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*
"Da. Easy— made it to France, last week!"
The adventure of trying to get to Rio had started with that singularly confident declaration from Illyana. Actually /getting/ there was a vastly more complicated effort. Going off an old and outdated atlas, reference to a globe, and hazy memories from the only X-ers that had ever been there, it had taken Illyana most of six stomach-churning jumps through Limbo to actually get them zeroed in on Rio. Notable stops along the way had been a whirlwind tour of sandy beaches, including a blisteringly hot stop in the Sahara that had left everyone gasping from the sudden, sharp shock of heat.
And then, after one more crackling, ozone-scented pass through Limbo, they'd arrived on the edge of the beaches of South America— a riot of color behind them, the colorful favelas of Rio on the hillside, and around them— well, aside from some extremely startled beachgoers— the expanse of the sunny, WARM, sandy beaches of Rio de Janeiro.
"Is here? Good," Illyana says— and sits, rather abruptly in the sand, face a bit waxy. But she immediately starts removing her heavier winter clothing, turning her face to the sun like a flower seeking the daylight. "Is so much /warmer/ here," she says, fairly melting in delight.
*
While Illyana manages to have some semblance of reality, a wiry brunette in tow doubles over and rather unceremoniously loses the content of her stomach. There's a strange saving grace that Piotr isn't here to see Kitty completely lose the remnants of her lunch along the sandy beach.
Kitty flushes uncontrollably when she finally straightens, pressing her hands into the heat they produce and eyeing the horizon with some semblance of delight. A few paces are taken from the mess she's left behind, and she plunks down into the sand, essentially falling into the glorious earth — too pleased to have found it.
She inhales a sharp breath and squints, and mutters sullenly into her hands, "Maybe I should've gone home for Hanukkah," but she had her reasons for avoiding the Prydes. None of which she's prepared to fess up to.
Finally, her hands drift from her face, "It's…" her breath hitches in her throat. "…incredible. Truly. Thanks, Yana."
*
Jean-Philippe Charles knew the sandy beaches of Rio well. He has seen them from his hotel room many times. It was a little hot for a man who always wears a mask, but this seemed to be a bonding experience, and so he had agreed to come. Besides, in for a penny, in for a pound. He had at least taken the precaution of dressing for the weather by putting on white tabi sandals, which separated his toes, but didn't have the wire between them. Tabi were far more comfortable, something he had learned in Japan. He had white swimming trunks, with a grey stripe down the sides. He wore his coat over top of this through the journey, but immediately removed it once they had arrived. Curiously, the mask remained securely on his face. He would have stuck out like a sore thumb, but he wore it with confidence, and that helped to diffuse any confusion from the locals. Plus, this was Rio. They had seen and heard everything. They didn't care. They were in Rio. Draping his coat over his left shoulder, he reached into the bag he had underneath it, and immediately began rummaging around for the sunscreen. "Thank you, Illyana. You are my new favourite travel agent," he said with his customary fake French accent.
*
50 YEARS LATER:
LOCATION: Limbo.
Magic begins to bubble and boil around the area where a slightly older-than-now Jean sits. Obviously there was a slightly time displaced element there, for she wore the casual red and gold phoenix uniform, one leg kicked over the other as she holds something akin to wine or.. maybe it was blood inside of a goblet. Who would know, knowing Limbo, or Illyana and Jean's activities this far ahead in time. In Limbo. They were in freaking limbo!
"Ugh. My hair." Jean complains loudly, grabbing the frazzled red locks as Illyana lays waste to a dragon ahead. Granted, Jean was supposed to help, but she was surely having the time of her life just sitting there.
"Hey, you remember when I was gone for Christmas back in '63? Why don't you join me! Us! I forget who was there, but you probably were just sitting on your fat as—.. ACK!"
A thunderbolt of magic soars her way which has Jean toppling from the rock she sat on..
