X-Pect Bacon

October 05, 2014: Breakfast in the Xavier Institute, followed by the promise of a sparring match with wooden blades. Typical.

Xavier's Institute - New York City

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Mood Music:

Early Sunday morning.

Betsy was up for some ungodly reason, she couldn't sleep or she did sleep, but that hyper awareness of hers just wouldn't settle. So she does what any woman would do, she heads straight for the kitchen and begins to cook. It was mostly for herself really, a nice large stack of pancakes, random bits of bacon and sausage just in case she wanted something different than what was cooked. Eggs, constantly stirred until fluffed to perfection and decorating the dish, a lot left over for whomever wants to come and eat, of course.

Should she do toast? Yeah, she'll do toast, blueberry jam added to it, the spread made out and settled upon the island of the kitchen in which she just.. stares at.

Now she wasn't hungry.

But, whatever! She makes herself a plate, careful not to ruin the beautiful breakfast spread she put together for no reason at all. The only thing that was missing was coffee, which she gets right to making.


Scott Summers is usually up by sundawn, if not before. He can usually be seen, running the grounds, lap after lap after lap. Today, he's done the same, complete with sweat pants and a hoodie to ward off the fresh, autumn chill. Eventually, of course, he finds his way to the kitchen. Not for coffee, not for tea, but for a large glass of water and sustenance.

The smell hits him before he gets there, and so he comes in, towel draped over his neck, eyes peering around curiously. When he sees Betsy, a smile spreads across his face, and he leans a hand up against the wall in a casual manner.

"What happened to breakfast in bed?" he quips.


Ah! The coffee was done, even though she was a tea girl in the morning, there was nothing like the extreme bitterness that coffee provides. A coffee cup was grabbed from the cabinets, placed upon the counter, filled with creamer first so that a spoon isn't wasted to mix. Once it was poured, she turns around to reach for the plate, totally missing Scott's entrance and.. being frightened by realizing that he was there.

"Holy mother of…" She barks out, her eyes rolling as she casts off a final grin, cup soon placed upon the counter as she leans against it, both hands gripping the edges.

"You obviously weren't in bed. And you're not the type to actually go back after a run, are you?"

Simple question really, but the counter top was tapped lightly as she gestures around the little spread she created. "Hungry?"


"Not at all," he answers. "And yes, I'm famished. But." Scott holds up a finger and walks toward the cabinet, withdrawing a large glass that is quickly filled with filtered water. "You never gorge yourself after a workout, no matter how hard your body wants you to." Of course, Betsy knows this. He's not lecturing her, it's clear from the tone of his voice that he's having a bit of fun.

He takes a big, long drink, before turning to inspect the spread. "Still, that's… impressive. You know, the last time I tried to cook breakfast, the smoke alarms went off."


If there was a time for Betsy to roll her eyes… she doesn't do it. She does reach out to pinch the back of his neck as he moves past, then drags her already prepared plate closer to her. Standing and eating, she should possibly sit, but she wasn't in the sitting mood. She was restless, though one probably couldn't tell because of her stiff upper lip attitude.

"You need a proper lesson." She states clearly, glancing around the kitchen. "You already have the attentive attitude and willingness to be patient. Besides, cooking is usually mostly trial and error, with a lot of experimentation." This causes her to think, her fingers plucking the bacon from the pile of meat to take a bite out of and chew.

"Mm. Which reminds me of that katana I gave you. I suppose we should get started on training soon for that, yes? Go for another romp in the danger room, low setting, nothing overly serious." She turns now to watch him, holding out a piece of bacon that she just bit off of for him to take.

"What do you say, ol' sport?"


Beast could always brew coffee in his lab…there's a keurig there for just that (and tea's) purpose, but it's so different when it's brewed the more traditional way. Between that and the scent of breakfast, well, he was lured into the kitchen. He pauses at the entryway before clearing his throat to announce his presence, "Is this to share by any chance?" Because really, he probably wouldn't make himself a breakfast this nice.


