1964-05-16 - The Summers Family
Summary: Time to meet the fams.
Related: N/A
Theme Song: None
scott hope 


With the afternoon bout of training finished, Scott's gotten a moment of free time for himself, trading out the visor in favor of a pair of sunglasses. For Scott, time to himself usually means tinkering with something. In this case, it's a car. Nothing flashy or impressive - this is part of the fleet the school keeps for students or staff to check out if they need to get into the city, and all he's up to at the moment is changing the oil, wearing a tank top and a pair of jogging shorts as he ducks under the hood.

*

Part of the deal is secrecy, of course. A small student body and easily trackable individuals limit accidental visitors beyond, say, the postman. At a distance it's just another redhead with a backpack over one shoulder, jeans and boots making her unimpressively singular. Or not. Except the height wouldn't be Miss Grey — there's a little more. The hair style is off. And, of course, the frozen distrust and paranoia creeping behind Hope's features now and then. She walks a straight line overland, mirroring the route of a road, if only one visible to her. Tramp, tramp, tramp, her footsteps are steady enough. And for all it's worth, venturing in does not come easily at all. She doesn't stop to whistle or greet, but there's risk enough.

All the funny sensations prickling at her skin more than tells her this is the place she was looking for. She stops. Might as well see if anyone comes bouncing out.

*

It's a day for unexpected visitors, apparently. Paranoid as he is, Scott's always alert to the comings and goings at the Institute, and he knows who belongs here and who doesn't. At first, the glimpse of red hair isn't alarming. He sets his mind for a mental greeting, disciplined as ever. But when it doesn't arrive, he ducks out from under the hood, wiping his forearm across his brow with a slight frown.

He takes a rag from where it hangs at the edge of the hood, wiping his hands off as he starts toward the gate to meet the girl on her way. "Afternoon," he calls over, sounding friendly enough.

*

Raising her hand to shield her eyes, Hope looks back at the man stepping out from around the car. Some kind of vehicle way larger than anything familiar, but then familiarity is all relative to points. Her bearing isn't easy, the grip on the strap of her backpack tightening instinctively. This kind of place gives her options, and on a perfectly nice day with seasonable temperatures, her mood can stay somewhere towards solemnly neutral.

"Hi," she replies. It's a bit of a rusty sound. Like the kind someone gets not talking very much for a while.

*

Scott tucks the rag into the back of his shorts as he reaches the gate, leaning casually against a cross-bar as he takes in the details of the approaching girl. Backpack. Demeanor. Stance. Not an immediate threat, but a potential one. He shifts his stance just a bit, feeling the reassuring weight of his visor in his pocket. Just in case.

"You look like you've come a long way. You lost?"

*

Not much of a threat visually. T-shirt. Jeans. Boots so scuffed they're probably suitable for walking over a desert. Hope comes to a stop and rests on her back heel, ready to do an about face at any moment. The swing of her fire-streaked hair is the only thing still in motion, teased by the wind, her hairband not doing a whole lot to keep her bangs from falling in her face.

"Don't think so. This the Prof's place?" She gestures with a thumb, not surrendering her fingers from around the bag's thick strap biting into her shoulder. "He makes it a real pain to drop a message."

*

Scott quirks a brow slightly, though he doesn't move away from the gate. Or open it, for that matter. "It's a school," he agrees, nodding once and pointing a thumb toward the sign at the gate: Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. "Private school, which is why it's not particularly easy to get ahold of anyone. Usually by appointment or referral only." He tilts his head, brow rising once more. "You have a referral?"

*

"He just about ruined my bagel, so I figure fair's fair." The crooked smile following lasts no more than two seconds. Hope isn't exactly the smiliest type outside of those whom she knows, and the guarded nature about her is particularly obvious when that falls. "Kinda. My dad keeps trying to get me here, anyways." A crook of her shoulders doesn't answer much, the grey t-shirt pulling tight. "Maybe they have an arrangement."

*

"Who's your dad?" Scott's still not going anywhere. He doesn't seem like he's going into direct confrontation mode just yet - maybe the recent arrivals have him a little less on edge than usual - but he's not opening the gate either. The school is barely visible behind him, safe enough behind a row of trees in case any of the students should accidentally make a show of their powers where someone could see it.

*

Hope isn't pushing forward, either. She holds her position comfortably enough, and every extra minute gives her a chance to adjust to the white noise of too many bees buzzing at the back of her skull. Almost as bad as M-Town, in a way. She slides her fingers along her brow and scratches at the point between her arching copper brows, leaving a few pink lines. "Mm." The hesitation could be telling, and she glances at the plaque. Still shiny and lovely, attached to the supporting columm. "Nate Summers."

*

Scott tilts his head slowly at the answer, brows furrowing in a curious frown. "Summers?" he echoes.