NOW:
LOCATION: Rio
The party was set a few hours ago as Jean eagerly awaits their arrival. A makeshift tree was set up, made crudely from branches and vines and whatever other foilage she could find in the jungles far off, decorated with dollies and little dollie clothes and lights that weren't to be lit. Torches line the area, along with an abandoned hut in which, thanks to Warren, was now filled to the brim with food and the best (cheap) booze that money could buy.
Others had set their stations out along the beach, scattering, enjoying what sun was left to bring on the night of festivities on the eve of Christ, children were playing in the waters and burying their parents in sand while others were -throwing- sand into the air to make the earth rain.
And there was music. An eclectic mix of everything in the air. Guitars and singing, bongo drums and more singing. Just.. singing. Everywhere. And it was wonderful!
"Its about time!" Jean called towards the teleporting crew. While she didn't have a liquored drink in her hand, she did have a coconut with a straw sticking out of it. "THIS IS SO GROSS!" She squeals in excitement, holding up the coconut.. obviously stating that it's milk was gross. Cause, duh!
*
Logan sits a way back the beach in a dilapidated lounge chair, a wooden thing of slats and curved nails. The thing will probably collapse under his adamantium-leaded weight any minute now. As it is, though, he has a bottle of Jack jammed into the sand and a glass tumbler in his hand to shovel it down at the proper pace.
He watches Jean's antics with a bemused expression, his brow furrowing at the sudden arrival of the other people via teleportation. Jesus, you couldn't get away from these flamin' people.
He lights his cigar and stews.
*
Five foot eleven inches of Asian super model walked out of dark shadow wearing a dark purple one-piece swimsuit. Her dark purple hair blew out behind her in the ocean breezes as she removed a red tie from the crown of her head. She shook her head gently side to side to let her hair get fully loosened in the wind and she just started to walk right down the beach, her toes digging into the hot sand. One step after another as she strode her way toward the lapping waves, not wishing to go any further than the water eclipsing her ankles. This was the kind of Christmas that Betsy Braddock could enjoy.
*
When he agreed to help out, Kurt may have been a bit naive. Despite trying to make nice with a newly-arrived Roma with the Circus and trying to spend part of the season with the woman who claimed to be his mother, when someone asked him for help, of course he agreed. That's how he ended up halfway across the world in Rio.
While others might be enjoying beach time and cheap liquor, Kurt spent the day at Church. He may not be able to speak Portuguese, but Catholic Services are fairly similar around the world. He had to hide in the shadows, of course, but it would be like that in any Church he went to.
When the service ended, he made his way back to where he knew the others to be last…and maybe someone told him that they were meeting folks at the beach. At. the. beach. Those three words didn't seem to sit too well as he appears on the roof of the hut, his arms crossed down at this others. "This is what you are calling 'helping'? Playing on the beach und drinking?"
*
The multiple trips with multiple parties in tow seem to have licked Illy for a moment, but the cavalcade of gratitude elicits a smile from the hawkish blonde girl. She beams at Kitty and Fantomex, and even while she's flopped and catching her breath, starts stripping off her clothing like it's suffocating her, until she's only wearing an immodest shift and underthings— at least a sop to Piotr's insistent nagging about 'clothing' and 'modesty'. Betsy's practical, streamlined swimsuit gets an intrigued look— obviously much better suited for swimming— but as Illyana starts to formulate a spell in her mind, she hears someone chiding her and looks over at the darkling figure perched on the hut.
Typical Illyana— Jean's inviting everyone in for drinks, and she opts to engage the person spoiling for an argument. "Would consider teleporting six people across half of Earth /very/ helpful. Saved on airfare, at least— thousand dollars," she says to Kurt, slashing a hand through the air. She clambers to her feet with a coltish kicking, scuffing her bare toes in the sand, and starts making a way towards the hurt with her chin held imperially aloft.
"What is gross?" she asks Jean, eying the coconut warily. "And how did you put a straw in a rock?"
*
Kitty squints at the hut, bringing it into bleary view. She straightens, cants her head to the side, and considers Illyana's thoughts, "Oh! Yana, it's a fruit," she issues the other woman a small shrug. "No good thought?" her nose wrinkles as she directs her thoughts towards Jean. She peels herself from the sand and manages another flicker of a smile at Kurt — and an odd familiarity reflects in her eyes.