If Scott noticed Betsy's restless attitude, he doesn't acknowledge it, or remark about it. Ruby-quartz glasses are naturally opaque, and often hide those little things that usually clue others in on a person's thoughts and expressions. He considers her offer for a moment, then reaches out to accept a piece of bacon, shoving it into his mouth for a good chew.

"Mmm," he says, nodding his head to her. "Good bacon."

Scott looks over at Hank, another smile spreading onto his face. He takes a step back, gesturing toward the spread. "Betsy's call. 'Morning, Hank. Sleep well?"

He takes another drink of water before looking back toward Betsy. He sets the glass down, pulls the sweat-dampened towel from his neck, and begins folding it up. "Well, I did my Sunday run. Not a full run. So, I suppose a bit more strenuous activity wouldn't kill me." He glances back toward Hank. "Hank, you ever practiced swordplay with a katana?"


He loves her bacon. The thought of that nearly made her snicker silly-like, her head shaking as she turns to retrieve another slice of bacon. Sausage? It'll just have to wait. As Hank enters into the kitchen, she offers up a grin, turning away from him towards the cabinet to retrieve another plate so that she could begin to make him a dish for himself.

"I'm certainly not going to eat all of this myself, my darling." She says to Hank. She didn't slop the food onto it as she would her own plate (and if no one was present), she took great care into making it all look presentable.

You taste the food with your eyes first, tongue later. If that made any sense.

"I do have a few extra katanas, if need be. But I prefer it that we start with wood and later on, move into the real blade." She was assuming Hank would join in.


"Well enough," Hank admits, a hand running through his 'mane', "Thank you. And yourself?" When Betsy gets a plate and starts fixing it for him, he steps forward as if to protest, albeit mildly. After all, he can serve himself, but she does it so quickly and deftly, he doesn't have much of a chance. "Thank you, it looks…and smells delicious. I bet it tastes even better." A grin is given before he takes the plate and takes a seat at the table.

After all, it wouldn't do for him to eat with poor manners. He has enough odds against him.

"A katana? I'm afraid I haven't. Fencing is much more Kurt's purview…my fighting style doesn't seem to use much finesse."


Scott keeps his eyes on Hank for a moment, then to his plate. He definitely is hungry, but he knows it's bad to gorge himself after a good, solid run. He decidedly goes toward the cabinet, withdrawing a smaller plate and simply collecting up some toast for himself, along with a couple pieces of bacon.

"He's got a good point." Scott pauses in between bites, having the good manners to swallow before speaking, but lacking in the manners to take a seat. "It'd almost be a hinderance, I imagine. Then again, I'm never one to turn down a good lesson."

Wood also seems to be a good idea. Looking back to Betsy, Scott grins ruefully. "We wouldn't want anyone to be losing any appendages. Wood is a good idea."


"On the outside, and during training, is only when finesse is needed, I believe." Betsy says thoughtfully. "In pure, and true combat? Unnecessary. I think it'll do you some good though, Hank. Give you a chance to learn something new for a chance. Or, enhance what you already know, give yourself an added bonus, as it were."

Now that she thinks on it, she really hasn't seen Hank in a battle, this causes her to turn to stare at Scott, one brow lowering in a bit of thought. If anyone knows her? Knows of this look? It is not good, not good at all. For anyone else.

"Oh my darling, I wasn't planning on giving you the wooden one. You were getting the blade." As in, eventually? She was going to ruin that poor guy and give him battle scars. "I'm jesting. Oh! I visited Bobby with Storm a week or two ago. He plans on delivering a snow machine for the children, at least before true winter hits. I figure it'll be something fun before Halloween happens upon us."


"Raging with a blade? I'm not so sure that's the best idea…" Hank starts before digging into the food. He didn't run today, so he has no qualms about eating a large breakfast. "It's delicious," is offered before he tilts his head at the two. "Well…learning something new is always a good thing. I wouldn't want to frustrate anyone by my lack of finesse."

He can do it in the laboratory, but in combat? Well, he can only control himself but so much.

