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Warm days bring a slow overturn to the earth. Even New York state eventually surrenders to sunshine and persistent breezy afternoons. Fresh grass crops up through a thicket flattened by the usual gaggle of students, and several of those key individuals tend to flop under trees and seek consolation under the trees instead of staying inside. Cabin fever devours a few, after a long, hard winter full of grey afternoons and stormy days.
The bohemienne standing as elder student and likely tutor kneels in one of the beds on a folded vinyl wedge. Beside her a row of tulips and gleefully sprout in a wild array of butter yellow, carmine, and striped scarlet on white. Digging with a spade to create a number of holes, her efforts concentrate on preparing the soil for a number of herbs and perennials already budding with flowers. A pile of weeds already fills a paper bag standing almost three feet tall, leaves and deadfall tossed inside.
She hums to herself, the kerchief wrapped around Scarlett's head holding back her heavy flame-dark braids. The tune has elements of jazz, and the bite of the spade cuts another gap intended for Siberian harebells, the hue brilliant purple.
*
A voice echoes behind Scarlett as she plants for the garden, "You know, I've always been amazed how well you do with the flowers." Lo and behold, it's the Professor, back from his all-too-brief sabbatical. Though he's discarded the suit he normally wears for a comfortable looking sweatshirt, jeans, and some shoes that have seen far too many days, he still has the dignity around him as if he were wearing that suit anyway. Even as he smiles, "Seems like we're getting a late start this year."
*
Fluttering petals open to the sun and sharp green leaves fluttering around the sea of colour sway as Scarlett rests back on her heels. A smudge of dirt marks her pale cheekbone, and a few loose strands wave about her face. Any moment when Charles remotely appears casual warrants speculation, but she offers a blithe smile anyways. "Out for a walk, or escaping from the demands upon your time?" The fact she should burn in the sun proves she isn't all vanilla Homo sapiens; though not tanning, her skin is far too fair to get by without one of her famed broad-brimmed hats. Today, she dares. "The soil still feels cold and I doubt we can escape without a frost warning before May Day. I couldn't wait. We all benefit from a little extra colour." Psychedelic pink stonecrop and aubrieta, for example, swarming around paving stones give wild pops of intense hues.
*
Charles actually smiles, "Well, it should look quite lovely once it blooms. And well, I just arrived last night, met with some of the other stu…" He pauses, and laughs softly, "Well, no longer students, but Jean, Logan and Scott were there to meet me. But then again, I guess you all seem like students still, to me. And besides, one can hardly walk around the gardens in a suit."
He pauses a bit, then looks at Scarlett, "How have you been doing? Aside from the unusually late winter, that is." He does sound a little concerned when he asks, but that's hardly unusual.
*
A lively border does wonders for a rather lovely Victorian manor worthy of the title palace, at least to many students used to bungalows and cramped apartments. "I apologise for not being there," Scarlett says, drawing her fingers languidly across the dug furrow to dislodge clumps of soil holding together valiantly in spite of her efforts. Breaking them down into sepia crumbles makes lifting and settling the unpotted perennials all the easier. "We have learned under your tutelage. In that way we are always students, as you remain our teacher." Her voice remains soft, tinged by the accent that could be English of the southern counties or somewhere more remote. "Though I think I've moved beyond the lessons here in academics, I have not ceased to need other instruction. The same is true for Jean and the rest."
Her movements hold a certain grace, her gaze turned up to him. Those changeable green eyes remain verdant, true to herself. No telling if they might shift, signalling a mental rearrangement. "Struggling at times for purpose. Nothing new there. I would bring troubled parties to a table and talk, but they usually resist that. Did Jean tell you of the starfarers who took us?" A pause follows. "They did little enough to me, though they wounded her far deeper, in some way. How are you?"
*
A rueful look crosses the Professor's face at that, "I hadn't heard about this, though I'll make a note to talk to her about that. What happened, precisely?" His eyes narrow a touch at the mention of wounding Jean, though he can't help but smile a little bit at the mention of talking out troubles, "I always admired your optimism about working out problems without violence. Though the vacation went well. You would have liked it, and I managed to bring back a few things from Doctor Tolkien, restocking the library and such." He looks like he both needed the vacation and regrets taking the time away when things happen to his students when he's not around.
