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Occasionally something happens that turns your life upside down. Perhaps a long-term friend reveals his true face, or a long believed truth is thoroughly debunked. For Forge, it was the unwanted revelation that he happened to be a Mutant. At first he wanted to dismiss it; a bald man who can read minds is not the qualifier he would have thought. Yet after Cable and his own strange lifetime of interacting with machines, it is hard to refute. For now, there's little harm in exploring the possibility… which has brought him to the institute, wearing a simple dress suit with tan overcoat. Gloves pulled over either hand, and Xavier's businesscard awkwardly flitted about between his fingers. Lost would be a good way of describing his expression. Still, he's now officially entered, having observed a reasonable cascade of youthful people going about their business. Are they really ALL mutants, or just some…?
*
It was the first sounds of the chittering paws of a golden retriever that sprinkles across the floor; and the footsteps of the redheaded woman who chases after him. "Bring that back here!" One could easily hear, and with her stopping in the middle of the foyer, her hands press upon her knees as she gives a little tired bend, her eyes closing as she blows out a heavy breath.
Wag's, the dog, was a mischievous little thing, but if Jean let on that she could actually hear his thoughts and that often times, he'd truly listen to her, she'd be regarded as a truly odd ball out of the rest. She -thinks-. So it's a wonder as to why she lets him go and do what he will. The benefit is the reward of cuddles after all!
But there was a mind that catches her attention, something new and foreign, one that makes her brows furrow ever so slightly.
"Yes, most of us are mutants here. A very good portion.." Jean stands, shaking her hands out briefly as she turns to face him, a smile appearing upon her face. "But it's okay. Most of us are nice."
*
The dog draws Forge's attention easily enough. He looks it over and the woman who follows, with something akin to restrained curiosity. His first thought was simply that Jean seemed too old to be a teacher, although given his presence here that implies that there are far more roles to fill in such a unique school. Although he does have quite the… 'flavor' to his conscious stream. It is an unusual mix of order and chaos. Like a hive of bees, constantly moving, taking in the world at a vastly accelerated rate. "Oh? …Should you really be saying that to a stranger?" Forge wonders, not aware that Jean might have thefted that from his mind after confirming his presence. He does move in her direction all the same, for lack of anywhere better. "I had hoped to meet Professor Xavier again, but he seems unavailable…"
*
"Possibly not.." Jean says defensively. But she wasn't overly upset. He had made a good point, quick as it was. Others often told her that people weren't readily as nice as they should be. Though, as he approaches, she straightens, her hands folding together in front of her, lacing in between, thumbs pressing precariously against the other as her brows shoot up with a shrug.
"I think he's teaching." She states. "Or he could be out. I don't know. No one tells me anything anymore. I'm just the maid." And the proverbial red-headed step-daughter that no one talks about. Seriously, she's his ward!
She gestures towards the hallway, her head tilted faintly. "Fancy a drink, while we're at it?"
*
Walking up to meet Jean, Forge glances her over top to bottom. Generally this would result in some uncomfortable trains of thought, but if Jean's tracing his surface thoughts, not a single salacious thing surfaces. Seems he was trying to better assess her age, primarily. "The maid?" Doubtful in tone, most certainly. He's got a brow lifted and everything. "And I'd generally think the maid most informed of things!" A touch more teasing, really. He glances down to his wristwatch with a sigh, although despite the show of importance he has nowhere to be and nothing to do. That's the main reason he picked today to come visit! "Oh… a drink?" Just a ghost of a smile. "If you ARE a maid, I believe I like your style."
*
Forge has arrived.
*
Jean's brows raise as he looks her up and down, to the point where she looks at her own state of dress. She truly looked the homeless sort, a pair of thin shoes that look almost akin to socks, save for the leather that was upon the bottom of them. The pants she wore were a bit ratty, but it was because of all the cleaning! The shirt was just a normal floral blouse, and her hair was done up in an all too casual Betty style with a rag. She shrugs her shoulders faintly, then offers a grand smile.
"Well, I don't know what maids would know about other people around the place, but I think I know enough to tell secrets for a prince." She grins then, lifting upon the tip of her toes as she watches him, her head tilting ever so slightly as she gives a bob of her head. "A drink it is then! Follow me!"
As she walks, her hands were pressed behind her back, her head tilted downwards for but a moment until she looks back to see if he were following. "Unless you have somewhere to be? You're looking at your watch a bit. Or am I that boring?"
*
Forge is happy enough to go after. His mind is a whirlwind to say the least. Those mentioned bees are highly agitated and in need of being soothed. His hands slip into his pockets, looking here and there in quiet appreciation for the decor if nothing else. He does offer a somewhat wan smile, that of the less than socially advanced. "Somewhere to be…?" He wonders at that. "Not precisely. There are things I feel guilty for not doing, but… I'm taking a break from that. Whether you're boring or not, let's see how I feel after we get a few drinks waiting for Xavier."
