants a look towards Moira, the nest mother of the house earning what may be the mildest reaction beyond Jubilee's. "A class that has an emotional component to complement the physical I hope? For there are a great number of taboos and ideas rooted in the Victorian era that have no place in the modern world, I think, especially given that an intensely… paternal… worldview may do more damage to confidence and mental or physical health than not. "
*
Still, Jean was dancing. A pretty butterfly as the tray of muffins flying after her as she too, makes moves to depart. There was little laughter in this, she was buzzed. Gone from this world and into something a little bit more darkly and sinister for young ears to hear.. or for young lips to speak.
Which she does because she's Jean. The girl doth have no filter.
"I don't need sexual education..!" She practically calls out in a little sing song voice..
"..for I see the truth of what you all do in the dark.. my teachers.. my teachers…" She blows kisses.. Mary Poppins with the red hair disappearing into the back door and probably into a very, very cold shower.
Thanks Sam!
But does anyone know what Jean does in the dark when she's ratting the entire house down? Of course they do.. Because this is Jean and Jean has no filters. Pot, kettle.
*
A quiet arch of Moira's brow towards Jean as the girl comments about knowing such things. Well, that does make Moira blush a good bit herself, but she clears her throat and nods simply, "Perhaps you are right but…well, just because you see techniques doesn't mean you know the… biology behind it all. It'd still be healthy for you." Moira states with that tone which walks the line between motherly and teacherly.
She's then looking back to Rogue, considering the comment about victorian taboos. Moira sighs quietly, "…That is also a point. I promise to teach it with as… open and respectful a mind as possible. I get that you students will wish to participate in such activities. I'd rather have you do it… healthy, protected, and respectful than scared and uncertain. That is how unintended children happen. So…I will ensure there are no Victorian ideals in the class."
*
Jubilee takes a deep breath. "Oh my god, a sex class at school. But I graduated." She gets up, getting her now-empty dishes to bring them in. Walking up to Moira as she goes to quicklyrun them in. "Do graduates have to go? Please say no."
*
"If graduates have to go, then there had better be alcohol involved for those who can use it and Darwin for those who cannot." Scarlett is not a helpful individual at this point. "Though I fear there's little likely to be on the curriculum which some of them are unfamiliar with. All the same, it never hurts to be a little more open-minded and civil about discourse than likely happens in a bar or on the street. Jubilee can back me up on this." She has absolutely no issue with putting the club kid on the spot. "All one really needs to understand, and reinforce, is mutual agreement. Do respectfully to another what they allow you to do, and not push it. Some awfully handsy blockheads sometimes assume no means yes, or pretend to be deaf." And with the likes of someone bearing her particular curse, that no doubt ends up terrible. She crosses her ankles, arms out cruciform. "Whatever Jean claims, I suspect there are still a few secrets and some old fashioned ideals that could be dusted out."
*
A growing din from above signals, to those in the know, that Sam Guthrie is returning. However, the bright yellow-orange streak his path blazes through the sky passes right over the group, hitting Breakstone Lake like a bomb. (Perhaps cloud surfing didn't provide quite enough cold water after all.) Solid tons of water explode into the air, raining down in the general vicinity; a seismic thud reverberates through the ground, signaling Sam's bounce off of the lake bottom. A second and a half later, the boy himself comes flying out of the water, cutting thrust immediately so that he sails through the air in a broad arc.
It's then that everyone can see that the boy is holding the sleeping bag in both hands, letting it unfurl behind him like a cape — and a pretty handy air brake, at that. It gives his arms extra drag, keeping him flying feet-first: this turns out to be handy when he uses another little clap of thunderous thrust to slow himself before landing in a yards-long skid. It doesn't do the lawn any good, unless you consider it by Guthrie standards, in which case it's practically handling the landscape with kid gloves.
The boy's arms wobble, but he maintains his balance, looking sheepishly around the little group as the displaced water crashes down behind him. "Sorry about the cannonball, y'all," he announces. "It's the best way Ah know to land." Apparently he's just going to pretend that all the humiliation that preceded his departure didn't happen. It's a strategy, of sorts.
