1963-09-07 - Jean Grey Rising
Summary: Jean's coming out of her room. Maybe we should have run.
Related: N/A
Theme Song: They Done Wrong, We Done Wrong - White Rabbits
rogue magneto jean logan kitty 

Logan has arrived.


Curiously absent from the Xavier Institute of late was Erik Lensherr. Until today, he's been gone. Until now, on this muggy, rainy evening, when a car rolls up to the institute and dumps the man into the downpour. The brimmed hat and umbrella protects his head, the trench coat keeps him dry beneath, but it's way too hot under there. As soon as he's into the institute, he removes the items and leaves them to drip dry in the foyer.

It isn't long before he makes way for the underground X-Men base. Dressed in a collared shirt and slacks, he settles the overnight bag down in the hallway, and begins looking about with curious eyes for any of the base's inhabitants.


Logan is sleeping in a chair propped up against the wall, his chin against his chest. He's been keeping an eye out on Jean when he's been allowed, which hasn't been much. She's been resting a lot and he hasn't gotten much face to face with her since she…well, since she ripped his face off.

He snaps awake when Erik comes in, the chair dropping down to level, "Huh? Whu—oh. Hey there, Magneto."


Equally curiously absent throughout the summer and especially into the dog days, Scarlett has graced the Institute but a handful of times. Nearly every one of those visits ended up in the girls' dorms for Illyana Rasputina or Jean Grey's private room. No longer does she dance on the green or practice yoga in the back grounds. The newest students might not even know her.

This time, she arrives with a box of pastries and a layer of fresh, steaming bread wrapped in cheesecloth, and atop -that-, a carefully balanced sandwich, probably pastrami. Something to take the edge off Logan's appetite if any. The redheaded bohemian glides her way through the building in search of the medbay, and anyone giving her a second look isn't even smiled at. Someone's grown up into a cold little statue.


Kitty has arrived.


Shockingly enough, the door was cracked open.

Every now and then, medical staff moved in and out with the bare bones of food to eat and to check on her wounds. Every now and then, Jean Grey would feel stifled with the attention and promptly show the women/men the door much to their dismay. As if they had a choice. Even though the choice was given they politely promised to return with more checks and draws to ensure that whatever was pumped into her system was out. But, today was one of those quieter days. She hasn't seen anyone since; the little notice a kid drew on the door had fell to the floor and was swept away by cleaning staff, and now she sits in a chair reading a book. The Man In the High Castle. It was an interesting take. One that she was engrossed in until she heard Logan's voice from outside. In which.. she cringes..

And with a wave of her hand, the door slowly opens as Jean wheels back just enough to see who lingered.


A large stack of the files the X-Men had recovered from the Louisiana base seems to have grown legs and brown curly hair as it mills about the Medbay outside of Jean's room. The ridiculous pile of manila file folders weighs more than Kitty had counted on, yet because she's already committed to carrying them all at once, setting any down would be like admitting defeat.

Oddly, for once, while carrying stacks of folders she's not looking at her feet, and somehow manages not to trip over them. Evidently she should look at her feet less, not more. That said she definitely can't see where she's going. Her head turns to the side in a futile bid to see around her stack, only to catch sight of a the slowly opening door, granting her momentary pause.


Being the first one he sees, Logan receives a nod in greeting. "Logan. If I've startled you, please have my apologies."

Erik seems perplexed, perhaps worried about something. There's a mood about the entire institute he's unfamiliar with, at least in this place. The mood he knows well, but it doesn't usually find a home here. He's about to ask of it, when the door swings open of its own accord. He turns toward it with a frown. There are all of two telekinetics whom he knows personally. Brow furrowed, he looks from the medbay door and back toward Logan. "Jean?" he guesses.

Magneto gauges the stack of books and Scarlett's appearance, but for the moment, he doesn't otherwise acknowledge them. Someone is hurt, and no matter who it may be, it's concerning.


Logan glances up as the others come along, then the door to the inside opens. He doesn't jump up, though, because he doesn't know what kind of mood Jean's going to be in. She wasn't exactly happy to see him last time, judging by the velocity with which she'd TKed him out the door.

"Check on her at yer own risk, pal. Don't come cryin' to me if she breaks yer neck," he says, reaching down to get a newspaper. Odd that it doesn't seem to discourage HIM from hanging around, but he owed her. And he wouldn't die.


