Summary:
February 15, 2015 : A family of insomniacs congregate in the kitchen, while Scott makes Pietro an offer.
X-men HQ
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It is so early one could say it is still late. Regardless, it is still dark outside and the mansion is quiet, most of the residents still sleeping. One of the new residents, however, failed at getting any sleep tonight. Nate has tried a few things the past hours, but insomnia is merciless today. Finally, he just went to take a walk, and walked until he was half-frozen, as it is hellish cold outside and snowing. Now he is back to the mansion, still sleepless, brewing some coffee because he has given up going back to bed, and now he needs something warm. It is going to be one of those days.
Sleep. Sleep perchance to dream? It's that second bit that Nathan Summers really doesn't want to do. Too many nights of dreams of his past of what could have been; what was was bad enough. That's not to mention that which might come to pass.
And that's why Cable is here. (Not 'here', here, but 'here'.)
The cold, the wet, the snow doesn't bother the large mutant. He's dressed the same way regardless (thanks to the protection granted by the tk), with his drover's coat open and billowing behind him as he strides down the hall towards the warmth-giving coffee in the cafeteria. Slowing as he reaches the door, a hand reaches out to the doorjamb.
«Nate?» Yes, yes it is.
It seems that the feeling of insomnia had spread around this night. There was no trying for Jean. She just simply knew that it wasn't going to happen. When you're used to it, a person knows when they should try or not. Jean didn't give it a chance.
Her night started out in the gym, lifting weights. Running laps in circles until her lungs were set on fire. And when that didn't help, Danger Room. And when taking down a bunch of mechanical constructs of varying levels didn't help, she just gave up for now, the hunger soon building.
It was then that she made her way towards the kitchen, towel wrapped around her neck, feet bare as to not disturb the sleeping people with the squeak of her shoes.
Nate is glaring at the coffee machine, because those things are always so slow when he wants coffee. He is vaguely aware of some awake mind outside. But if it was a problem there would be alarms, right? Maybe. To pry or not to pry. Well, he is going to know soon, since he can hear heavy steps closing. "Good morn… what?!"
The telepathic message comes by surprise, mostly because goes through his mental defenses as they were transparent. Only 'family' telepaths can do that to him. He turns to the door and pulls it open telekinetically. "Cable? Heard you were around. Coffee is almost ready. I'm Nate Grey, by the way."
Jean's more stealthy approach is not detected yet.
Cable -likes- what everyone around him calls 'the brain phone'. It's easy and it's private. Actually -speaking- sometimes seems to him to be a step backwards. Still, he's willing.
When the door opens seemingly on its own, Nathan strides through, keeping it open behind him. "Dayspring." He hasn't dropped that bomb on the world and at the moment, doesn't really feel a burning need to do so. "Cable works."
His steps take him towards the burbling coffee as it brews as a mug 'flies' through the air untouched, coming in to hover just in front of the mutant with the white shock of hair. "In line." It's conversational enough.
"The mansion? Do they know?"
Jean Grey is stealthy.
Nate is too busy reinforcing his telepathic defenses to notice Jean, and focused on Cable anyway. He picks the coffee pot and fills his mug, passing it to the older man with a grunt. "Know?… Oh yeah. Those. The family stuff. Do you know who I am?" Pause. "Of course. Dumb question. Anyway, I told Jean…" glance back, "hi, Jean," he winces.
The coffee needs sugar. A lot of it. Nate busies himself looking through the counters. Finding the chocolate first… that works too.
Of course it's a dumb question; pretty much like asking Nate if he knew who he was! Or Domino, for that matter. (As far as he's concerned, anyway. Mileage may differ, never know about realities!)
Told Jean..
The 'flying' mug dips when Cable catches the sound of Jean's voice, and he turns around quickly. One of the few times he doesn't have that 'scan' for presences, and it's she that shows up! The soldier attempts to play it cool, but why does it feel like he's ten all over again?
"Is there something going on that we're picking up on and other's aren't?" Because, three telepaths. None of whom can sleep…
Yay for distractions!
This would have been a good chance to quip; 'Call it genetics.', but it wasn't. She didn't know Cable's true origins, so there would be none had from her. The milk was set down upon the counter top as her own tk begins to fly; a mug drawn from the cupboard, honey, sugar and spoon all flying above the men as she moves towards the counter top to sit and rest.