*

"Fine, I can skip to the point." Her hands both on the backpack, she swings it down to land between her boots. An elastic would help a whole lot right now, but Hope has to find one, and the assortment of things on her wrists doesn't include one. A tie might be made from the stretch of fabric knotted there, but she forgets that for a moment. "I'm Hope Summers. He," a nod to the school, "ran into me. He knows my dad, Nate. Nathan. Yeah?"

*

"Summers," Scott echoes again, watching the girl intently. It's not an uncommon name. Not entirely. But then again, it wouldn't be the first time he's run into family he didn't realize he had for a long time. "Where's he from, your dad? You know his parents' names?"

*

ROLL: Hope +rolls 1d100 for a result of: 25

*

Hope looks back with those grave, unreadable green eyes. Unspeakably old in too young a face. Her nose wrinkles a little, mouth screwed up in a crushed circle. "Around this and now, I guess." She gives the oddest of looks to the young man. The first applied tease of awareness in her skull resolves by looking at him, for a fairly lengthy moment. It isn't the face that gives things away, not really, but the faintest sheen of crimson falling like embers across a cool kelly-green field and that focused look at Scott for the first time that breeds an inkling. Her eyebrows arch a little. "I'm being rude, aren't I? Um… sorry, rusty with some of this stuff. Who're you?" The answer might almost be there, crackling in memory along with the heat giving afterimages when she blinks. Red vanishes. "His dad's Scott."

*

"I'm-" And just when Hope says the name, so does he: "Scott." Slowly, he straightens up from his lean against the fence, wiping his hands on the rag at the back of his shorts one more time to buy himself a minute to think. "Scott Summers. But I don't have any kids, certainly not any old enough to have kids of their own. And I don't remember having any uncles named Scott back home. I mean, my memories are a little fuzzy, there was a plane crash, I…" He rubs at the back of his head, looking away with a frown.

*

She stares at him with unblinking eyes. "Do you have a cousin, maybe?" It's just smoke and mirrors in a way. Hope is not inherently cruel, and the prompt has all the tells of reaching for a straw piece of logic. And this is the man who sold the world. Not now, but one day. One day sacrificed her for a future. Or that's the story.

Her fingers scratch behind her ear, skating down for an odd escape. "I get the fuzzy bit. Sometimes things feel a bit out of sequence but that part, the names, I remember."

*

"Not with the same name. I've got a brother, Alex, but I'm pretty sure he doesn't have kids either. And they still wouldn't be old enough to have kids of their own." Scott turns back toward the fence, shoulders stiffening just a bit. There's still an unmistakeable idealism about this young man - even Cable would recognize the difference. The world hasn't entirely hardened him yet. But there's stubborn steel in his spine, too, as he crosses his arms over his chest. The seed of what might one day grow.

"Sorry, it's…Kind of moot, really. Like I said, it's a private campus, we don't really do visits. Gimme a minute, though, I'll give you a ride into town until the Professor can come out for a meeting." And make sure this girl isn't a telepath, pulling names from his head.

*

The seed and the fruit that fell from the most warped tree. Hope gives a faint little smile. "Right." And poor Cable doesn't stand a chance when she tells him off-the-cuff his dad looks much happier than he has any right to, in this benighted age. "Well, if you're not my grandpa then hi. That would be really awkward otherwise. Maybe the Professor can figure it out." Let's put the logic problem to him and see what happens when his brain temporarily explodes.

Especially given the girl is, at the moment, a telepath. And possibly able to conjure nacho cheese for no apparent reason, in quantities sufficient to make a Mexican fiesta fantastic. Maybe less on the latter side. Her expression is settled. "I get it. Let him know I dropped by. It's kind of important for him, less for me. Good to see everything is still standing, though."

*

"No, I mean…" Scott rubs a hand at the back of his head again, every bit the awkward young man still finding himself. "I mean, I'll take you into town and wait with you. Just give me a second to get the hood down and I'll be right back." He takes a few steps back, turning to look over his shoulder. "Seriously. Just wait there."

*

Well, of all the options she has, waiting is the least bad of them. Hope leans over to flip the flap of her bag, and stuff her hand into the contents, pulling out two chocolate bars. Two. Because either it's a peace offering or she has to make up for having the constitution of a deer and a nuclear reactor for a metabolism.

*

It doesn't take long, and then the unremarkable car is puttering up to the gate. Scott gets out long enough to open the gate, drives the car through, then gets back out to close it…and even opens the door for Hope. Because he's got manners. Not enough to have put on real clothes, but it's a step in the right direction at least. "Are you hungry?" he asks as he starts toward the city. "There's a drive-in that does pretty good burgers and fries. The shakes are the best, though."

*

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