1964-04-19 - Tipping the Scales
Summary: After discovering a few of the NYPD aren't as spotless as their records suggest, who you gonna call? Erik Lensherr.
Related: Draw of the Cards
Theme Song: Crossroads Between Curiosity and Delusion - Omar Lane
jean erik rogue 

The institute rarely sees the likes of her nowadays. Too much trouble elsewhere draws her out, the bohemian preferring to keep to herself in Greenwich Village or worry about the fate of realms. Her long, graceful stride is something enough to deeply disturb the students; on the front of her dark coat are smears of blood come up in flowers, and her back is infinitely more concerning: bullet holes galore punched through the fabric. A casual glance reveals at least five not hidden by her hair. It's not as though Scarlett can turn invisible without an assist, but she at least tries to move quickly to avoid a gaggle of staring students. Going upstairs speeds her away from their haunts, but the chatter follows. Her footsteps barely echo down the hall as she heads for the offices; where, presumably, one can find a leader of the place. She might as well be a teacher, now.


Erik hears the commotion long before it arrives upstairs. He is just now looking up from his book as people are approaching. It's an old leatherbound volume labeled 'The Book of Five Rings' which he had laid out on one of the desks in a classroom. Erik is wearing a gray turtleneck sweater and dark slacks at the moment, taking his role as a Professor seriously enough to dress like one. He walks out into the hallway, a faint frown on his features as he studies the approaching bullet ridden Bohemian. "We should probably talk in a classroom. Are you safe for now?" He is cool, collected, and soft-spoken. The scene is still being dissected and so Erik has yet to choose a response.

Bullets, however, do not concern him.


The redhead's durability is not much of a topic of discussion, though she has her penchant for standing in front of danger pointed at Jean. Her coat is in a shambles, and she shrugs the fabric form her shoulders, finally in a spot where she might do so without terrorising half the student body. An uncomfortable roll of her shoulders sends her scapulae winging back, relieving the faint ripples of sensation chafing through her shredded dreamy dress. "Wherever," she replies, words crisp and unusually so for her. "I was not in any danger. The same could not be say for the mutant I evacuated." Blowing out a breath gives her ragged braids a lazy sway of movement, and she simply rolls off her heel to the indicated classroom. Bullets are not something she cares for either; and there are no slugs anywhere in her skin.


There wasn't much to say of what Jean was doing. Whatever she was doing, it was something that had nothing to do with the school and everything with it all at the same time. To say that she was a being of seclusion was one thing, to say that whatever haunted her in those millions of lives another.. to say.. well, to say that Jean wasn't right behind Rogue, a specter with hands behind her back and a stroll at a casual pace allows her to float and linger.

The bullet-holes, she noticed. The soft and careful tones of Erik she noticed as well. But the redhead would definitely sit out this little conversation, for it was something she wanted to hear for herself as well without her own interjections and scans.


Erik nods once and then steps back into the classroom. He looks down the hall at the gathered students with a cool stare that includes everyone who might otherwise decide to sit around and gawk. A brow is arched at Scarlett as she takes that unfamiliar tone but he simply turns and walks back toward the desk where he had left his book. Picking it up Erik asks, "What happened? You evacuated someone. Was it an assassin?" There's a tension there that is subtle and most people would write off entirely. "Was it the robots I've been hearing people speak of recently…?" A beat, to hear what the woman has to say next.


The redhead does not quite need to sit, given the overall fragility of the garments shielding her upper back. The coat hugged across her stomach faired a little better, but the holes torn through the diaphanous fabric over her back speaks to a full clip being unloaded at her. Without any means to sense Jean's psychic signature or her overall presence, she focuses most of her attention on Erik. "I interrupted a police officer torturing a man in an isolated part of Westchester County. Twenty-five miles out from here?" An estimate, that, for reasons self-evident. "Not a robot, human. Or if it were a robot, it can perfectly simulate a heartbeat, faltering emotions, sweat. The officer was taking out his idea of justice by trying to break a mutant, disassembling him. I caught him trying to shatter the man's hands, and the man in question was sedated, restrained, and largely incapable of defending himself. They targeted him. Caught him outside his home, it seems."