"I couldn't sleep. I suppose you two couldn't either. But.. now that you both are here in the same room, I have questions. I think it's best if you both sit with me and chat." Or, she'd pry.
There is the sugar… and it flies away. Damnit. Nate is drawn to the table and flop downs in chair, mug in hand. "Insomnia is two thirds of my nights, so I can't say it is an odd day for me. Just…" he shrugs.
In general he doesn't even bother to keep a normal sleep cycle. But sometimes he tries, when living with other people.
"Oh yeah, the questions. But, hmm…" he looks up at Cable. He had questions too. "Shoot. I not good with mysteries." That is maybe a warning.
The coffee carafe is caught and pours the hot, black goodness into his mug before it returns to the burner; a controlled flight. Only then does Nathan actually take hold of the mug itself, eschewing the milk or sugar. "Questions."
This wasn't on his radar, dammit!
Cable glances at Nate, brows rising. Still, he doesn't say much regarding his particular inability to sleep. Instead, he slow walks towards a chair, turns it around before sitting down, looking a bit too big for it. "I can't say I'm gonna have answers?" Though some of their questions may very well spring questions of his own.
The water shuts itself on, filling the kettle with just enough for one person. The mug sets itself in front of Jean as the dollop of milk is poured, honey as well, spoon scoops up the sugar to dump into the cup. It stirs even though there's no tea in it just yet.. speaking of which, a pack flies out the cupboard in wait for the water to be set to a boil. All of this is done while Jean waits for the two to sit, her gaze shooting from Dayspring to Nathaniel, her brow creased in a tiny hint of worry.
She wasn't going to bring up Rachel, she just wanted to know who Cable really was to the girl. "Who are you?" She starts with Cable, already knowing who Nate was.
Nate sips from his mug. It is still too hot, but he needs it to defrost. He attempts to cool it down pouring some milk. And more sugar. Much better.
Jean's first question happens to be for Cable, and he bites his tongue. He looks at the older man's face and sees himself in twenty years. Right… but alternate timelines means he shouldn't jump to conclusions. (Which is usually his first instinct).
The resemblance between the two men certainly should give a slight indication that they are, in some way, related. Assumptions, of course, and it may be difficult to discern because of the years of difference between the pair. As the question comes in to Cable, he shakes his head slowly.
"I don't know how to answer that." If he tells Jean the truth, does that mean that she'll head into the future knowing that she'll potentially have a step-son to raise and do so willingly, or that she'll put the brakes on and…
"Nathan Dayspring. Cable." Which he'd told her before.
The coffee is sipped tentatively, his gaze shifting towards Nate, lingering there for a long moment before looking back. And as he has no idea exactly what Nate told Jean? It's dangerous waters!
The kettle begins to whistle loud as the waters heat, and soon it rises, pouring the hot water into the cup with the already stirring spoon. Teabag added, now all she needed to do was wait. She shifts back a little upon her stool, twisting around to glance towards Cable, and then towards Nathaniel, and then towards Cable again, her questions were answered but.. not really. Perhaps the likeness didn't register yet or she wanted to hear it from his own mouth.
Scare tactics it is! She's been told that she was a bully before, she was about to put it to the test.
"I know your name." She states, one finger lifting to press into the counter, in which she /digs/. Whatever material that the counter was made of, gives away little by little as her finger twists. "But you come through the mansion as if you belong here and I'm starting to suspect that you don't. However, Xavier allows you to move through here freely, and I want to know why." Her gaze soon falls upon Nate, brows lowering. Not out of anger, but steel determination. "Or am I going to have to pry that answer out of /you/."
Exposing Pietro to the X-Men base is a calculated risk, but given what just transpired in the city, Scott is willing to take that risk. The two are holding a conversation while Scott leads the way; Scott is wearing a trench coat and is dressed for warmth, though the cuts and scrapes visible on his face are a clear sign that he may have just seen some action. Those wounds will certainly need tended to.
"This place, of course, is absolutely secret. Not that I'd be able to keep much secret from you, anyway, Pietro. Given how fast you move, I'm not even sure our security cameras are calibrated to catch you." He glances toward the silver-haired mutant with a wry smirk. "Yet."
The doorway separating the others from the hallway opens, and Scott steps in, only to pause at sight of the others. Each of them are familiar faces, albeit one certainly far more familiar than the others. Observing the conversation at play, he decidedly doesn't say a single word. Instead, with one eye trained upon Jean (not that anyone can really tell, mind you), he makes for the pot of water to prepare himself some tea. Two cups are taken, one held out toward Pietro with an inquisitive arc to his eyebrow. SRD held them for far longer than he'd have liked, and he's still feeling the cold down to his bones.