*
"It may be worth pursuing," Scarlett murmurs, caught red-handed on a topic the other redhead has not divulged. Can one hold any concrete secrets from a telepath, other than another telepath? Food for thought, and not any she cares to chew over. "We were taken on a camping trip. Plucked out of the forest and she ended up restrained, subjected to examination that thoroughly tormented her. Me, they simply isolated on a dead world of my thoughts and it took a damnably long time to emerge." The ghost of a shadow lies over her pert features, deadening the bright sheen usually present on her voice. "Libraries sound a far better diversion than hovering in the stars. Better to be lost among the pages." A rather regrettable habit on her part; she can read and fail to notice an apocalypse, nearly.
*
Charles frowns a little, "I see… with the recent riot that broke out at a peaceful march, they were focusing on that and not…" He pauses, "Do you know who it was that did this to you both? I find it difficult to believe they just let you both go."
*
A look slips over her features, distant in part. "Yes, the riot. Terrible that we see such sentiments again, but the violence last year turned out to have a subliminal influence. I cannot help but think people do not feel this way, only may be pushed to act," says the redhead, breathing out a sigh upon the air. "I do not know, Professor, that I can speak for her. I would suggest you ask her experience."
*
The Professor nods, "Yes, from the descriptions Scott gave me, I suspect there might have been an outside influence. Though I'm going to try and reach out to Erik, and see if I can find out more." He gets a bit of a wry look at that point, "Assuming, of course, he'd want to speak to me about it, or in general."
*
"Troubling. Was he present, at least?" The curious gleam in the girl's verdant eyes is nothing out of the ordinary, though it helps to dispel the frown that wants to settle upon her mouth. "I trust that you would be someone he would care to speak to, at least more than I or others. Though you know him better than most."
*
Charles sighs a bit, "He was there, and apparently used his powers against some of the bystanders. I don't know all the specifics, but I intend to find out." He gives Scarlett a concerned look, "Erik and I have a… complicated friendship, to be sure, but I hope that if this was a psychic attack of some sort he would actually want to talk to me. Though, a telepath that can best his defenses isn't anyone to be trifled with."
*
"Or anyone to talk to, in most of our cases. I would rather not wake up in government possession." A license for trouble threatens the safety of all mutants, and the last thing anyone needs is her particular gift weaponized in any fashion. There is reason she will stay far, far away from scientists and nice men in lab coats. "Otherwise, I heard mention from him of robots? Mutant hunting robots or something of that sort? I am not sure what it foretells, but he was troublingly vague on the matter. That alone may warrant the need for a visit, if I am not too forward to imply the necessity. "
*
Charles nods, "Oh, it was pretty much a necessity already, but now it makes it moreso." He looks contemplative for a moment, glancing back over the small dock on the grounds, not too far away. "Robots, that's rather troubling by itself. If the government, or someone else, mass produces some sort of mutant hunting robot…" He frowns, "Perhaps I need to make a call to some of my government contacts, at least the ones that still will return my calls anyway."
*
"Would it be a wish among the stares to seek a respite from our travails," murmurs the bohemian, reaching for the flowers. She sets each of them about four inches apart, easily moving down the row and dropping each into a hole. Smoothing dirt over them will follow afterwards, easing the transition from pot to earth in time. "I would worry that the government holds some auspices over such a program, but I can speak quietly at Columbia among certain professors and find out whether they know anything. Not precisely my bailiwick, but close enough as the matter comes."
*
A slight smile from Charles at that, "Not a bad idea. They might actually know something if they helped develop some of the systems." His expression grows a bit more amused, "Frankly, as a renowned expert in genetic mutation, I'm a tad disappointed they didn't contact me, but I'm probably too much of an activist for them. And I'll speak with Hank as well, I'm sure we can try to construct some sort of counter-measures."
*
"Perchance they need reminders you are accessible," Scarlett murmurs. "Or it could well be, yes, your reputation and your coiffure precede you. It is rather daunting to hold court at a table with a man of your stature, in that you are young, educated, and well-liked. All those ivory tower cynics will hardly know what to make of someone who has seen beyond a dust cover in the past decade." Her mouth flicks up in a smile. "I am sure we can come up with something."
*
Charles chuckles, "I don't think you get to call me young, though compared to most of them I suppose that I am." He looks a bit amused, "Well, I should probably head back in and get some class schedules planned out for the next semester. I wish there were times I had super speed instead of telepathy, just to get everything done at once. And don't stay out too long, wouldn't do to have you get burned." A bit of a parental note, probably as he's still feeling the 'young' comment as he smiles and waves, moving back into the mansion proper.
*