*
There were many nooks and crannies when it came to the mansion, Jean favored the small little nook just near the front where she didn't have to offer a grand tour, but the room itself was decorative enough to soothe the need to explore. She leaves the door open as they both enter, her head bobbing in a slight nod, keeping that little bit of information of guilt locked away in favor of a later conversation. The room itself had a few chairs littered decoratively about, rugs underneath each of them so shoes could be removed if the need arise, corner tables with victorian lamps and a small shelf with books, along with a row of drinking sets that most could hope to attain.
It was an odd thing, pitchers of iced water were abound, along with a tub of ice filled with sodas were nearby. It was as if someone were expecting company, or the others within the school were smart enough to keep the hard stuff on the upper levels. "I hope you weren't expecting anything too strong for today. Soda? Water? Or if you'd like, I could bring something else from the kitchen.." But with that said, she moves to flop down upon the nearest chair, reaching over with a slight grunt to grab a bottle of cola, using the opener there to pop the lid as she takes a quick drink. "What -aren't- you doing that has you so guilty?"
*
Absently, Forge slips the door shut. He's always been a private individual. He walks forward, looking at the rugs, brushing fingers against one of the lamps with a dull whistle. "I imagine that Professor Xavier has no issues with funds. You get behind in the payment, five seconds with a crowbar will solve that mighty fast." He eases into a seat, although disappointment flares like a fire within his mind. "Soda's fine, if it has caffiene." Just doesn't help with his racing mind. "Although if you got something harder, I wouldn't object. You're a lady of character, so it's fine if you don't partake." As for the guilt, gloved fingers drum on the arm rapidly. "I'm an inventor. I like to think I have a limited amount of time in my life to do good, and every one that I waste I will never get back…"
*
"I think he does alright for himself." Jean offers up, leaning down to place her bottle upon the floor to stand and pick out the coldest one from the batch. She walks it towards the man, offering it out towards him as if she were a waittress in a fancy restaurant, she wasn't going to serve him liquor.. and that was mostly because she didn't want to leave him all alone in the mansion. He was still a stranger, after all.
So the mention of a harder drink goes unoffered, and once he takes the coca cola, she'd return to her own. "Ah. Well, you don't think you're inventing something right now?" She asks, her brows raising. "I've read from somewhere, that friendship is the mother of invention, after all. Unless by the end of this bottle, as you say." She lifts hers towards his briefly in a toast. "But, if you don't mind me asking, what are you here to see the Professor for? I'm around a lot, perhaps there's something I can help you with instead of him." She shifts in her seat then, carefully flipping her shoes off so that she could curl one foot beneath her. "I've been told I'm an excellent listener."
*
Slowly but surely, Forge takes the coca cola and then works it over in his hand. He begins puzzling out if he could somehow convert the sugar into alcohol at a faster rate by channeling some energy from his prosthetic hand. But it also might explode and send deadly glass shards everywhere, so he opts not to tinker. "Oh? Are we building a friendship right now?" the Cheyenne wonders, tipping back a mouthful of Coca Cola. He prefers Pepsi, alas. Much sweeter and less of an aftertaste. "I dunno. He kind of entered my office, called me a Mutant, and left me. I got his businesscard, so I came down. Not really sure what it means to me. …Mutantcy. If I even am. How would he know?" He waggles his fingers in the air. "I can't do anything you could observe that's not human." Actually, this isn't true. When he was pondering his potentially fatal sugar to alcohol thing, if Jean had been scanning his mind to any degree, it would have been like a neural detonation. Possibly unlike anything she'd ever sensed before.
*
Jean could feel it, the idle curiosity, the what if's and the emotions that come with them. There was also the little explosions within his mind, for the first little pop draws her nearly in but yet away with a slight shake of her head. She didn't need to get a headache for this, but it was truly an odd and unique sensation, one that she herself has never felt before. It takes her a moment to answer, her lips working back and forth as she puts on a smile. "You don't think we are?" She counters, "I happen to think a coca cola shared between to people would allow them to be the best of friends."
But as she listens to his story, she happens to wrinkle her nose. She was sure that the conversation was a little bit more involved, but the way he put it made it sound -so- horrible! "Well, I'm not sure what scientific term he'd use, but I believe he scanned your brain pan. Chances are, he knows how mutants are wired and he has the ability to find them with his own mind." At least she was telling the truth about that. "Maybe he would know? Or maybe you do something that's so wholly supernatural that you can't tell yourself. You -have- lived with yourself all this time, afterall. It would be hard for you to tell the difference."
*
The coke is hefted up towards Jean with a smile from Forge, head dipping low. "Well, to lasting friendship, then." he agrees, before taking another slow swig. God, he wishes it were beer. Obviously his encounter with Xavier was patient, careful, and methodical, but that doesn't change the fact an atomic bomb went off in his perception of self. "I—can understand machines. Pretty well. They have like an energy or something. When I touch them or get near them, I get thoughts and intuitions. But that's just being smart, right? I mean, I never forget anything. I can do formula in the blink of an eye. Dr. Reed could probably do all that too. Why's HE not a Mutant?" He drains the rest of his coca cola, and then makes pleading eyes. "Could I PLEASE have something a little — harder? Just until Xavier can see me? I need to calm my nerves."