"Sandwich," Scarlett says quietly, offering up what constitutes a food basket or a care package by any measure. She holds out the gift of a kind to Logan, her expression shuttered otherwise. "I thought you might be hungry." None of the food comes from the kitchens, and the likelihood she has wandered the city in search of just the right kind of deli or bakery is considerable. If he doesn't take it, she leaves the objects on the ground. A nod is given to Eric, and then another belatedly to the ambulatory stack of books.

"Let her know I'm worried for her, if the time is right. Thank you for doing this." And that, as they say, is that. She quietly rotates on her toes and heads back down the hall. She gives Kitty a berth, clearly comfortable enough to find her own way hell for leather out of this place.


At least the voices were familiar. Jean carefully places the book into her lap, her hands grasping the rubber of the wheel to back herself up and awkwardly turn towards the door. This temporary method of travel was going to be a bit to get used to, but thankfully she was days away from using crutches and traveling outside of the medbay and out into some sun.

There were too many minds present, but at least she felt familiar among them all, so with a push ahead towards the door, she leans forward to tug it all the way open, her frown drawing upon her lips as she finally draws herself into the hallway.. avoiding Kitty and her walking stack of trees, of course! "What's going on?" She asks, looking down the hallway at Scarlett's back. "You.. you can't just deliver food and leave without eating." She tries to smile, but it looks like a really tired effect, though as if it were nothing at all she leans forward to reach for the basket if it in fact was placed upon the ground or not. "Professor Lensherr. Hello."


The warning from Logan, while not directed at her, is heeded, and Kitty begins to shuffle back down the hallway very slowly, still determined to continue her chosen task. But a voice grants her pause again. She halts in her spot, freezing like a statue before finally having the good sense to set the stack down on the ground, relieved that she hadn't lost any, but less-so that she admitted any defeat.

And she is, indeed, glad she's set the folders down as her head tilts and she spies a very vertical Jean Grey. "Jean! You're up! That's fantastic! I'm so glad to see you vertical! And up!" Because those are clearly different things.


Jean, then. Erik's brow furrows further still, and he looks away for a moment, considering the discarded overnight bag carefully.

"Wait." The word is intended for Scarlett, almost instinctive in nature. He could see her bolting from his peripheral, but the way she carries herself suggests there's knowledge in that mind of hers that he'd like to clean.

Erik lowers his staying hand from where it hovers mid-gesture toward Scarlett's back. He turns toward Kitty, and a flicker of recognition flashes through his eyes. A flicker short lived, for when Jean appears, he simply can't help but feel guarded. That overnight bag remains secondarily on his mind.

Erik adopts a more firm posture. Arms fold across his chest, and he asks with a strong voice, "What happened here?" His voice softens just so. "I'm just back from visiting an old friend at Cambridge, and this whole place feels like a goddamned tomb."


Logan is always amused by how Erik acts like he runs the place. You'd think it was his name on the sign out front, the way he gives orders sometimes. Logan's metal skeleton throbbed a bit against his bones, always straining ever so slightly in the magnetic man's presence. Maybe that's why Logan often ended up in a bad mood around him.

"Jean got taken," he says, "Along with a few other folks 'round here. They were tryin' to make weapons, messin' with their minds, torture. Some of 'em came back worse for wear, Jean chief among 'em. Physically, she's fine. The rest…comes and goes," he says, taking a bite of his sandwich.


The blade-fine figure cleaves a direct route away from the comforts of quiet rooms and restful libraries. Pause follows when Jean signals an interest and Scarlett pauses in her departure. The journey need not take ten minutes or ten hours.

"I can." Words lilt, dry as an early harvest riesling. "I've little appetite with much work yet to do." But all the same she remains, turning to bestow a smile upon her fellow in Team Redhead. Its warmth fades back into her habitual mask. Logan captures the details better than she might, backed up with a nod.


The basket was snatched from the ground and plopped into her lap. The guarded feeling was noticed, for she herself felt guarded too. Especially once Kitty speaks with a little bit of excitement that has her shoulders lifting to nearly touch the lobe of her ears. "I've.. thanks.." She says quietly towards Kitty, keeping her gaze away from Logan and the others, peering into the basket of pastries that has her taking out a muffin to take a bite. It was -so- much better than soup and crackers. Much better than plain sandwiches with slices of meat and juice. With a little sigh, her chin lifts as she -finally- takes the chance to glance at all three with a frown, especially at Logan's words. "I'm in a wheelchair." She states.