*
It's the noise, and all of the ruckus, that Sam Guthrie is causing. That's precisely what draws Erik Lensherr from his quiet place in the Institute's library, where he's been reading up on particle physics, to the rear grounds. He's only just emerging from the rear veranda doors when Sam makes his remarkable landing, and his eyebrows shoot upward at the display.
With long strides, he steps out into the grounds, drawing closer. "'Cannonball' seems an apt nickname," he remarks to the young man. "Or, perhaps, 'Friedensstorer'?" He glances around the others present, half smirking, half frowning.
*
"Absolutely, graduates have to go. Anyone under twenty who lives in this house hold, it shuould be a rule. I promise I will be… gentle, but make certain everyone has the necessary information. Also, there could be light…refreshments, for those of age." Moira states with a light smirk to Jubilee, still lounging comfortably in her loud, satin, flamingo covered robe and bed mussed hair. It seems it was a lazy Monday morning for everyone today.
Then Sam is returning, loudly, and her eyes go wide at the damage to the lawn. She clears her throat quietly, shaking her head, "…and, you know…protecting our lawn from embarrassed teenagers would not be a poor choice." Moira mutters beneath her breath. Erik is given a smile of greeting and a small tip of her head.
*
The crash of anyone into the lawn is enough to startle Scarlett from basking in the sun, clearly unbothered by the premise redheads burn badly before they ever tan, and skin cancer is a real thing. She throws her arm up against the brightness of the sun delivered upon her, the water droplets in the sky and the possibly very pleasant daydream coming to a violent end. "Really?" Disbelief punctuates her voice, delivered with all the flat force one of exactly twenty years, give or take, can muster.
*
"Free din storer?" Sam echoes imperfectly, looking up a bit guardedly as Erik approaches. "Afraid Ah've never heard of such a thing, sir." He's surprisingly dry for someone who just dunked himself in the lake at a mile a minute. He flaps the sleeping bag he's trailing a bit, then starts to fold it, doing the best he can not to drag it in the mud he just created. "But 'Cannonball' … hm. It does have a nice ring to it."
He chances a cautious smile. The callsign sounds tough, powerful — a little chaotic and destructive, like Havok. For all that, it comes from a harmless, fun little outdoor activity. Who doesn't like to make a big splash in the lake? It also doesn't put on any airs about his ability to steer, which the habitually self-effacing teenager appreciates. Yes, Cannonball could certainly grow on him.
The teen shuffles his muddy sneakers a little at Moira's pointed look, offering an apologetic dip of his head. "Well, Miss Moira, it sure beats most of my landings. Ah can just tip the grass back into place — shouldn't do no lastin' harm." Whether Rogue is going to do him lasting harm for interrupting her sunbathing is likely another matter.
As the southerner busies himself trying some impromptu lawn repair with his feet, he glances over at Erik, wrinkles his nose, and ventures, "You were at the Lewistons', weren't ya? Wasn't much time for introductions." A look of chagrin crosses his face for a moment, then he completes his thought: "Ah'm Sam Guthrie. Pleased to meet you properly."
*
Jubilee rolls her eyes heavily. "Graduates have to go, great. Well, let me suggest that yes, those of us who are graduated should at least be able to sit in back and have refreshments during this. Because this is going to get supremely embarrassing at we should be alllowed to relax now and then. " She then bows to the group, particiarly glancing at Erick, and disappears momentarily to wash her dishes before coming back out.
*
"Disturber of the peace," Erik translates for Sam's benefit, which only causes his grin to grow more rueful. He shares a look with Moira, a knowing expression that the older ones tend to share where the younger ones are concerned. It's entirely unfair, but it is what it is. Looking back toward Sam, Erik casually observes the manner in which said sleeping bag was used to create drag, and a thoughtful look crosses his face. "Hmm."
He doesn't complete that thought, however, instead distracted by Moira and Jubilation's dialogue. With an arched eyebrow, he questions Moira, though his attention is partly split between the Doctor and watching Sam's attempts at lawn repair. "If I may ask… to what kind of school activity might you be recommending the inclusion of alcoholic beverages?" He lifts a hand. "Mind you, I'm not one to turn my nose up at a good, cold import, but… I'm afraid my supply of Bitburger is dwindling. It would be a shame if I had to go back home only to gather more." A pause. "You can't imagine how difficult customs can be."