*
Forge has partially disconnected.
*
As she said, Jean was a very good listener. As he worked through what he could do, and even spoke of Reed, her shoulders lift in a faint shrug. "Reed's a freak of nature." She admits. "As we all are, I believe. Humans alike." She gestures around the room faintly, then lifts just enough to uncurl her foot from beneath herself. "What happened to Reed just happened physically. His mind didn't get an increase because this is what he always was and he embraces it, I believe. His mind is like breathing, but that's not to say that he did not work hard to learn all that he could and even more. I bet if you ask him, he would tell you that there is still more out there in the world to know. Unlike you, your ability seems to.. speak to you in a sense. You don't need to study. It just comes. He's different in a major way, and at the end of the day, I'm sure he sometimes scares himself."
She still doesn't offer him a drink. But she does push up from her chair, then begins to walk in his direction, the chair itself following along as it scrapes across the floor as she does. She doesn't show off her telekinetic power -too- much, but just this one time, she gave herself a free pass. Once she was close enough, directly in front of him, the chair stops and she sits, her hands outstretched as she wriggles her fingers. "Give me your hands." She says quietly. "If this doesn't work, I'll go get you that drink." Her green eyes light with a bit of mirth as well. "Maybe a nice sandwich to go with it. And chips! Do you like reubens? I do have beef steaming in the oven.."
*
"Tony Stark. Dr. Doom. Dr. Reed. Me. That's the 'great inventors' I've known about in my circles. Are you saying that all of us are like that? Or just me? Am I just some dunce with above-average intelligence, cheating with some damn mutation to get where I've gotten?" The idea seems to make him really distraught. There's multiple reasons why, which seem to link back decades. Although the casual show of telekinesis causes him to stare. Not much shocks him anymore, however, so he just sighs and extends his gloved hands as desired. Of course, one of them is fake. A series of delicate, impossibly advanced electronics along with a tiny fusion reactor. Hopefully that won't affect whatever she plans to do.
*
"I truly don't know." She answers honestly. "I'm just simply guessing here. But I will and can say that all of you are very, very dangerous men." She smiles slightly. "Though, I don't think that's a comfort for you, and I'm sorry. But it's the truth." She says, leaning back into her chair. "But what would be better? Would you rather be blue? Would you rather have a tail? Claws that painfully rip through your knuckles? Would you rather your mutation be visible? Like an eye on your neck or wings on your back?"
"There's a little blessing in that, in where you, Mr. Stark, Dr. Doom, Dr. Reed can all blend in if you need be.." She doesn't know who the hell Dr. Doom is, obviously. "..but I don't think you're a dunce. And I don't consider it to be cheating because you're putting your mutation to -work-."
As he reaches out to take her hands, she grasps at his, her fingers curling around each of them as she gives a little smile. "Now.. close your eyes and breathe.." Could she tell that one of those hands were a prosthetic? Possibly not, but she holds onto it like it were the real thing, not shying away from his differences. "Just breathe."
*
"I know I'm dangerous." Forge states, matter of factly. "I was in Project Manhattan, you know." Being a key component in nuking Japan is probably about as dangerous as someone can get. Although she probably doesn't want to digest the quagmire of thoughts related to that whole ordeal right this moment. "I do not want any of that." Forge states simply when it comes to physically visible mutations. His grip is loose, shoulders hunched, not seeming to put much credit into whatever Jean is trying to do. "Mmmhmm…" After a few moments, he falls into a remarkably good breathing routine. It seems to be a meditation practice, roused up from some countless years earlier, but still referenced as if it was fresh on the mind. Catalog memory definitely has it's perks.
*
Jean had no clue what Project Manhattan was, but it was something to look up later! But she still holds his hands, drawing in a deep breath.. exhaling.. that motion allowing herself to attempt to breathe a little bit of emotion into his own bones. Emotions that were calming. Something that was a little bit serene, just a touch of serenity that would allow his mind to clear just for the moment. Effects not permanent at all.
"So tell me, what do you want, then?" She asks, "Keep your eyes closed."
*
Likely not the greatest thing to find out at a later date. Lots of civilian death is always a sore thing, after all. He does find his tense muscles starting to relax, and his own breathing exercise smoothly matches it. Some of that wild, aggravating thought is starting to cede away. It feels nice. "I want…" Swirling into his mind's eye, "Beer." Apparently he almost never drinks, in normal day to day situations. "Ugh. You mean something more meaningful, right?"
*
"Beer?" Jean doesn't rightly throw away his hands, but she does lift them and shake them just a touch. She opens her own eyes and grins, her head bobbing almost eagerly. "Yes. Something meaningful. Something that you may not know what you've wanted when you stepped foot in here. Something that you wanted the Professor to give to you, so at least you could and can be better prepared for when you meet with him again." She lifts her eyes to the ceiling.
"Like.. why me? Or wanting to know 'why' he blew your life up as he did. How can you accept something like this that may be true from a complete and total stranger?" She grins then, "And why are you holding hands with a maid?"
Still, she doesn't let go. "And the beer is on the upper levels in the staff areas. It would be criminal to bring it down here." Literally! Though teachers smoke in the classroom..
