Class Dismissed

September 6th, 2014: Betsy visits Quentin after class lets out. Banter ensues.

X-Mansion: Random Classroom

Everyone should know what a classroom looks like.



  • None

Mood Music:

At the stroke of five o'clock Friday afternoon and finally the school is quiet. The students have either headed off to gather together or to their dormitories to get ready for the weekend. The first week of classes have passed and for most of the students it was just another beginning of the school year. But for one of the instructors at the school it is a week that's left its mark upon him.

It started out well enough, the whole bit of telepathy helped but having insight into the children's minds at times did nothing to really dispell the utter banality and malice present in each child's mind. Sure there were glimmers of brilliance here or there and it was difficult to get them to focus on those glimmers and overcome their self-consciousness to speak up. It was only when he started to cover the plight of minorities through the ages that some of the students became interested.

Yet now it's Friday and sitting at his desk going over the small pile of essays set before him, Quentin Quire is perhaps serving some bit of karmic justice by having to deal with these horribly written and absent of merit little compositions that make him challenge his very choice to come here and make this an attempt at a career. So much so that were there another telepath nearby they'd have a small window into the man's thoughts, a rare window showing his exasperation and general ill humor.

"Part of being a teacher is the fact that you can be unbiased when it comes to dealing with the most irritable, bastard child with fairness."

She was leaning in the doorway, no indication of where she came from or if she was coming all together. Because she was ninja, and generally cool like that. There was also no indication on if he had such a hell week or if she has been reading his mind the entire time, that is, when the walls were down and she was let in of course. But the way he sat gave her enough ammo to speak her mind without reading into his own; we would like to call that insightful.

"I don't know what it's typically called in New York, but back in England, instructors were allowed at least two Fridays a month to get their bearings as to not murder or do something ill towards the children under their care. Perhaps you should mention such a day like that to the Professor, I'm sure he'll agree. Or take you off the teaching rotation." Snerk, giggle giggle, Psy wasn't being mean, but she was not going to pass up the chance to make fun.

Looking back up at her, Quentin cocks an eyebrow sardonically as their minds meet for that faint moment. No aggression, just the small contact as if to let each other know they are there, at most a mental hello. But his lip curls into a smirk and he pushes the paper that had his attention away. "Brilliant idea, tell the boss that I can't hack it after the first week. Way to instill confidence."

Of course he then looks at the papers and shakes his head. "Though if I have to read another one of these today I'm going to snap and they'll find me dancing around in the courtyard wearing a tutu." He grabs his 'in' box and flips it over to cover the essays, hiding them from view and hopefully from mind as well. His attention shifts back towards her, "Haven't seen you around the mansion much, started to think you might have been a figment of my imagination that night in England."

Slowly he gains his feet, grabbing his black jacket from the back of his chair. That white dress shirt is precisely pressed and pristine, though it does hug his swimmer's frame rather well. Yet any hint to his physique is hidden once again when he swings that jacket on one arm at a time.

"Confidence has nothing to do with it. If you can't hack it, you can't hack it. Nothing wrong with admitting the truth, mate. In not doing so, you do more damage than you would good." She says this as she moves inside the class room finally, picking the chair closest towards the door. Thankfully, the chair isn't connected to the desk, so she's allowed to pull it out as far as she could to plop herself down into, booted feet kicked up upon the written upon desk to relax.

Hands soon fold within her lap as she watches him, one brow raised and a sigh given. "I know. I probably should stick around and at least pretend to be more active around the school, but I have an allergy to teaching and dealing with students that don't involve me getting into a fight, so I tend to stay away. Besides, its more entertaining out there than it is in here." She gestures around a bit, to emphasise the point.

"I figure I'll come when needed, since we are still dealing with that Syria business. My ear has been low to the ground, not to mention, I do have family that could be affected by it. So I'm checking on them occasionally to make sure they're alright."

Stepping around the desk, Quentin takes up a seat upon the edge of it as he faces her, one foot higher than the other and the knee supporting his crossed wrists as he leans forward. It's the classic poise of the attentive teacher as if he were mirroring her own classical rendition of the obstinate student. "I'd like to be informed when things go down with the Hydra base. Just because I'm doin' this doesn't mean I can't do other things. Was a kinda important part of my agreement to come back."

There's a tilt of his head, and for once he doesn't try to pick the answer out of a conversational partner's head before he asks a question, "So what brings you here? I figured you'd be off being purple and beautiful somewhere suitably swank." Yeah he says swank, that's right. He's bringing it back.