"Snow?" An eyebrow is arched, "Why? Most don't even want it to even be Autumn…why make it Winter before it's time?"


That look certainly is noticed. Scott meets Betsy's eyes (as best he can, really, given the glasses) and narrows them. As if to say, 'Easy, Tiger.' Which is probably something Scott Summers would actually say.

An odd look is given at the mention of a snow machine, a glance cast Hank's way when he voices thoughts that Scott shares. However, he shrugs, and snatches up a piece of toast. "That's Bobby," he remarks, as if to say that, well, where Bobby's concerned, sometimes you just have to accept it for what it is.

"You never know, Hank. Some day we might encounter killer robots, at which point raging with a blade just might come in handy." He pops the toast into his mouth, devouring it in a couple of bites before offering, "No better time than now. It's Sunday. What have I got planned? Reading the paper, going over lesson plans, reviewing Blue Team's reports…" He shrugs. "Let's go swing sticks at each other."

He glances Betsy's way, smirking. Joking, he clearly is, for of course Scott takes this training lesson seriously.


"Why thank you," Betsy quips quickly to Hank. It's clear she can't take a compliment well, but she's learning! "I doubt you'd frustrate anyone Hank, it'll be good for you to cut loose in a safe enviroment." Now is when she grows quiet, focusing on dipping into her eggs to eat, cutting into pancakes here and there.. she hasn't excersized either, so she was going to go gung ho on breakfast, as neatly as possible.

Behind closed doors? She'd make Hank look like a puppy when it came to food.

"I think, when it comes to children, they enjoy things that aren't supposed to happen in the name of fun. And well? I wouldn't mind pelting some of those little runts with a few snowballs here and there. Look at it as an early start." She grins at that, obviously spoken after swallowing.

"Ah, fisticuffs. I suppose no popcorn shall be made in the interim." She keeps her eyes on her plate as she says this, fork twirling around her eggs to mix them with a bit of bacon grease, cause bacon grease? Awesome.


"Or you can tell Bobby, 'Thanks, but we're good. Why don't you come by when it snows though and make a playground for the kids?'" Hank points out. "I didn't realize we were teaching our students entitlement? I don't think I have that written into my syllabi." Hank grins at Scott even though his words are a little more realistic.

"I don't think that metal blades against killer robots will be all that effective, to tell you the truth. I mean, unless they were made of aluminum foil and were easily pierced. So that logic doesn't entirely make sense, but if you want me to attampt this, I'll try, sure."

He continues to work on his plate, "I guess I just have a different view on the students. I don't feel that they should go out in the world thinking that everyone always has to do their whim. It's a dangerous place."


"Snowballs do make great target practice," Scott remarks. He finishes his toast, and gets back to work on hydrating himself by filling up another glass full of water. Hank's word about entitlement? It has Scott smirking, ruefully. "Plenty of that to go around in this country without any instruction from us. Sometimes I wonder if the students really understand what it's like out there. This place is safe. That's important. But how do you tell someone…"

Scott immediately cuts himself off, before he waxes philosophical. "Fisticuffs." He glances Betsy's way. "No, popcorn comes after fisticuffs, and loser gets to make it." He sets the glass down and cracks his neck to one side. "Danger room, low setting, Sunday morning?" He glances back toward Hank, grinning comfortably, all of that awkwardness he may have noticed some time ago, gone. "It's like she's a woman after my own heart."


Betsy grumbles loudly. "Gosh, you all are just in teach, teach, teach mode. It's not about teaching the kids entitlement. It's about showing them that it is okay to have fun, to laugh, and to live. The snow is just an addition to that little lesson. There is no sense in having them growing up to be little assholes who can't take a joke."

Easy there Betsy, always quick to anger. "But, we'll just store it in the basement or.. somewhere I suppose. It'll come in handy eventually." Her hopes were dashed, disappointment sounding in her voice. But no matter, pancakes.

"Danger room, impossibly high setting. No less." She grins towards the both of them, "And before you two ask, no. I'm not trying to kill either of you." Cue innocent blink here.