*
There's a lot of grumbling from Forge as the foremost thought on his head is finally gotten out of the way. He swims through the positive ocean that Jean has cooked up, not seeming to mind the whole issue with holding hands with a maid amongst the craziness. "Xavier offered me to be a teacher. So I can go get some beer if I want, then." Even if it's not formal. And yes, if she checked, he's telling the truth. "What I want…" Suddenly it rushes forward. Views of a young Forge, fighting with a man. Both dressed like native Cheyennes. There is a fight, and he leaves. "To know whether I made a terrible mistake. I was born a shaman. I have great magical power within me. But I wanted to make something with my own abilities. …And in the end, all I did was ride on my mutancy. All these decades, I feel I have done nothing myself…" There's a great roar of feedback then, Forge wincing and trying to pull his hands away. Uh oh, he's getting very upset!
*
Well! There was that then! He could get up and go get his beer, but still, she would rather have Charles around to do the touring. But she lets him work it out, keeping her eyes upon him as the shock of the vision itself rushes forward. Her eyes open wide, her teeth gritting as she bears through the vision itself, almost as if she were there in the midst of the fighting, holding onto something while watching the two men argue. Even as she looks to Forge's back as he leaves, her mind means to sink into more of his memories like an addict..
But then feedback! Her hands clutch his tightly for half a second as he begins to pull his hands away, her fingers soon letting go to sink into her hair to double over in pain. It -hurt-. Even the emotions that he put out made her sick to her stomach, it was -that- strongly that she felt it. This was -way- above her paygrade. If she even gets paid at all for making things worse. But at least now? Maybe? He feels the truth.
"Then aim .. to be different!" She hisses through her teeth, her head slowly lifting as she draws her hand away from her hair to pinch at her nose. It was bleeding. "Right?"
*
"…Are you okay?" Forge states, looking absolutely aghast. He's on his feet in a heartbeat, looking around and finding nothing but priceless baubles and books within arm's reach. Instead he rips off the bottom of his suit, one that's anything but cheap, and moves to press it to Jean's nose. "Jesus. I didn't know you were hurting yourself… why would you do that for me?" Raw concern is etched upon his dark-skinned features.
*
"Nnnh?" Jean mumbles out, her fingers unpinching her nose as she keeps it covered, her hand waffling back and forth as he rushes off to do god knows what. The ripping of cloth had her turning ever so slightly, only to be bombarded with a press of it to her nose, her own hand reaching under to grasp at his wrist to keep it right there in place as she tilts her head back. "Ohh.. I duthno.." She says outloud. "..thor my fwind! Thith otay.. Thur bwain huts mine thiz all." She closes her eyes again, her teeth gritting as she sucks in a breath, letting it out with a little hiss.
*
Forge actually knows field medicine rather well. Front line soldier, 1942. He tilts Jean's head back, and after the initial flow is under control, spirals a couple pieces to insert carefully and allow them to soak up the excess. "Let it drain into the back of your throat. Might taste bad, though." He heads over to the cooler, gathering some ice and then returning to place it on either side of Jean's nose. "Maybe you shouldn't look in my head. I'm… fairly messed up."
*
"Uuugh.." Jean voices out, trying her best not to snort the blood right into the back of her throat. She puffs out her cheeks, her face grimacing, her head slowly lowering then drawing back again as she leans back into the chair. Cripes! "You know.." She finally says with a clear voice. "..that's a pretty good defense against people like me. I think you would make a great teacher.." She makes a slight gurgling sound, obviously the sound of her swallowing the blood as she breaks out into a fit of coughs. Her hands cover her mouth, her head finally rocking forward as she lifts a knee to brace herself, soon lowering.
"It wasn't willing.." She admits. "..I can control it sometimes? Sometimes I can't.." She explains. "If a memory resonates too strongly for a person and I'm nearby, sometimes I can't help but to be drawn in.." Her own thoughts go back to Gabriel, and the murder by his hands. She shakes that thought away, but forces on a smile. "I'm Jean. Jean Grey by the way."
*
"What's a pretty good defense?" he wonders absently, more intent on taking care of Jean than anything else for the moment. After a bit, he pulls out the wads of cloth. The bleeding seems to have stopped enough that it won't resume spraying out her nostrils unless agitated, so he cautiously returns to his seat. "My memories are… potent. I have an eidetic memory. Every aspect of my life is like a small movie. Especially those that are… emotionally charged." Yet he does try a smile of his own, nodding a bit. "I'm Forge." Forge? That can't possibly be his REAL name could it? But as far as standard surface level checking is concerned, it's what he identifies himself as…
*
"Your.. you have this static. Or this explosion. Something that comes rushing all at once and it hit me hard.." Obviously. She doesn't move as he tends to her, her eyes closing once he was close, stretching her nose just a touch as he pulls the wads out. Slowly, she lowers her head again, her hand lifting to wipe away a little at her nose. No need to cause anyone alarm! But she slowly nods her head, she offers a little bit of a smile. "Maybe that's what it is, other than the fact that your mutations let you talk to machines. You are already like Dr. Reed in a sense. You read and it stays with you forever. That's completely natural and it's all you. You're not a hack."