Quicksilver likewise looks worse for wear. He's got red lacerations across his face and a split lip. His poufy black down jacket is riddled with burn holes, and one white Sorel boot is held together with duct tape. He flashes a grin at the comment about security cameras. "Many have tried. None have succeeded," he says proudly. "Motion detectors though. I hate those things." He looks around as they enter and lets out a low whistle. "Yeah. If you'd have tried to ditch me, I woulda just followed you here." He says that matter-of-factly without an ounce of shame.
He follows Scott's lead as they enter into the room with other people. He's not exactly inconspicuous, what with his metallic-and-neon wardrobe, his shock of silver hair, and the fact that he's been pinpricked by shrapnel. He shakes his head at Scott's offer of tea. The hot dog and hot chocolate he had while waiting for Scott to talk to the authorities was enough for him.
Nate looks back at Jean and sighs. "Look, you can ask me anything you want about me, but usually I am not going to tell you things I might know about people that prefers not to tell you. Not unless it looks as if it is dangerous for you not to know. Those are not my secrets, sorry."
That said, Nathan gets a frown for his words. He is avoiding the issue and that is not going to work. It is too early and Jean has no distractions.
Or does it. Nate smirks faintly as Scott and Pietro step into the kitchen. Lucky old man. Maybe.
"I came through the mansion before because years ago, I helped the professor put in some of the defense protocols," and here comes Da- Scott. Oh, this gets better and better. "He told me I could return."
Cable looks as if he's going to rise, but now, not before draining the mug of coffee. Hot or not, it's something. "I probably shouldn't, though. Not now."
Nathan takes a look at Nate, and he does rise. It'll probably give the younger man some problems, but maybe if he's out of sight, eventually it'll be 'out of mind'? Knowing what he does of the woman who raised him, though, it's not very likely. Who this woman will become, maybe? Should she choose that path?
It's not one that can be told, however.
"Hey, Scott." The name feels strange still when it is spoken. "Good to see you." Gotta go.
A nod is given to Pietro, though with that, a hint of smile shows. "Good luck."
The pressing of her finger lets up as soon as the door swings open, her cup sliding to cover the hole that she was intending to make as an intimidation tactic against Cable and Nate. For once the two enter, she was stuck staring again, her eyes shifting towards Nathaniel and Scott, there and back again, then over towards Cable, then to Nate, then to Scott, and then there's Pietro. Wait a minute…
Nathaniel, Scott.. Cable.. Pietro! Pietro.. wait. Who was this white haired fellow?
Her head whipped three ways, eyeballing both Nates and then Scott, to Scott and then both Nates.. and..
/…Tomorrow./ Those words blasted towards Cable with a hint of urgency as she turns back towards her tea, her hand shaking as she grips her warm cup by the handle, spilling it upon it's surface. She was locked in silence.. uncomfortable silence, so uncomfortable that her cheeks burn a deep red that nearly matches her hair.
Pietro's answer proves, in part, why Scott didn't try to make his entrance sneaky. There's also an ulterior motive involved. For the moment, he's content to pour himself some tea, before adopting a spot leaning up against a wall not far from the visitor he's brought in. A cursory look is given to both Nate and Cable, the latter of which who receives a curious look. Their last encounter, after all, had been… odd.
"Nathaniel." The acknowledgement is followed by a nod of his head. What is it with that name, anyway? He's always been fond of it.
For a few long moments, Scott merely watches as Jean seems visibly disturbed by everything happening here. A frown deepens, but he says nothing of it. There will be a time and a place for such things. Clearly. Instead, he casually turns back to Pietro.
"Do you know basic first aid?" The mug is set aside, and he continues talking while crossing toward a drawer and withdrawing a first aid kit. "It will be among the first things you'll learn. Along with a few other ground rules. Namely, we don't use lethal force, unless no other option exists. Second, we don't talk about this place. Ever. It's very existence violates a number of federal and international laws, so, let that run through your head if you think about spilling the proverbial beans."
The first aid kit is tossed Pietro's way.
"You're fast. You pick up quick. I could use you."
Quicksilver feels the eyes of the gathered people on him. He lifts a hand, shifts his weight, then he goes, "Uh. Hi." Throatclear.
