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Scott had been riding his motorcycle around, trying to clear his head. He's been occupied quite a bit lately and hasn't been around so much. But things are starting to get nasty out in the world. He's worried. They had to keep these kids safe. They had to make a difference. And it was getting harder every day.
He unzipped his leathers and peeled off his gloves, stuffing them in his pockets as he went in the foyer, preparing to head up to his office and get at least a little bit of paperwork out of the way. Then maybe he'd see if he could round anybody up for a game of tennis.
It really wasn't possible for Scott to get too far into the building. Once he hit the stairs, Jean remained an unmovable force, both arms outstretched to at least stop him, and realizing how dumb she looked, lowered them. Arms folded about her chest, she steps into the center of the staircase, feet planted so that she could dash left and right if need be, hoping to block the path which would cause him success or.. maybe even form a telekinetic barrier to keep him steady.
"We need to talk, Slim." She says, her voice not stern, but concerned. "I can feel your tormoil a mile away. And your worry. And you keep me up at night. Should I call Charles and beg him to come home?"
He raises his eyebrows, his eyes hidden behind ruby quartz. "Then let's talk. Your office or mine?" he says. He seems bemused by her stand shuffling at any rate.
"Shit's getting messy out there, Jean. No polite way to put it," he says. "And I'll be damned if I have a good idea of what to do about it."
"Nooo.." Jean states, her hand pulled out to press against Scott's chest. "I don't want to go to my office right now. We can talk right here. I already know what you're going to do, you're going to get in there, you're going to pace, you're going to get angry and then claim that I'm losing sight of things or something or other. Though I'm not." She smiles a little tight.
"You're preaching to the choir. We know things are messed. But you internalizing isn't going to make everything right. So. Let's walk. Yeah?"
Scott runs a hand through his hair, "Fine. Let's at least walk towards the kitchen. I want a sandwich," he says.
"It's just frustrating. It's one thing when we have a clear enemy and an obvious target. But this? This is just…mayhem," he mutters. "It's like people have gone mad."
Forge comes inside after a session of working on the flying car project. He's going toward the kitchen himself, going inside, and quickly washing his hands to get started.
Julie meanwhile, comes along the hall, carrying a pair of books and a coffee mug that appears to need for refilling.
What is it with motorcycles around here? Rhetorical question. Kwabena's been taking his in and out from the city, avoiding his Harlem apartment simply to avoid increasing the odds of it being ransacked. He's spent the past hour scrubbing a particularly nasty word that was painted into the body of the motorbike, and when he arrives in the kitchen, he's got sleeves rolled up, sweat on his brow, and the stink of turpentine on his person.
The man goes straight for the water and fills a glass. He's been eerily quiet around here lately, coming and going and not speaking much to anyone. Jean may be the only person who can see past the assumptions one might make about his silence.
He's hunting.
"I'll meet you there. There's a gift I actually got for you that I wanted you to have." Giving a slight wave towards Julie, and heads back up the stairs.
Scott nods and makes his way to the kitchen, where he finds Forge, "Morning," he says, heading over to the refrigerator to get out the ingredients for an old fashioned dagwood. He sees Shift and Julie both coming in shortly thereafter.
"Julie, you must be ecstatic to have so many gearheads in the house at once," he grins. "I presume you've drafted her to help with your little project?" he says to Forge as he starts to pile up cold cuts.
Forge nods to Scott, as he dries his hands, then sets about making a Sandwich. "Good morning," he says with a wave to Kwabena, Scott, Julie, and the passing-through Jean. "I think I've drafted her truck at the very least, to get some sheet metal from upstate. Whether this will work depends on whether I can get the proper materials. I didn't plan to spend too much money on it." He starts his sandwich by cutting a large roll in half.