She softly sniffs a little, then pulls herself to a stand. Forge, Forge it is! "Stay a while? I can make the bed for you in the guest room. I mean, if he asked you to be a teacher then you may as well wander. You'll find me there with your dinner ready. Is that okay?"
*
Forge had never been aware he had any kind of psychic deterrant, but he also had never had any psychic probing until certain bald people ruined his life. Well, Cable snuck around, but he never revealed just what he was doing in there. "Is it?" Forge asks, matter of factly. "How do I know what gifts are my own, and what gifts I was born with? Is there a way to turn off my mutancy, and just… see what sort of person I really am?" He seems to be having a large issue with imagining beinga mutant to be 'natural', something that is complete and essential to his core essence. "Huh? Sleep here…? For one night, maybe. Like I said, lots of work I SHOULD be doing… but this place is interesting. I had no idea it existed, and I'm privy to some very confidential information…" He rises to his feet, before gesturing. "But follow me, first." Oh? He's thinking about disassembling cars. It's like an air-raid siren in his head. Might be hard to pinpoint the surface thoughts connected to it!
*
"Why ever in the world would you want to do that?" Jean asks, completely honest. She herself had her own reasons, but it would be interesting to hear his. "The gifts that are your own are the ones you were born with, mutantcy or not." She points out. "You are who you are. But to find that sort of answer, I believe it's best to leave to the Professor." He was actually a lot, a lot better at this than she. But as he takes her up on the offer, she was about to make due upon it, already working out a way to make the room comfortable for him, and yet, he offers her to follow. She doesn't dare pry into his head again, in fact, she defends her own self against him, but she was already upon her feet and waiting for him to lead the way, though there was a question on her mind as to what.. and where they were going. Perhaps he knew his way around after all!
*
"That is one way to look at things." Forge agrees. "Another is that you are born to fate. You are given tools to fulfill a particular destiny. I believe you can embrace this, or you can try to forge your own path, make your own tools, make your own life. Long ago, I thought I did this. It is one of the reasons for my name!! You may not understand why feeling that I ended up still following predestination is upsetting, but…" A long sigh leaves him, making to grasp Jean's hand to make it easier to tug her along. He immediately heads up to the second floor, although he has to search a little for the stairs. Then it's a bit more awkward, before he finds the room she mentioned where the beer is stored and pushes within. "Here we are…!"
*
"..but.. is it easier to dwell or easier to let it go and just be?" She asks quietly. Though, as he grasps her hand and tugs her along, she follows with a few stumbles, looking back behind her to make sure that no one else was following through the rather large manse, saying nothing of the directions of the place and allowing him to wander where he will. Even up the stairs was met with a kipped up pace, one hand upon the railing.. releasing then, huffing just a touch until the lovely liquor room was found.
"You wanted me to follow you to get a drink?" She asks quietly, brows raising. "All of this would have went great with a sandwich!"
*
"You're asking the wrong person that question, since I sure as hell haven't figured it out." Jean is eventually let go so Forge can begin roaming around, mumbling lightly to himself as he accesses his treasure trove of memories for what he thinks would be good liquor. Logan probably stole all the good stuff already, though. "Here, let's try this." He comes down with an aged bottle and finds two glasses, before putting himself in one of the chairs and gesturing beside. "You're the maid and I'm a teacher. You can't say no." The clack of the glasses being set down, then he pours a couple fingers into each. "Trust me, it's theraputic."
*
"You seem like you have, you just haven't accepted it maybe.." Once he lets her go, she watches him with amusement, and yet as the bottle of liquor is produced, she gives a little frown. There was a slight hesitation before she finally takes a step forward, then settles down upon the chair, sitting upon the edge, stiff and rigid. She opens her mouth to speak, but says nothing. He wanted a drink, she was going to let him have it.
"I.. really, really should decline." She states, then gestures towards the door. "I don't drink." She explains quietly. "There's.. something to be said about a telepath drinking. Even more so when it comes to me. And there are so many people in the mansion.."
*
"Look at you. You're the one in need of relaxing!" Forge states with a light click of the tongue. He places a hand on her shoulder and gives a firm grip, expression genuinely compassionate. Even in the turmoil of his own mind, it seems he can't help but worry about others all the same. Perhaps one thing he has in common with her. "Just a little bit. You can pace yourself. What's the worst that could happen? You pry into my memories of—well, yes, maybe I wouldn't want you prying into there…" He drinks his own, letting out a sigh and immediately refilling. "You're right, though. You're good at listening. But I bet most maids are, since they are supposed to be in the background!"
*
"I.." Well, she does need to relax. She could -say- that she was relaxed, but she was actually tense. Especially around alcohol. So she tries it out, reaching for the glass and bringing it up to her lips, a tiny little sip taken that makes her cheeks burn with a touch of red. "Blech.." She snaps out, quickly dropping the glass upon the table with a shake of her head. "That's gross.."