Then he's catching the first aid kit that Scott tosses him. "I know how to put on a bandaid and clean a wound. But not like, stitches or CPR or anything." He scratches the side of his head and winces when he feels a goose egg forming on his temple.
He barks a bit of laughter at the question of going to the authorities. "Dude. I'm an illegal. I don't have any papers. I go to anyone in a uniform and they deport me." A shrug, then a rascally grin, "Well, they'd try, anyway. They'd have to catch me first." Funny, he sounds pretty American. Pietro isn't exactly a homegrown name, though. "Use me for what? Chasing down bombers?"
"Scott," greets Nate, standing up. He smirks as Cable retreats politely. «We got to talk soon, old man» he projects, keeping it as focused as he can so Jean doesn't hear. "Have a good day, Cable," he adds blandly, for the witnesses.
He looks at Pietro with some curiosity. He is vaguely familiar. "Hey, hello. Im Nate," he offers his hand. "What happened? You look right out of a fight."
«Tomorrow.» It's a send; controlled, experienced, and gentle in response to Jean's request.
The mug that Cable was just recently drinking from is cleaned, the particles are telekenetically lifted and atomized before the mug itself is replaced onto the counter. Once that's done, he looks to Nate and nods before he passes Scott and Pietro on his way out. The moment he's passed the entry into the room, he disappears into thin air, teleporting away.
"Hi." Was Jean's response to Pietro. She was weirdly locked into silence still, even though the flow of conversation kept up around them. Her heart was heavy, but it was alright. More and more, things were starting to make sense, in her own mind. As Nate makes his introduction, Jean finally pulls herself together to turn around to face Scott and the unknown young recruit, a deep frown curling her lips as she lets out a sigh, slipping from the stool and discarding her cup so that she could reach out to take the first aid kit, if Quicksilver lets her.
"You both have a seat.." She gently urges them, a smile soon placed upon gentle features, hoping to tend to them as they talk. Maybe, she could gain a better idea of who this new person is without her asking or speaking a word.
/We need to talk../
She transmits to Scott. That's all she'd say for now.
"Stitches, CPR." Scott nods his head in acknowledgement. "Don't worry, you'll learn." Pietro's remark about being an illegal earns a grin. Scott, it seems, doesn't exactly have a problem with certain rules being broken.
At Jean's urging, Scott reluctantly leaves his adopted post and claims a seat. Bearing a deep understanding of how telepathy works, he looks back to her and allows a thought to pose through his mind. I can see that.. Verbally, he gestures from Jean to Pietro. "Pietro, Doctor Jean Grey. She'll get us patched up alright. Oh." He glances toward Pietro meaningfully. "She's also a gifted telepath. So, you know, if she needs you to stay put or wipe certain tidbits of knowledge from your mind, she's more than capable of doing so without even interfering on your innermost secrets."
Looking back toward Jean, Scott allows himself to grin a bit. Exerting authority is something he's always enjoyed, twisted though it may be, but in this case, there's a very good reason for it. He has a hunch that Pietro doesn't exactly like authority, which is part and parcel why he's giving up so much, so quickly. Show the kid some respect, and it might be given in return. Either way, there's an apparent desire to be involved, and if he doesn't get into the runnings with a good team, he could fall into bad hands.
"I'm sure you've heard of the X-Men. Red team, operates openly and publicly in the city." Scott has turned back to Pietro, after shrugging out of his trench coat so that Jean might tend to his wounds in turn. "We represent members of the Blue Team. The quiet team, operating in absolute secrecy." He quirks an eyebrow and asks, "Sound like fun?"
Quicksilver gives up the first aid kit and has a seat as he's instructed to do. He unzips his ruined jacket and tugs off a stained silver knit hat. He eyes Jean a bit askance when Scott reveals she's a telepath. His nose wrinkles, but he doesn't say anything. His look says, 'please don't melt my brain.'
"Yeah, um. I met the Red guys the other day." When he accidentally almost started a riot. "Some Friends of Humanity guys were being dicks." And there was a certain photo tweet that went viral of said protestors with defaced signs under the hashtag #FriendlessHumanity. From the handle @licketysplit. DOesn't take much to connect the dots.
He raises a silver brow at Scott and bites the edge of his lip. "Are you offering me a job?"
"I can teach you." But she'll have to charge. Hah!