But he pretty much summed it up, if Kitty had more to add, she literally carried all of the info then and there. Though she carefully turns towards Scarlett, a little frown crossing her lips that came at a near tremble.. "What work?" Though she turned, her eyes cannot help but stare at that back, and then up towards Erik and away.

'Go ahead. I'm curious as well.'


Kitty actually sighs at Logan's explanation. A glance is given to the stack of files she was just moving. "It's kind of… bigger than that?" her eyebrows lift. "I was taken tw — " her eyes squint and her head shakes, "three(?) months ago. In Louisiana." Her lips press into a tight thin line and her arms cross over her chest. "I escaped from the facility I was in," the how is sketchy even to Kitty thanks to the work of the Cuckoos, "and came here. For help," her tone deadens and guilt draws her shoulders downwards. "I thought it was smaller than it was. I thought…" she chews her bottom lip and her head shakes. Long story short, "It was huge. Is huge. We took down one facility to find a lot of information about what was going on." Her lips twist to the side and she steps in front of the stack she'd just been carrying. Ignore the files on the floor.

"Moira looked through some of the genetics info. It's bad. What she saw — she thinks they're trying to clone us," Kitty squints, this is where the science gets foggy for her and so she lands on the super descriptive word, "while making," she squints, "changes? I guess."


The report from Logan does help to piece together many of the missing pieces, no longer blaring at Erik in ambiguity. His eyes dart from one to the other, eventually landing on Kitty.

"Doesn't sound quite like eugenics," he remarks. "More like genetic engineering." A shadow falls on his face. "On mutants."

He turns then to the lingering Scarlett, a frown on his face. "Did they take you, as well?" he asks. It would certainly explain her demeanor, which is different from how he remembers it.

Back to Kitty he looks. "It was good of you to come here first," he tells her. "I'd like to know everything."


Logan flicks his eyes over to Kitty, "Maybe. Things are always bigger'n what they seem. Question becomes, is it worth diggin' in the dirt to see how many scorpions are nestin' down under the surface?" he says.

He can feel Jean avoiding them and knows they'll have teo deal with that at some point, 'Wheelchair's my fault. Can't say I didn't have cause. Havin' yer face torn right off is a good way to get the blood boilin'. An' it stopped 'er fore she did worse," he says. He doesn't sound too sure about that, but it's what he has to tell himself."


The bohemian inclines her head at the inquiry, the arresting hue of her almost surreal emerald eyes dredged out of whatever internal reverie holds her hostage for the moment. Perhaps the dream lies among all those cannolis and lovely, airy pastries concealed in a tidy cardboard box, bribes and temptations worthy of the fourth circle of Hell if only to convince Jean to indulge herself. "No, I was not." The easy explanation slips away, confirmed in that blithe ghost of a smile risen and fallen away. "You brought her home safely. That's worth a great deal."

At least one person appreciates the effort, or is all mannered charm to make up for the unease.

"I've classes this semester at Columbia," Scarlett murmurs to Jean, a distraction as much as any. "One in particular had an unexpectedly high workload but with a bit of finagling and burning the candle at both ends, I should manage. Though I won't be in residence here."


"We should stop talking about this.." Jean quietly murmurs, well after finishing off her cannoli and carefully dabbing her fingers against the corner of her lips. Her gaze remains downward into the box, one hand pressed upon it, the other gripping the wheel of her chair as she listens to Kitty's long explanation, the ones that she at least didn't hear. Or know. In fact, all of it was pretty knew to her. The hows. The why's..

Her head shakes a little as she gives the wheel a tug to face away from them, angling her towards the door as she clenches her teeth together. She spent days in her room trying her best to not remember what the hell happened back at the bunker. And it was brought up yet again, which she inhales and quickly changes the subject.

"I would very much like to visit your new residence, then!" Jean says obnoxiously loud, her hand pushing open the box again to grab another light pastry. "I think it would be nice to get outside. Get away for a while. Overnight bag and all.." And with that said. "Are you moving out Professor Lensherr?"