His attention is diverted back to Sam, to whom he draws closer to. "Yes," he answers, all signs of anything pleasant fading. "I was there." He offers a hand. "Erik Lensherr."
*
A LOOK is given to Jubilee and Rogue, a deeper smirk dancing across Moira's lips, "Your reactions, ladies, are proof that you need the class as much as Mr. Guthrie does. An announcement will be posted in the next few days. It *is* mandatory." Moira states with just flat enough ferocity to her voice that says the mother of the mansion can actually put some grit behind her tone when she needs.
She then looks back over to Erik as he asks, a slight chuckle escaping her lips as she finally bothers to push a hand back through her hair and look a BIT more put together, even if she's not fully dressed yet. "A sexual education class. Physical and health education, I should say, but touching on far more things that everyone in this house is thinking, probably some are doing, and very few have any actual education about."
*
"With all due respect, Ms. MacTaggert, I could probably teach that class and give a few tips to some of these so-called published experts. I survived two years at Barnard, and besides, a good deal of the people I run with have far better views of things than most." Scarlett cracks her eye open slightly wider now that the glare is finished, and the splash of water less likely to cause mayhem. "Not that I have the least bit of interest in giving any such lectures or jamming information in people's heads if they don't wish it." She sits up, the inclination of her body fair effortless, though the play of her abdominal muscles tightens as she slides her feet in two parallel lines across the grass towards her with a bend of her knee. "You can choose to quiz me privately or not if that stands as a pass, ma'am, but I really don't need to sit through a lecture telling me what proper hygiene is, the use of a condom, how 'kissing diseases' spread and what constitutes a healthy relationship. Rather easy to know, and there's the simple fact if I touch someone, nasty things happen. If I were to engage in intercourse with the average nice boy, he'll be at death's door within a minute or two. So really, going through the motions is more of a mental exercise and a lovely reminder of the distinct barriers that separate me from everyone else."
The redhead doesn't remotely give a warm smile, the ethereal lines of her face set in a distant, remote expression. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I shall go practice meditation so I don't inadvertently cause the lamentations and weeping of society in my wake."
*
At first simply embarrassed by Moira's return to the topic he took to the stratosphere to avoid, Guthrie goes from awkward to horrified over the course of Rogue's speech. He wrinkles his nose as she finishes, then looks at the adults as if for reassurance. "Surely that can't be true?" he ventures, obviously not convinced it's 'sure' in the least.
At Erik's translation, Sam's mouth scrunches over to one side, and he scratches at a spot behind his ear, looking askance. "Well… ain't saying that's inaccurate, Mr. Lensherr. Still and all, think Ah'd prefer 'Cannonball.'" No one values peace quite like the boy who can't stop disturbing it when he doesn't mean to. He accepts the proffered shake with his free hand, looking uncharacteristically serious as he does so. Sam only knew the Lewistons for a few seconds, but they died mere feet from him. How that experience affected the boy, none of the mansion's psychics have cared to prod too deeply into. Probably for the best.
*
To Moira, Erik just stares. It's hard to tell whether it's disbelief, doubt, or approval. He just… stares at her, with this blank expression that could easily drive someone to a very bad place if they weren't of stout heart and mind.
That same expression then shifts to look toward Scarlett, to whom he pays close attention as she provides her input.
Finally, the man looks back toward Sam, eyebrows having crawled back up high on his forehead. "I should say you would be wise not to discover the hard way, Sam Guthrie," he advises, before relenting on that subject. After all, he's not one to talk. None of those gathered know exactly what he was up to in his teenage years, after busting out of Auschwitz, and he's not likely to talk about it, either. There is a moment, a brief one, where he wonders just how quickly the rumor mill works around this place.
Clearing his throat, Erik centers his attention back upon Sam. "How are you handling what happened out west, Mr. Guthrie?" he asks. Point blank, no mincing of words. It just isn't Erik Lensherr's style.
*
Jubilee comes back out, the dishes easy enough to handle. She has a popsicle now, sucking on it a bit, since it's starting to heat up now. "More popsicles inside if anyone wants some. I made orange and grape," she explains. "Real juice not like the… weird store ones." Then again she looks to Erik. "I'm Jubilation," she says, introducing herself properly. "I'm not sure what's going to be in the class, to answer your question from a moment ago, but I'm sure it's going to be embarrassing."