Her hands lift, disarmingly of course. "Don't let me know that. Talk to Scott. He's the Blue Team leader, and pretty much calls the shots for me, Remy and Rogue. If it were up to me, I'd put you to the test to see if you were made of stone first and fore most, and if not, you'd be tossed to the Red Team, all public and sweet like." She smiles just a little at that, then drops her hands upon the desk, finger nails loudly clicking out a cadance of her own design.

"Then of course, you'll probably have to speak to Beast to get inoculated.." Which she has still yet to do, ".. Maybe talk to Storm a bit.. wait.. I think she's Blue Team as well, I forget." One of her hands lift to dig nails against her scalp, confusion clearly settling in.

"Yeah, think I better stick around some, I'm losing me bloody marbles on who is with who now a days.."
To add: "And I came back because I live here too, and swank is a horrible word."

"There is nothing wrong with swank." Quentin makes that declaration with all the solemnity of a supreme court justice, his eyes remaining on hers with a wry glimmer in the brown irises. He then makes his own dismissive gesture to the side, "And as for me being solid or whatever, I'd make you and your compadres look like bush leagers if I was going to go all hard core, lucky for you folks I'm angling all part-timer."

There's a pause as he looks to the side, "Though, kidding aside, I don't think your team needs another telepath. Might be a bit of overkill. I mean if I was on the team too it'd like triple the mental firepower you all have." Oh it's going to be like that, is it?

"There is everything wrong with swank. That is back in the 80's. Stop living in the past, my darling. Search the kids mind, you'll find an entire encyclopaedia of slang to adapt to. I have. With permission of course." She issues a small wink, then drops her legs from the table to plant elbow where foot previously was.

"So you are saying, that if you were added to the Blue Team, you would triple the psychic prowess by three fold alone? As if -I- had no merit?" She smacks her lips, leaning back then, hands returning towards her lap to lace fingers and squeeze.

"How… interesting. So you're a braggart. That was something I didn't expect from you just by staring at you. I'm tempted to put it to the test. Tempted."

But everyone knows, or should know by now, that Psylocke was the lazy sort. No moving without a purpose.

The formerly beleaguered instructor has found something else to occupy his thoughts and that conundrum is right in front of him. "It's not bragging if it's true." But then he looks up and adds, "Wait, no, maybe it still is." He hrms to himself and scritches at his chin, perhaps giving her a faint momentary glance at the ink along his wrist, little more than a hint of a tribal pattern that is there for a moment and gone the next.

"Yet perhaps my motivation for making such broad statements are to perhaps goad you into such a test. Whichever result being entirely acceptable considering it'd serve to keep your attention and as an excuse to possibly offer you a moment or two of amusement." Quentin opens his hands as if asking for her to take the veracity of his words from him directly. "I grudgingly do admit that back in England it was an unexpected positive to make your acquaintance. I had thought I'd known all the telepaths of particular talent."

His lip curls and he leans forward a bit, "Tell me, do you think it's simply a recessive trait that all us mental powerhouses are just so damn attractive? I think it must be."

Betsy's brow raise for half a moment then lower, her face remaining stoic even though her mind races at the possibilities of what she could say that could make this entire 'meet and greet' go horribly wrong. But she was learning herself, keeping her mouth shut with a thin line, head cocking just a little to offer up the peoples eyebrow with a tiny bit of a smirk. She did it better than The Rock ever could.

"At least your means of keeping my attention is quite unique compared to the others. I do have to give you that." She stands now, causing the chair to slide back with a terrible screech across the floor, standing to her full height which comparable to some, isn't much at all.

"But don't you consider not knowing me or anyone else that has the mental capacities such as 'yours'.." She even made the quotation marks with her fingers, "is a gross oversight on your part? You should possibly get that checked out." She clicks her tongue upon her teeth after those words, preparing to head towards the door if she's not stopped.

His last question does cause her to think however, not because it could have been a flirt or some sort of flattery, but he does make a good point. Most of the telepaths or those with power are all attractive, there was no two shakes about it. "You do have a point though, almost all telepaths, or any sort of mutant or meta human are slightly attractive than the norm. Slightly…" She stops just at the threshold of the door, hand reaching out to touch upon the wood. "But it isn't beauty that makes the person, you should know that. It's all about substance, and the know how to flirt properly with someone on par as such as yourself." Cue wink here.

At those last few words, Quentin finds himself grinning. It's been so long since he's met someone really willing to call him on his bullshit, so it's damned nice to find her in such a lovely package. But for now he does nothing to dissuade her of her imaginings or presumptions about him. Indeed, instead he leers after her sidelong, perhaps feeling young again for a bare moment as he lifts a hand and calls out after her, "See you around, Braddock."

Back to: RP Logs

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 License