She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and cranes her neck to peek towards the hut, but offers no further remark about it.
*
Laying out his coat as if it were a towel, Jean-Philippe set the satchel next to it. He did pocket something, tucking it neatly into a compartment in his swimming trunks. He looked up, enjoying the site of the magnificent statue that overlooked Rio, and casually slipped out of his tabi sandals. As he walked along the beach, he could feel the heat against his skin. It was lovely after having trudged through the snow in Westchester only a day ago. He walked towards Betsy, someone he had been spending a not insignificant amount of time with. It was a wonder that he was still among the breathing, but instead of striking up a conversation, he went right past her, "excuse me," and headed into the ocean. Once he was in deep enough, he leapt into up, showing some impressive strength to do so, and dove forward, swimming out, before wadding in the water and looking back at his companions. If this were a team exercise, he was showing how much of a loner he could be. "Come on in, the water's lovely," he called back to his companions in his French accent. So maybe he wasn't quite so much of a loner after all.
*
Well, Elizabeth looked fine! Jean wasn't going to chase after her and rouse her to the rest of the rabble, if she needed something, she knew where to find them! But Kurt's arrival was met with a sharp turn. She wasn't upset at his words, but she offers up a slight shrug of her shoulders with one hand outward, offering him the coconut milk to drink. She didn't want it anymore, and it was still somewhat full. "Just call it a calm before the storm, I suppose!" She calls out towards him. "Spreading good vibes before we get right into the busy work." And busy work it would be. They'd be fascinated at what she had found, really!
Though, Illyana's inquiry causes her brows to raise, the coconut itself lowering as she begins to answer the woman, yet Kitty comes to the rescue with an easy explanation. Thank goodness, she would have given a winded one. "They sort of drill a hole into it that lets the straw fit. It's.. gross but it's a cool thing to watch. People supposedly survive off this stuff." Blech!
The offer to join the water was declined with a shake of her head, she was so not a swimmer. She was just glad that everyone came, and presents with their names crudely drawn were out for the taking. And there was food.
*
Logan keeps his piece. Smoke, whiskey, glower. Not much to add unless he were directly approached. He may not care for their version of fun, but he wouldn't begrudge them. They were young and dumb, let them have their fun. World would still be going to hell tomorrow.
*
"If you have brought them here for a vacation, then I am sorry, but no. I do not count that," Kurt counters back. He then hops down from the hut and goes inside. After a couple of minutes, he emerges with baskets of the food and probably even some of the booze. As the 'gross' coconut water is offered to him, a bit of a betrayed look is given to Jean before he shakes his head, "Nein, danke." There's an indicative glance as he looks over to one of the other newcomers who has chosen to play in the ocean, before he states, "I am bringing this food to some families in need. Happy Christmas." He then 'bamfs' away again in that telltale cloud of smoke and brimstone.
*
Psylocke wraps a red sheer sarong around her waist and ties it off while she walks. She suddenly stops in her tracks when… Fantomex… runs in front of her and she gives him a squinting scowl as he passes by her. She stares at him when he dives into the water and invites everyone else… and then just continues to walk on by down the beach. She hears some of the others talking and moves toward where Jean and Illyana are.
Betsy says nothing though, merely stands and observes in silence, at least for now. She did smell the smoke from the not-so-far-away Logan. Her dark violet eyes went to look at him now and she scowled and moved to step out of the wind of his cigar…
*
Illyana grinds her teeth audibly when Nightcrawler offers curt condemnation of their activities, and *BAMFS* off with a good tally of their food and beverages in hand. Muttering something about 'counting giant wasps' under her breath, the exquisite blonde stomps pointedly towards the hut and heads inside, peering at the surprisingly generous layout of food, booze, and presents.
She picks up another coconut with a curious eye, finding the pre-drilled hole and jabbing a straw into it. Illyana takes a quick, slurping sip— and her eyes widen.