*
Fortunately, Moira is QUITE stout of heart and mind. She gives Erik back a look that is flat and determined, "It'd be healthy for everyone. If, yes…" She nods to Jubilee, "A touch embarrassing while people get over their, as the young lady put it…Victorian notions." She nods that to Rogue, acknowledging the current culture's views that are often certainly still close minded if people aren't an active part of the hippie and free love movements. She smiles simply, then, almost cat who ate the canary like. SHe's pleased with the idea, to say the least.
*
The girl who is rather connected to the hippie movement and happens to know one of the scarier versions of free love stalks off without another word, and that's probably the better for it. Getting in her way isn't going to necessarily end well. She slides into the Institute's doors, but any student will be more than able to report she doesn't even bother diverting towards her nearly empty room, headed straight out the front door without more than a backwards word. And it's likely they won't be seeing her here for quite some time yet over the summer.
*
Sam spares a glance toward Jubilee. "Tell me about it," he mutters. 'Not sure what it'll be, but sure it'll be embarrassing' is the story of his entire life since moving to Xavier's. At least with a required sex ed course the public humiliation won't be directly his fault. That's a plus, right?
Erik's directive not to go 'discovering' with Rogue earns a deep blush from the lanky teen; he looks away, crosses his arms tightly, and seems determined to shed whole feet of his considerable height by dint of bad posture alone. Even after the woman in question has left, the boy finds talking about traumatic stress a preferable alternative.
"Ah been out huntin' many times, sir," he says in a small voice. "Ain't the first time Ah've seen what a bullet can do, and Ah'm sure it won't be the last." The perceptive — or those who know more than Sam is saying — will note that, unlike Erik, the teen is being a bit evasive; that's not a direct answer to the teacher's question.
*
For at least a few grueling moments, Erik keeps his attention fixed upon Sam. He can tell the young man is making a clever attempt at evading his query, and that is something that he will respect, if in part because it means Sam isn't quite ready to talk about it. He won't force the young man's hand, at least, not yet. Instead, he allows for some silence to linger, before nodding his head slowly. "I also have seen what a bullet can do."
He doesn't expound upon it, but the manner in which Erik speaks is markedly different from Sam's tone of voice. Where Sam may speak of buckshot and skinning pheasant, Erik speaks of his own mother. There's no need to divulge the information, for it would take someone truly dense to miss the intonations in his voice.
The moment passes, at least for Erik, and he's content to let his words marinate. He turns instead to greet Jubilation, his expression brightening as he offers a hand. "Jubilation, you may call me Erik. Or, 'Magneto', if Alex Summers happens to be around." His mouth forms a crooked grin. "And what, pray tell, is your special talent, my dear?"
*
Jubilee finds a seat again, licking at the base of her popsicle to keep it from getting a mess. "Good to meet you Erik," she nods. "I don't know if it's about Victorian things, Moira," the girl then giggles. "But teenagers, especially the younger ones, forced to hear about sex with the people they want to DO IT with, is going to drive them nuts. And it's going tob e awkward for me, too." She then laughs again. "But my power Erik?" she asks. "It's nice. I can walk down the street and noobdy can tell this." Her free hand shoots up, and she throws a spark into the sky, bursting in a large, loud firework. Bright red. "I dont' have to move my hand for it, but it makes it more obvious I'm the one doing it."
*
While the tension between Erik and Sam isn't missed by Moira, she's also not going to push the matter for either of them. She's done enough pushing already this morning, and Erik is an adult she trusts with the children. As much a teacher as she is, he can make decisions on conversations as he pleases. She just watches with those worried, protective eyes, the softness behind her gaze meant to show Sam that she's there to speak with, as ever, if he needs. She doesn't voice it.
Then, she's back to Jubilee with a slight smile, "Yes, I suppose…perhaps it's best to split it into boys and girls but…ah… I understand that still might leave things complicated for some. Still, it's better educated than not. This is a school, after all, and we're all living in close quarters, so people will simply have to suck it up and deal." She grins with those last words. Then she looks up, watching the firework with rather wider eyes. She n'ds in curious approval at the power.