Erik doesn't respond immediately save through his body language. He takes a deep breath and then slowly exhales. Blue eyes shift first to the book in the man's hands and then to the room at large as the man is turning to face Scarlett more fully. His tone is brittle. "They. There were multiple police officers involved." This isn't really a question. Erik stalks across the room in a surprisingly calm way, his steps charged with purpose. The air, however, is alive. It's subtle, really. The faint smell of ozone. The way the objects in the room shudder. Pens, desks. Nothing floats away, but the whole room is charged with energy, ready to spring up at a second's notice. "We need to find out what this man you rescued knows of them and then you should show me where this happened. First those robots and now the police… He shakes his head slowly. "This needs to be dealt with. Now. Do you agree?"


The back of Jean rests against the wall. Her head lowers as she listens to the conversation within, fingers lifting to dig in and pull/tug at her hair to draw out a little bit of the kinks there. Her foot lifts to press against it, soon her arms begin to fold about her chest as she rests her ponytailed hair against, her eyes flit towards the sky.

~Clear the halls, young ones.~

The voice slowly crept through the ethers, the children slowly backing away from the once cheerful and youthful being that was Jean herself, who was now quiet. Purposeful. Yet still carrying a gentle kindness and a hint of danger beneath. ~Everything is all well..~

She smiles a little, though that fades as she turns a cheek to the door. And quietly, she murmurs.

"Magneto. Quick to act." Was she teasing? Who knows?


"A police officer was targeted. So one of them is acting with the likely knowledge of the others." Scarlett reaches uneasily into the pocket sewn into the underside of the skirt, and comes up with a piece of metal. Nothing impressive at all about it, the alloy nothing particularly odd for Erik to pick out. The shape, though, that's quite a distinctive one when she flips it open: a shield. "His badge," she says quietly. "I asked him to stop and appealed to him to walk away. He would not, and acted as though it was his mission. Then cleared every bullet he had at us, intended to kill us." Which explains the state of her clothing, all said and dead. "I have reason to think the fellow in question is a criminal, but nothing — nothing — justifies strapping a man down to a table intending to take him apart."

Soft words, yes. But the steeled green-blue hue of her eyes is hot enough. "I told him I would call someone. Charles, you, the ghost of the British Empire if it would help. We all know I cannot heal, though he isn't in terrible shape. High as a kite, and happy to babble all day about tigers. If there is anything encoded about that, I do not know what it means."

An affectionate smile all the same goes in Jean's direction. When the going gets hard, get the flame princess. The bubblegum princess has no issue with extending her hand in a graceful gesture of sorts. "I brought him to Cold Spring. Not far, but I couldn't risk the children. And throwing him in the grass didn't seem very bright."


"As we should be, Jean," Erik responds quietly. "The young ones came to me yesterday bearing a bucket full of the pieces of a robot apparently designed to categorize and hunt our kind. Today, police officers are kidnapping and murdering our brothers. If the time to act is not today then it was yesterday."

Stating this plainly Erik cocks his head and then sets his book aside onto his desk. "Very well. I would like to meet him. Jean, would you be willing to assist?" Erik's brooding frown is a familiar one. From beneath the desk his armor appears, folded neatly with his helmet atop it. Erik reaches out and takes the helmet in question, tucking it under his arm.

"I don't think Charles would approve but if the man can't tell us what we need to know… We need to know. I don't suppose you were able to capture who the officer in question was?" The tall, trim man is watching Scarlett as he starts toward the door, footsteps soft as his armor floats behind.


Whatever else they want to say about the terse situation, Scarlett isn't likely to interrupt the pair in their discussion. Not off the bat. Manners prove critical. "He is sitting pretty," she says of the victim. "The officer in question ran, but I know his name and rank, as does our new friend. They would be able to provide that. The badge is as good a link." Her gaze moves to Jean. "Would you be able to connect a psychic link? I would have brought along the bullets but the circumstances made things a little tight. Stop and pick them up or let a man get worse wounds than he had."


Finally a roll of her shoulder, a step of her foot brings her into view. Her arms still remained cross, and the expression across her face was completely neutral. Neutral and agreeable to Erik's words.

It was about damn time.

"I wouldn't mind assisting." She murmurs casually. "I also wouldn't mind speaking personally with the police officer who did attempt to.. hurt us. Our kind." She smiles a little tightly, then pats herself down. "I suppose we should suit up.." She murmurs quietly, taking a step back and away from the door, looking from left to right..

It was almost as if she were lost in a mental crowd and attempting to catch up. "..Oh.. I think I should move back in again.." Idle conversation, possibly to herself. "Call me when we're ready to leave, yes?" A hand lifts to tap at her head again, the effigy of the Phoenix slowly moving down the halls. "I can hear better than most now a days.."

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