"This is /amazing/," she declares. "Is better than regular milk! Jean, perhaps you are sick," she suggests to the redhead. She grabs a fistful of dates and heads down towards the beach, watching Jean-Phillipe dive into the waves, and wrinkles her nose a little at his headfirst plunge. She ends up near Logan, a light breeze tugging at her hair, and looks down and over at the glowering, cigar-champing old man.
"You seem extra miserable today. Are making extra effort for us, or just feeling particularly irksome?" she inquires— but she offers him a sip of the coconut she's trundling around, liquid sloshing inside.
*
When no one seems interested in joining Jean-Philippe in the water, and worse, he manages to dig an even bigger hole for himself with regards to Psylocke, he decides to act no differently than had they came and joined him. He places his hands behind the back of his mask, looks up at the sun, and closes his eyes as he floats on the water. He gingerly kicks to orient himself. But he just enjoys the moment, the heat, the feel of the water flowing between his toes, the waves gently crashing against his body. "Ah, paradise…" he exhales in a soft whisper, not that anyone can hear it. He'll continue to stay out there for a bit, but eventually he decides to come in. But not before ducking his head, and that mask, under the water. It got awfully hot in there.
When he stood on the sand, he found it cooler than before as he was dripping wet. The water glistened against his skin, beginning the slow process of evaporating under the intense heat. When he approached the group, he offered a curt nod, but didn't say anything. Instead, he would observe for now. He did crinkle his nose a bit at the smell of the cigar. "Disgusting habit," he whispered.
*
"I.. brought them here because I wanted to spend time with my extended family.." Jean's words were quiet, and even more so as Kurt refuses the offered coconut and leaves there after. She really couldn't fault him for that, at least some families were getting something to eat where as they, were out partying. A little grim look crosses her face as she carefully sets the coconut upon the ground, moving away from the small gathering to drag a bench towards Logan to flop right down next to him with a kick up of her feet.
"Coconut milk is gross." Jean states like it were a fact, but she grows relatively quiet afterwards, wondering if she really were sick. Nah. Different strokes! Even as Fantomex approached them, she looks up towards him with a lift of her brows. "Doesn't that thing get kind of tiresome after a while?" She gestures towards her face. "And are you two friends now?" She was asking of Betsy and him. May as well shine a light elsewhere!
*
Psylocke stood there with her arms at her sides, the wind blowing her hair about lightly behind her. She heard Jean's question directed at her and then glanced out to the water at Fantomex. She spoke before he had a chance to approach and over-hear her. "He wants special relationship." She said back to Jean, her eyes going then back to the red head. "I want him to… Fall in volcano." She said in a very matter-of-fact kind of voice, her Japanese accent quite strong with that sentence. A heavy sigh followed there-after and she glanced toward the ground. "That was mean. I did not mean." A short pause. "Maybe I meant it a little though."
Betsy's eyes rose up then and she looked around at the others. "HMeMerry Christmas." She says in an emotionless and awkward tone of voice, almost like someone who'd been forced to say it at gunpoint.
*
Illyana peers at Betsy when the woman admits a muttering resentment for Jean's affections— she gives Jean a non-plussed look, one bare shoulder shrugging. "And a Happy Merry Christmas to you, too," Illyana tells Betsy with a tone of the utmost grave sincerity— echoing the polite requirements of the greeting with a precision that's boringly correct in every way. "Oh! And happy New Year."
She sets the coconut down near Logan and peers at Jean when he scampers up to the group. "Can you not swim, either?" she inquires of him, her large, blue eyes indicating no insoucience. "Did not seem as if you went very far. Is terribly deep, I imagine," she tells the masked thief. "And, monsters."
*
Naturally, Jean-Philippe chose the most inconvenient place to stand when he did reach the group. It was his way, you see. He began to fan his head with the straight edge of his hand, "oh my, I think my ears are burning, just like the rest of me." Did he hear what was said? If so, he wasn't about to confirm it. "Happy Christmas everyone," he began, and noting the denomination of some of the people, he added, "and my compliments of the season." For a Frenchman, he was unusually British in his seasonal well wishes.