The worst that could happen? She doesn't even entertain the thought. She could possibly sweep everyone up into a dream state into her own horrible mind.. and that wouldn't be right. She smiles though, slipping back into the new found seat, allowing her arms to rest along the arms of the chair itself, her fingers tipping and dancing along the wood. Should she even tell him she's not really a maid?
"Well thank you, Forge! I'd like to say that's what I'm here for but.." Of course, she was only a 'maid'!
*
Forge sets his drink down and begins clapping heavily, standing upright. "You did it. Your alcohol virginity is gone forever!" Settling back down, his second glass is downed. Eyes close, focusing. His mind seems to slow a bit, his worries temporarily easing back, all without the need of psychic reassurance. There's a reason alcoholics drink away their problems, after all. He nurses at his third, not yet wanting to get outright drunk. "You survived one sip. You should take another."
*
Awkward! There were certainly no words that a lady should hear, but he speaks it freely much to her chagrin. Her hand lifts to rub at the back of her neck, a little awkward laugh given as she gives a slight shake of her head. "Well.." Alright. The glass was taken again and contemplated, her eyes looking towards Forge as his own close.. and a loud cough given as she quickly tosses the liquor over her shoulder and onto the floor. "PHEW!" She says loudly, dropping the glass upon the table, her lips smacking ever so loudly as she begins to fan and pat her cheeks. "That.. stuff is really strong! I.. I think I'm done for now!"
*
Forge stares at Jean as she flits the glass backwards. The quiet splatter of liquid. Probably some on face or hair. After a few moments he bursts out laughing, drinking the rest of his own and putting it down. "If you really didn't want you, you should have just said no. Why'd you try to lie?" Seemingly full of the required dosage of alcohol, he lets it brew and settle in, physical tension he wore since entering finally assuaging for the first time, beyond her psychic efforts earlier.
*
Jean looks like a deer caught in the headlights, her hands rubbing a little at her cheek as she offers a bright grin in response to the laughter. "I didn't want to offend you while you were being polite." She says completely, in truth, she just felt the peer pressure hit a little bit too hard. But he was relaxed, and it was all that mattered. Heck, there was even a laugh from the guy!
"But you're feeling better, I can tell." She states, slowly rising from her seat. There was a little glance around the room, her lips twisting ever so slightly as she too takes a turn to scan the cabinents for at least something else to drink. "I should probably start on the guest quarters to make sure that they're comfortable for you. Is there anything you'll be requiring at this immediate moment, Mr. Forge?"
*
"C'mon. I wouldn't get offended over something like that. We're best friends now, I thought." He waggles the empty glass chidingly, sinking further into his chair. Feet lift to rest on the table, which he probably shouldn't be doing, arms dangling over either side of his chair. "…Don't leave." Forge murmurs, after long moments. His eyes are cast downwards, and an expression of sadness is present. "This was nice. Just… chatting. I've had enough of my own thoughts for now…"
*
There was a little frown given as she watches him sink into the couch, the cabinent that she stood in front of soon closed with a push of her hands. She strolls right to her seat, settling in, her own bare feet lifting to rest upon the table much like his. Instead, she has to sink lower to do it, it looks rather uncomfortable, but it was done! "Alright.." She says quietly. "I won't leave." In fact, she floats a pillow over, sitting up just a moment so that she could squish it into the back of the chair, slumping down a little bit easier with her arms hanging over the chair. "Let's talk then. What do you want to talk about?"
*
Well, Forge didn't really want to get called on his inability to be alone. Honestly he had little clue what he desired, beyond not sitting around once more and constantly fretting. "This Mutant Town thing." he begins. "That's concerning me a lot. Not because of the humans who did it. But now the mutants don't trust any non-mutants around them. That is what's going to cause a war… if there was a group of them who already thinks that violence is the only answer, then this…" He shakes his head slowly.
*
She listens quietly, a little small frown growing at the mention of Mutant Town, she didn't really pay much attention to the news, but yet it was something that was heard. How could she not ignore the emotions of trepidation in the air, and with a glance along the room, she continues. "..is all for nothing?" She asks, looking over towards him to clarify. "It concerns you, yes?" She asks quietly. And for a moment, it seems as if she were going to get up right then and there to get dressed and march on down there. "You could do something to help." She states. "You don't like sitting around, you like to build, you like to invent. Why not come up with something that would ensure the protection of Mutant Town and the people who live there. Protect the innocent from the war that's already here.." She smiles slightly, her eyes watching her feet as they move from side to side. "Oh great teacher.." She teases, then looks over towards him to watch his face.
*
"It concerned me when I didn't think I was a Mutant. I'm Cheyenne. I have been persecuted and abused, and my ancestors before. Only this is different. The Cheyenne could not fight back against an overwhelming power. Mutants can. And trust me… my people /tried./ It would not take a lot of potent Mutants to send this world towards ruin." Forge shakes his head, most of thet benefits of his alcohol going away there. Damn his compassion. Although he starts to think on that. "Protect Mutant Town…? No. The scope is too large. It'd have to be something like a… shield, that only let Mutants pass in and out." Another explosion of complicated thoughts, images, impulses, and more. "But I don't want that! That will not help the segregation!"