Julie smirks to Scott as she pauses on the way to the coffeepot, and winks. "Crazy." She often uses this word as a compliment, but, well, that descriptor might actually fit Forge's project there. She nods to Forge, "Well, for sheetmetal, there's always salvage. We find some aviation scrap, maybe we'll get parts that'll save some trouble that way. And weight." She does nod to Scott. Word's likely gotten around since she called in Friday night, having witnessed some of the Financial District attack. "Anything more been heard about our ground-sinking lady or any of that?"
Half of that glass of water is downed in one long gulp. Kwabena sets the glass down and nods his head toward Scott. "Summahs," he greets, and looks over toward Forge and Julie. "Hey, if you need scratch," he tells Forge, "I'll give you some. Do not need to pay me back eidah." A wicked look crosses his eye, paired with the upturn of his mouth. "Just give me a turn behind de wheel when you get it flying."
A dangerous proposition, considering his reputation for turning vehicles into ramming devices.
Julie's mention of the ground-sinking villain wipes that look right off his face. "Been looking," he tells her. "No dice."
Jean bursts into the kitchen in a blaze of glory; holding a package that was packed tight with a ribbon upon it, her face lit up like a christmas tree even though the holiday was a long ways off. But as she sees those gathered, her face falls, the package soon held tightly and then shoved beneath her arm with a relent that only a spoiled child would hold as they attempt to show off their finger paints.
"Oh. Hey guys." She says, not dejected, but genuinely happy to see everyone. The package was soon set upon the table as she goes about making coffee for herself. Spokeswoman for Maxwell House, here she comes. Current conversation was taken in, a quiet listen of course, and onward. "I suppose I need to leave soon, if that's the case. I suppose you all can handle everything still while I'm out of the country?"
Scott doesn't mention the package, other than to walk over and nudge Jean's elbow in thanks. He'll open it another time but, for now, he focuses on making more sandwiches. He isn't going to just eat all by himself after all.
"Keep working," he says to Shift. "I want to get intel on some of what's going down in the city. Mutant Town can't be doing well right now and I haven't been able to make it to the city in a while. Anybody seen anything in that regard?"
Forge starts loading roast beef onto his sandwich, layered with some barbecue sauce. "Shift? Sure. If you're willing to do the crazy thing of getting into a car with a rocket built into it, I'll let you drive it. It'll be pretty hard to crash unless you try, since it's not going to be built for acrobatics." Jean he notes again, nodding, looking at her package.
Julie nods, putting some cream and sugar in her own coffee, with a glance to Jean, "Come again? This means you gotta leave the country?" She shakes her head to Scott, "Well, there ain't been any big trouble for Mutant Town yet, but I'm kinda worried about the kids from there going home to see their folks." It's around the end of a semester, after all. "There's been a lotta trouble in the rest of town, though, and, well, if this don't blow over soon, someone's probably gonna get ambitious."
One things for certain, Kwabena has never backed down from a challenge. The grin returns with more subtlety, and he nods his head toward Forge, approving of this plan.
"Is nothing new," he says, raising his voice a bit. "Hell. I have seen dis since I was littah boy, is just more out dere now." His tone drops back into a conversational one. "Angry peopah won't go make troubah in Mutant Town because dey ah afraid will get dere nuts blown off. Is oddah places where dere will be problems. Bronx, Harlem, BedStuy…" He shakes his head, but before going on, it pivots to Jean. "Where ah you going?"
Jean gives a little shrug towards Forge as he looks to her and then the package, her nose wrinkling a little as she regards Julie. "If you're unable to find and locate the ground shifting mutant, then yes. I have to leave the country." She places her mug down before she even attempts a pour, then explains. "Those mutants that we rescued need to be secure and safe. And I'm leaving to make sure that it happens. That's all."
As for mutant town, it does seem like something that could be taken care of briefly, something that's slightly within her purview, but then not. As Kwabena asks where she will go? A little grin appears upon her lips. "I'd tell you, but then I'd have to lobotomize you." She pauses in thought. "Or eat your soul. Which ever is more enticing to you." She was kidding. "But.. I'd rather not tell you. Plausible deniability.."
"Jean knows her business," he says simply. He doesn't know where she's going either, but they don't have to know that.