He'll take a step forward to pick up some coconut water, but instead of drinking it, he'll pour it over his mask. He was a strange one, this Fantomex. And before Logan can answer Illyana's question, he chuckles, "Knowing the properties involved, I would seriously doubt that he's buoyant."
*
Jean's eyes widen with Betsy's answer, her hand immediately shooting up to catch her mouth to prevent herself from laughing. Her cheeks even burn red as her hair from the way that she holds back, finally drawing in a breath and putting on a straight face with both hands into her lap. "So, you two are getting along fine.." Jean nods her head towards Betsy, a little smile there to at least try to keep from giggling, then a moment of honesty had Jean's shoulders shrugging.
"I can't swim, either." Though, there was a thought. "Do you know that sharks and octopus'.. ock-to-pie.. whatever, they're not the strangest animal that's seen underwater? And did you know that clams are actually alive? And oysters maybe? Which is kind of weird. Well, I think oysters come from clams, right? Or am I thinking of something else.." She was all set to babble then, before she breaks out with a quiet.. 'Merry Christmas' and it was back to babbling. "SO like you have to crack a shell just to eat an oyster so that means oysters are alive.." She was counting on her fingers, seriously confusing herself, even with a look towards Logan and a brief nudge of her foot.
*
Psylocke watched as Fantomex approached and she assumed he must've heard her. She sighed and went to find a chair to sit in. "She shook her hair out and draped it over the back of the chair then. "This palce is pretty. Perhaps I not ever go back to New York. New York smells and there are porno shops in strange places. Not very classy, if you ask me. Plus, I do not understand why people urinate on the sidewalks. The whole city smells like a strange combination of exhaust fumes and bodily fluids. Except the Central Park. It is nice. Well, aside from the rampant homeless population."
She then looked over at Illyana. "Your powers are impressive, Miss. You would make a killing in the assassination game. You could simply teleport people over volcanos." She glanced at Fantomex.
"
*
"Not burning yet, though Betsy said something about throwing you into volcano," Illyana assures Fantomex, utterly missing the point of the earlier bit of muttered confessional from the leggy model. She turns her ice blue eyes to Betsy— "and, my stepping circles do not work that way. Cannot just 'throw' someone into volcano, must be holding them physically," she says, making a hand-clenching gesture— she did have everyone holding hands for the trip to Rio, after all. "But, can get hands on someone, drag them to Limbo, then, put them in nest of giant wasps. Or unmake them," she acknowledges. "Not as fun, but easy."
"Earth is /full/ of strange animals," Illyana tells Jean, primly. "Have you never seen pictures of sloth? Cannot imagine more useless animal."
*
"A volcano you say?" Jean-Philippe responds to Illyana, glad that she missed the point. "Well, that's progress. She used to want to send me to the moon, if such a thing is possible. But we're getting closer all the time." He seems to be feeling better now that his head has cooled, and listens to the conversation, remaining observant, but not really volunteering much. He was a little surprised by some of the comments, but for now, he left them.
*
"I had thought of that.." Jean admittedly tells Psylocke. "Gabriel.. if you ever meet him, kind of likes it here. He knows the language already, been to a temple of some sorts." She nods her head faintly. "We've actually found an abandoned village. I hope to take the rest of the money to get some tools and rebuild it. I don't know where the people went but, maybe they'll come back after everything is fixed." At least, that was her hope. "Some of the people in New York are mean as hell anyways. Its almost like a community here that we'll never have back home, it seems."
Jean watches the families far off, making with their celebration, dancing, and music, a light shrug of her shoulders as her brows lift to wave her hands at Psylocke to sway her from that idea! "No no no no no!" Annnd she was running with it. Jean's hand smacks against her face, her head shaking ever so slightly. But.. "How dare you, Illyana. Sloth are the most beautiful and majestic things on this planet and I'll have you know that I've actually spoken with one. They're really intuitive.." Yes, Fantomex, you hush it.
*