*
"No.." She says slowly. "Possibly only one."
"Nothing will help the segregation, Forge. The only thing that would help is if their mind is changed." She shifts a little in her seat. "Think about it." She could already feel the burn behind her eyes, the Phoenix herself drawing forth, but she remains hidden with her eyes closed so that Forge himself would not see. "There is a mutant out there, with such vast, untapped power, that this person could bring the entire planet to complete devastation and ruin. And this mutant could do it with but a thought."
And it was shocking, that there were at least two others within the house that could do this. One could pull all of the energy from the room, from his surroundings.. the other claims to channel the stars in the sky.. that sort of destruction..
"Protection.." Jean finally says, her good, green eye popping open to look in his direction. "At least until everyone figures this out. Not segregation. -Protection-."
*
"…yes." Forge admits, uncomfortably. He's not staring at Jean, so misses on any subtle cues that something else might be going on. "Statistically, that is likely to happen eventually. I've seen … government R&D data on that. The question is if they are good or evil. …And I have seen the question asked whether we want them to be able to make that decision." Although the repeated statement makes Forge rub his face heavily, grunting. "Protect…" Again a flurry of thoughts. "I can't…!" he continues. "Not everyone! Not… not with what I have. We need protectors. People to—to patrol. That would also give people a positive opinion. Metahuman defenders are accepted. They need to see Mutants as just… a much longer quantity of them. The same capacity for good or evil, who need the same chances and opportunities in life!"
*
Her hands lift to rub away at her eyes, pushing back the entity with just a gentle mental nudge. She draws in a breath, then asks him the question that.. there was a chance that would be asked of him in the future.
"And are you going to help Professor Xavier show them that?"
*
"Huh?" Forge responds, not immediately understanding what is being asked. "Help Xavier show… what?" He rubs at his temple, just the slightest bit tipsy. "If you mean… show the world that mutants aren't inherently dangerous, no more than someone with a gun… yes. I do want to. I… just don't know how useful I am. My ability… should be used to help the world…"
*
Jean waits for him to work it out through words instead of thought, her fingers now lowering to steeple against the other, her brows furrowing slightly. She.. was starting to feel horrible for him. This was not an easy position to be put in. "Should be?" She asks quietly. "And yet.. have you tried, Shaman?" She slowly draws her feet from the table, planting them firmly upon the ground, which now makes her look just as sloppy and lazy other than her supposed designation in the mansion. "Are you going to try? Would you be happy with yourself if you didn't?"
*
"Don't CALL me that!" Forge suddenly bellows, smacking the arm of his chair hard. There's a ferocious burst of memories, like a sea of razorblades. Apparently caling him a shaman hit a very sore point. He has one hand on his face, frustration bleeding in. "Try? Try what?!" Forge gets to his feet, and kicks the side of the table, sending his empty glasses tipping over. "I've spent 20 goddamn YEARS trying. And I have nothing to show for it!! I can help 200, I can help 500, maybe 1,000. But that's IT! That's not ENOUGH!!"
*
His loud words has her jumping almost immediately. Her hands lift to shield her head as he smacks his hand upon the chair. The memories that came from him were halted, she was not going to go through another nosebleed again on his watch, or her own. Thank god for her being smart in pre-defending herself after the first go. As he gets to his feet, she does as well, the kick to the table sends a shocking result in which her hand strikes out to lift it from the ground as well as the glasses, keeping them within the air.
It was a slow float, one that carries them away from him, her focus solely upon those until they settle into place, empty glasses on top. "I suppose not.." She says quietly, but then she approaches, her hand reaching out to afford him the same comfort that he had given her a few moments ago. Upon the shoulder, tightly squeezed. "But can you try more?" She asks quietly. "Try for the rest of your life until we are accepted, dear Shaman. Sweet and caring Forge." Yes. She realized that he was much like her. Caring for others more than themselves. "Try until you're tired.. try until you're dead.. and try more just by your name alone."
*
The touch initially makes Forge pull slightly forward, but not enough to break contact. The soothing runs through him at first, but again she calls him a Shaman, and he draws forward and grasps his head. "I said don't CALL me that!!" he repeats through clenched teeth. "I turned my back on my people! My heritage! Because—because I understood MACHINES, and did not understand magic! But I don't, do I?! I bet if you turned this off," He taps his head hard enough to nearly bruise. "I wouldn't know a goddamn thing, would I?! What if this Mutancy was the Devil putting me off the real path I was born?! If so, it sure as hell worked!!"
*
She steps forward again, keeping her hand still upon his shoulder even as he draws forward. He was working it through, that was good. And she was going to push him to continue. "If I turned it off.. and I can.. you wouldn't be you anymore, Shaman.." She says quietly. "..but you don't know, what if this -was- the path that you were supposed to be on and you were pushed TOWARD it, and not from it." With the hand still there, she carefully steps around him, it was easy to -not- duck to try to catch a look at his face. Her other hand lifts, attempting to try to stop him from hurting himself by grasping ahold of his fingers. "What if you are the Devil who is actively trying to put you off the path that you are already on?" She asks quietly. "Shaman.. look at me." She gives him a light little shake, knowing damn well that name offended him greatly. "You know this secret, that everything in this world is magic. We are born from magic, no matter what we are. What we have. What we've done and what we could do. You're magic. You understand? When will you stop being the Devil and -be- you? When will you get out of your own way for once?"