"If we're working on tracking, maybe try to drag Logan into it. Not that I'm sure he'd do much good, but he might as well pitch in," he says.
"And I'm fine with experimentation. I'm excited for the possible results. But I will still be very put out if you end up blowing one another to smithereens with that Frankenstein you're building. Very. Put. Out. Indeed."
Forge snickers at Jean's little joke as he gets his sandwich together, then grabs a large napkin. Now a beverage. He starts pondering his opens as he hums. "Well Jean, hopefully conditions bring you back as soon as possible." He grabs a cold, refreshing Coke, but doesn't need a bottle opener. His metallic hand will do the job just fine, getting a finger under the cap and popping it open.
Julie nods. "Oh, right, yeah, that's a concern. That lady came to grab up some of the bad guys we'd knocked out, apparently left a couple of others behind, for whatever reason. Also, another thing, they was all speaking African languages, so I guess that's where they're still getting their subjects from. They got this pyrokinetic who's really no joke. Burned hot enough to melt cars in a few seconds, and turned most of it to steam when I started opening fireplugs."
"Well dat is good reason as any," Kwabena answers Jean. He's certainly not going to press the issue, for neither option are particularly appealing to him.
"Here's what I do not undahstand. If dose scientists made dose peopah into mutants, why did dey attack us?" He looks around at the group. Forge was not on the mission in Ghana, but everyone else was. "You don't take person from African village and make dem violent ovahnight. Dere has to be something." He reaches for the glass of water and takes a drink, but as he considers it, his expression begins to darken. As if… as if he may have just figured it out.
Scott takes a few minutes to focus on the important thing: sandwiches. He piles up toppings and then slices each one just right, diagonally from corner to corner, the way God intended.
"Some sort of brainwashing, I'd assume," he says. "We'll have to have Jean delve into the brains of someone if we can bring them in. Maybe that should be a first priority - if we can ask questions directly, it saves having to speculate."
Forge starts to bite into his sandwich as het urns, and listens to the others. "Someone found someone from Africa, and weaponzed that person? A mutant?"
Julie nods, sipping her coffee. "Been guessing it's something like they tried doing to Kwabena, that and I guess they had hostages in Ghana, or said they did," she says about the brainwashing. "Yeah, at least five more. And then there was the ones we saw in your home country."
Kwabena shakes his head to Julie. "No, not dat. Dat was only because of my… transformation. I cannot do dat, it messes with my head too much." He snaps his fingers to her then, repeating a word she says. "Hostages. Dat is de word." He turns and looks to the others, trying to explain.
"In Africa, you have peopah who live in de cities. Dey have jobs, money, homes. Like us. But de villagers? Dey simply survive. Dey build dere own sheltah, grow and hunt dere own food. If you want to make someone do something, you threaten what is most dear to dem. Dere food, dere livestock… or de lives of de peopah dey love."
He looks toward Forge with an expression of apology. "Dere is a whole report on it, a mission to Ghana two months ago, I will make copy for you."
Scott Summers nods sadly, "Not a good situation," he says in response to Kwabena's account. "And whether they're blackmailed or brainwashed, we can't let our pity or our concern keep us from putting a stop to it. Two wrongs don't make a right. I want to save these people, too, but we can't let innocent people suffer either," he sighs.
"Maybe we can see if there are any intelligence contacts we can work. I know Jean knows some people in SHIELD. There has to be a way to find out who's behind this."
Julie nods, adding to Scott, "I thought they'd been working on that since Ghana, actually. One thing's pretty certain, though, there's gotta be a lotta money behind this thing, if they could make not just one, but two of those kinds of bases that they been using to do this to people. WHatever else you can say about that setup, it ain't cheap."
Forge nods to Shift at the explanation. "I'll have to try to read it if I'm needed in any way. A mission to Ghana." His sandwich needs attention though, so he steadily starts working on that. "I don't think I could fly us there, but if there's anything I can do, I'm happy to try."