Kitty's eyes darken at Logan's remark. Her lips flatten into a thin line. "When I woke up with a tube in my arm, I definitely didn't think it was this big," her tone is flat. "I just wanted to save the people that were stuck. When I couldn't phase out of there, there was no way I was — " her eyebrows draw together, and her chin tucks back into her chest as she reaches down to pick up the files, more determined than before.

But she stops halfway. The comment about it being good to come to the mansion first earns a weak, altogether unconvinced smile. "Maybe. I just wanted…" her eyebrows draw together tightly and the thought is lost. "I knew that people here could help. So I came back. I didn't want to let people, our people, — " but she doesn't finish the thought, instead resigning to a brief nod at both Erik's an Jean's requests, "We can discuss it another time. I'm just taking these — " she squints " — elsewhere."


A grimace comes to Erik's face on the coattails of Logan's explanation. Not only is such an idea horrible to consider, he can also imagine what was done in response. Erik, like Logan, wouldn't have taken kindly to such an assault.

Jean's insistence gets the best of him. "Thank you, Katherine," he tells Kitty, and leaves it at that. "I will seek you out in the morning, if you don't mind lingering for another day or so."

He's about to take his leave, considering it might be best not to crowd Jean with concern. Her question, however, draws his attention back to her, and then to the overnight bag. "No," he tells her, frowning with concern. "I'm… just returning from a trip to Cambridge." Which he just mentioned, in her vicinity. Perhaps this is what Logan was talking about.

He glances back towards the overnight bag again, feeling suddenly protective of it, and the contents within.


Logan stands up, "I'll tell ya what. I can make all this easier. I can go away," he says. "Seems I been doin' nothin' but pissin' people off 'round here lately an' I ain't in much mood t'apologize for it, if I'm straight," he says, lighting a cigar.

"So tell Chuck to bill me for the back rent, he oughtta know I'm good for it," he says. "But I won't be troublin' nobody no more. Probably me that brought all this to your doorstep anyways. Not like I never woke up with a tube in my arm and metal in my veins," he says. "You folks don't need me t'protect ya no more anyways," he says.


"You've done nothing of the sort. Even had you been inadvertently responsible, we share the collective burden of a society out there very much afraid of what we are or represent," Scarlett interjects when Logan starts up. Her shuttered gaze narrows a fraction, pallid skin gone all the paler as she tips her head down in a lack of sunglasses and habitual wide-brimmed sunhat. She mutters something under her breath in a language that sounds like the love child between Old German and Russian, a short phrase or another that comes out all jagged syllables.

She could go further and checks herself, shaking her head. Foxfire red braids snap like agitated serpents, a nest of them coiling and shuddering down her back. "If I could have you at my side for the places I would go, you would be sick of me more than you are." The old faded hint of a smirk, not a full smile, dawns and fades away. Then on that note she simply walks away, to darken these halls no more for the night or the week or the month.


Tensions were definitely high in the hallway. From Logan to Kitty, to Erik to Scarlett. Jean was practically caught in the middle in a sense, but part of her felt like that was her own doing. "Logan.." Jean tries, grasping the box of food from her lap to toss into the room, which hits the floor with a soft thunk and a slide to *tink* lightly against the chair. And then she turns, facing towards him and the departing Scarlett, her face a beet red as her shoulders slump though she wasn't going to go after them.

Still.. what did either of them mean? It was something to ponder on later..

"What's in the bag." Jean states, the wheels turning of their own volition towards Erik, not striking forward but the bag itself was inching across the floor. "You come here. After being gone for so long. Demanding answers to questions that you SHOULD HAVE BEEN HERE TO SEE FOR YOURSELF." That little hint of anger draws out a spark of fire to the tray inside the room, her own green eyes fading just a touch in color.

"What. Is. In. The. Bag."


Confused at Logan's response, Kitty's eyebrows draw together, and she finishes collecting the files only to straighten back to a stand. The voice behind the stack replies, "Don't leave on my account. I'm pissed, but it has nothing to do with you. This nonsense isn't supposed to happen anywhere. Let alone here."

Her balance is a bit off as she teeters with the files until she phases them into intangibility — much easier to manage that way. "I'm trying to get the scorpions out of here. I brought them in," kind of. "I'm not content not rooting them out."

Jean's questions to Erik, however, give her pause, and she stands rather awkwardly holding the large stack with her own curiosity spiked.

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