"You don't tell them that sure, they can do whatever they want…or brush it off by saying 'Well, that's the way they are'," Hank points out again. He finishes up what was on his plate before getting up to get some coffee, "Maybe I should let you two do the sparring then. You don't really need me to be a third wheel."

Sitting back down with the coffee, "It's not about denying them fun. I'm all for that. I guess it's the dismissal of the alumni who seem to be of a mind that no one will question their actions. I suppose this is a small thing…I just…see how this could possibly ecalate and become much more of an issue."


Scott looks between Hank and Betsy, arms folded. He can see both points. He was about discipline, and that was really the end of it. "We also don't want to teach them that their mutant powers are something that can just be used, all the time, without regard for consequences. And yet, there is something fun about being able to run through a wall when you're playing tag. Its… a fine line. Something I trust others with far better than myself. I'm a teacher. I'm about rules, obeying them, and taking advantage of every opportunity this mansion offers, while maintaining awareness that not everyone gets to live in a mansion."

That being said, he leans forward and claps his hands. "But. Sparring. That sounds like an excellent idea." He looks from one to the other, eyes squinting a bit. "Come on, Hank. Every moment we get in that room makes us better at what we do." He hooks a thumb toward the door, frowning at the idea that Hank might be bailing on them.


Betsy lets out a little sigh. She was done with the talk of children, she'd never really become a teacher herself, she was all about the fun side of it. The one aunt of the crew that everyone loves to see, to hang with, and disappears once spirits were high. That was Elizabeth.

"Scotts right, Hank. You have to come out of the lab eventually. Not just for food or coffee.." Speaking of which, hers was sipped briefly, then offered towards Hank so that he could take it with his breakfast. She was awake enough.

If he doesn't take it, she draws her chair out to sit upon it, scooting in closer to Hank with a slight lean and a smile. That smile fades however, a look of growing concern upon her features. "C'mon Hank. Is there something bothering you?"


"There we agree, Scott. These students need to learn that using their powers and being who they are isn't something to be ashamed of, but they do need to learn that there can be consequences. Having extraordinary skills doesn't make them better or above anyone else," Hank offers, finishing up the one coffee. When Betsy offers him the rest of her's, he nods in thanks and takes it, a clawed hand wrapping around it for the time being.

"There's always something bothering me, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything for anyone else," is offered with a smirk. Ever the introvert, he mostly likes to figure out his own problems himself…at least, to a point.


Scott nods his head solemnly. He could have gone on about it for days, but instead, he simply says, "That's the first step in reconciling differences between man and mutant." Ironic, since he just made a differentiation between the two with his own words. Like black and white, rich and poor, healthy and sick. Thoughts for another day, perhaps.

He walks toward the door, leading the way. As he walks by Hank, he leans in a bit, murmuring, "That's another great thing about danger room scenarios." They're great for letting off steam. He claps Hank on the shoulder good naturedly, then leads the way.. for whomever is gonna follow.


With a lean back, Betsy crosses one leg over the other, watching Hank carefully. While she could always pry through his mind, she refrains from doing so out of pure respect.

"You're worse than me." Introverts unite! Though, it wouldn't kill her to at least offer the man a hug, which, she does not. She glances up as Scott passes them, a little smile drawing at his quiet words to Hank, and she takes the initiative to stand first. Hand held out towards her blue friend, hoping to peer pressure him into joining. "No lessons. Just the word 'go'. Promise, you'll sleep better than you ever have, tonight."


"I'm not particularly angry," Hank points out, lifting the second mug of coffee to his lips. Apparently, however, they're headed right to the Training room. Right after eating?

"This is peer pressure, you know," but he does seem a bit amused by it all. "Don't promise things that you can't deliver…I'm sure that I'll be exhausted…" but other things have a tendency to keep him up.

He does, however, take the offered hand, albeit briefly, and only until he's on his feet. He wouldn't want to make someone touch him for longer than is necessary. "I'm curious about this style with the katana…"

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