*
"I said /stop it./" Forge states through grit teeth, his emotions beginning to boil dangerously, like an excess of water that still has a tight cap upon it. It takes a rather large amount of cajoling before he manages to look at Jean. There's a wildness there, from a lifetime of insecurities and doubts, that have lasted longer than Jean has even been alive. Although what she says is very similar to what his mentor used to say. Everyone is gifted. Some more than others. And Forge was given a great one, and could use it to guide his people… What did he do? Abandoned it, misused it, and then embraced a different gift to help others. That's no different. That's no different at all…! Suddenly he doubles forward, grasping the side of his head. Pink energy builds up, swirling around him. If touched it would burn clothing, singe skin. It seems he's unwantedly tapped into the wellspring of his mystical powers… and he has quite a lot of it.
*
She didn't. Jean was just as stubborn as any, especially when she felt that emotions were tied to it. It was done for his own good, even as he looks up towards her with such wild and feral eyes, her own remained confident. Moreso confident in him. Still, her hands remain upon his shoulders as he doubles over, her arm lacing around his chest in attempts to capture him if he should fall, the other carefully soothing his back as she quietly offers little 'shh's' as if he were set to crying. But no.. that energy built right before her. It was hot upon her hands and arm that kept him held in place. She could feel the first burns of her sleeves melt away, the cloth upon her stomach singing and setting aflame, even the flat of her hand upon his back near burning.. but with a grit of her teeth, she held on through it all.
This was how her soul felt, she quietly muses. But it was on her skin. Wait.. It was on her skin! She couldn't panic, but she held him carefully throughout her own pain, sacrificing vanity and comforbility for the sake of his own emotions and growth. Poor girl just may die because of it. "See? You .. you do remember.." She manages to squeeze out. "..you breathe magic.. its.. its.. beautiful..!"
*
Forge loses connection with things for a few moments. But he can smell something. Burning clothing. …Skin? A horrible incident. It's difficult to truly understand the last emotion that Jean is forced to feel. It is like hell, twisted, dark, unholy. A suffusion of rage and sorrow and loss. And it is definitely the key to why he no longer practices magic. With a last exclaimation, the energy shuts off, and he goes limp. Still conscious, but worn out. "Ah… ah!! …Did, did I hurt you?!" He tries to look up blearily at Jean. How did things end like this?! He just… why DID he come here?!
*
Him going limp and the mystic powers dying away was a silent blessing that Jean herself wouldn't admit to. Everything was starting to hurt, even the idle air that drawn itself within the room stung the exposed parts of her skin. Both hands.. arm.. her midsection, part of her leg.. But she still stood for the moment, not an epic freak out in which most would do, her mind working to ebb the flow of pain through her skin, staunching the nerve system with her own gifts just so that she could put on a brave face and..
Okay, it hurt. Fuck that.
"No.." She answers, a complete and total lie. "I.. I'm fine!" At least her clothes weren't on fire. "I.. I'm just going to.." She gestures towards the door, and with one step taken towards it's entrance, she collapses.
*
Oh, great. The first day here, and Forge kills the maid. He pushes up to his feet partially, before collapsing to his knees. Focusing inwards, he breathes and then crawls over to Jean. Reaching out, he makes to flip her over upon her back, and then rip open the burnt front of her shirt to apply an ear to her chest and listen to her heartbeat. Check her breathing. Pulse. If she's having some kind of psychic breakdown… then that's outside his ability to help! In the short term, anyway… Or is it…?
*
Mentally, Jean was in shock. Spiritually, that as well. It's not often one gets treated to something beautiful as a magic awakening, and it was definitely a wonderful sight. But she did catch the end of those emotions before she went down, it was jarring. Devastating, and it hurt her soul to feel that way. There was an idle thought that pressed out to a friend.. and then nothing. Her body was singed and already growing red, much like second degree burns upon the surface. It'll be an unsightly look once she's healed, but in her mind? Totally worth it.
But she was alive. Breathing, though with the occasional wince in pain. She'll make it.. or die of infection, either or!
*
A slow exhale leaves Forge once he realizes that Jean is at least physically healthy. The burns aren't serious or anything, and he's sure there are all kinds of Mutants able to heal. Awakening… something like that. It had been sleeping for so many decades, his soul was almost completely devoid of it's essence. Grunting, he shrugs out of his suit top, lifting up Jean to wrap it around her. Burned and torn shirts are never good for decency. Hefting her up, he runs around a bit blindly before someone points him to the Medbay; he's put in the hopefully capable hands of the attendant there, waiting until she's confirmed to be in no immediate danger. Ashamed, he leaves, then — not wanting to face her after his magic hurt someone yet again. Whether this was a setback or not… time will have to tell.