*
"Ah'm… sorry, sir," Sam says to Erik, his voice hesitant. Many will attest that the young man is, in fact, truly dense. Still, one of his few admirable qualities is a caring streak; he's attuned enough to other people's feelings to be genuinely sympathetic when someone around him is upset, even when (as is most often and currently the case) he has no idea why.
As he turns back to Moira, a little crease appears between his eyebrows. "Wait… Ah don't get it. Well, sure, it's gonna be embarrassin' talkin' about this stuff no matter who's around, but that don't seem all that complicated to me." He looks at her sidelong. "You do understand why it's embarrassin', right?" It's a rare, rare occasion for Sam to comprehend something better than someone else, much less an adult, so he's very suspicious of even intimating that it might be the case.
*
Erik watches the spark as it flies up high and explodes, observing the entire duration of its journey, brief though it may have been. His lips open, and he looks back to Jubilee with an expression of wonder. "Fascinating," he tells her, then smiles broadly. "Mutants. They show me new and wonderful things every day." He reaches out to put a hand on her shoulder, grin widening. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, young one."
He casually observes the dialogue between Moira and Sam, the former of whom gets a knowing smirk. He's half wondering if the woman hasn't bit off more than she can chew.
*
"I…I do know why it's embarrassing, Sam… and it is for a lot of people. And… I think it's more complicated than most people realize. So, that's why we'll have a class. And you can ask any questions you have, and there will be no judgment. That will be a rule." Moira then finishes off her coffee with a good gulp, before grabbing her crutch and pushing herself smoothly up to standing. She then reclaims her coffee mug and gives them all a gentle smile. "I, however, should actually shower and get dressed for the day. It was nice talking… with all of you. I appreciate people keeping an open mind, even about difficult things." SHe give them all one last look, and Erik a bit of an engimatic smile, before she turns and makes her way back into the mansion.
*
Jubilee is kicked back once more, doing her best to keep her popsicle from getting to be a mess, while enjoying this conversation. She winks up at Erik's pat onher shoulder and snickers at the whole conversation going on. "What about you, if you don't mind my asking?" she asks up to Erik. "I hesitate to ask people since you never know if it's something heartbreaking, but now I'm curious since you asked." Moira gets a farewell wave.
*
Sam's no less perplexed after by Moira's oblique response, but then, perplexity is his ground state. The Kentucky boy simply shakes his head and shrugs when she gets up to leave. "Well, Ah guess Ah'll find out more'n Ah really want to know, once those classes get started," he says, resigned to learn all the horrifying details in all their humiliating glory when the time comes. There's that third Ecclesiastes verse to keep in mind, after all. Someone ought to write a song about it. He waves as she departs.
"Oughta finish up gettin' packed, myself," he says, turning back to the gazebo, where his camping supplies are all neatly organized, but still have to be tucked into place in the pair of backpacks he set out for the purpose. "Y'all keep talkin' — I'll be listenin' in," he says with a wave. He seems a bit curious about Erik's abilities, as well. His own, well — if they were subtle, they wouldn't have drawn an audience.
*
Erik waves his hand to Moira and Sam in departure, before diverting his attention back to Jubilation. "Well, I don't mind," he answers. "I manipulate magnetic fields." His eyes stray toward the jewelry that she's doubtlessly wearing, and with a small tug, any earrings or necklaces just move in Erik's general direction. It's a subtle thing, not powerful enough to cause discomfort or pain, but it's definitely there. He looks down, and with a smirk, any loose change or keys she carries in her pockets will be whipped out and into his outstretched hand.
Then, as if he'd just performed a magic trick, he lifts his eyebrows up and tilts his head, anticipating the young woman's response.
*
Jubilee looks down at herself, biting her lip, and laughs. He ends up with a coin in his hand. On one side is Chinese writing, on the other, the head of the Queen. It came out of her pocket. "Oh, that seems useful" she snickers. The surprise at it causes her popsicle to break, falling down her chest and into her lap, making a sticky mess. "Oh my god," she then giggles. "You surprised me Erik." She then daintily gets up, trying to get the remainder of her snack before it's even worse. "I need to go wash up, but we'll have to talk later Erik? After I dispose of this and have a quick shower?" He'll also need to return that coin later.