As she was handed the first aid kit, she places it upon the counter top, flipping the latches so that the top was flipped open, each item set aside, a pair of gloves taken from the container to slip on so that she doesn't accidentally infect them with a disease carried through hot water and possibly tea. Jean really doesn't mind about the info dump either, she's about as easy going as she can be. And the most accepting.
Such as, if Pietro had two heads and ate puppies in order to live? She'd still call him a friend.
She tends to Pietro first, her fingers delicate as she touches his chin to survey the damage that was done to his face, then leans over to retrieve a piece of cotton and a tiny bit of hydrogen peroxide to pour upon the fabric and lightly dab at the tiny cuts there.
She glances towards Scott, her brows downturned.
/You're going to take this poor guy into the Danger Room eventually, aren't you?/
For shame, Scott! For.. shame!
"In a manner of speaking," Scott answers, paired with a knowing grin. "Free room and board, access to resources ranging from food to tracking devices, we can probably even get you some boots that aren't always falling apart." A bit more serious now, he adds on. "We exist to protect a world that fears and hates. People, organizations, even governments who dislike, hate, or even want to wipe out metahumans. That's why we avoid violence, whenever possible." He considers the young man's report that he's already met the Red Team, and the remark about the Friends of Humanity earns a knowing, rueful look. "So, you already know what we mean."
A glance is given toward Jean. I already have a scenario in mind. One that involves some obstacles that are sure to give anyone a run for their money, even someone who moves faster than the eye can track.
Nate sips from his coffee quietly, watching Scott and Jean 'welcoming' Pietro to the mansion. Hmm, maybe it is too early for them. Offering telepathic surgery right away… haha.
"Hey guys, I am going to… check some things," now he is no longer freezing. He can also sense some others waking up. "See you later," he heads out, but stops by Scott. "I also gotta talk with you, maybe in an hour or two? Well, soon. Laters."
Quicksilver looks at Jean as she dabs his wounds. He hisses a little in pain. The shrapnel really should have done more of a number on him than it did. He should also be more bruised up. A body designed to withstand high speeds is a pretty tough one.
As his wounds are being tended to, he listens to what Scott has to say. He looks…hesitant. "I dunno if I'm a shining example of mutantkind." He looks away and works his jaw to the side. "I've done a lot of things to survive."
If Jean tries to read him, she'll know that he doesn't mean he's ever killed anyone. Thievery, mostly. Mischief. Some spying. His mind is also as slippery as an eel in a fast-moving current. It's hard to keep up with his thought processes.
"Sorry." Jean whispers, finishing up the hardest part of the entire process. Actually hurting a person through cleaning. It'll sting, it'll tickle, and it'll itch. Signs that he's still alive, of course.
The cotton ball was discarded, soon falling into old habits of examining him, pressing her fingers against the muscles within his chest and back, checking ribs for fractures (if he's ticklish, watch out!), his arms receive the same treatment as she spies his shirt for trickles or spots of blood. She even presses at his stomach, if he winces in pain, then he'll need to be taken to the medical bay.
But Jean was not the intrusive sort; it wasn't as if she was a good judge of character, that was Scott's department. She takes what he says at face value, his later words causing her to grin just a little. "So have we all. And neither are we. There are a few people out there who naturally hate our guts, not because of who or what we are. Personalities clash. That's something no one can help."
It was Scott's turn now, cotton ball, peroxide, a light touch of his chin to keep him still as she carefully tends to his scratches.
What is his skill?
"Yeah, well." Scott turns when it's his turn, bracing himself for the stinging pain. He's been down this road countless times. "We've all heard that before. This is a place where people can make new lives."
Now, for a moment, he looks toward the woman treating him. Were it not for his ruby glasses, he might be looking directly into her eyes. As is, she'll just have to perceive it. There was a lot going on, a lot of things that they weren't talking about. Truthfully, Scott's been avoiding it, even though he shouldn't be. He's fast. Damn fast. Faster than bullets fast.
"Have a look around," he offers, for Quicksilver. "Let us analyze this evidence we lifted, see if we can't track down this woman with the black patch. Clearly, she's dangerous, but to whom and why, those are the questions we need to answer."
Quicksilver is banged up, but in relatively good shape. He's bruised a bit along his side, but nothing is broken and there's no internal bleeding. There's a lot of cuts, there's a goose egg on his temple, there's a split lip, but really, it's all relatively minor. There's evidence of old, healed injuries that tell the tale of a less-than-idyllic childhood.
"Domino. She strikes me as a mercenary type. So chances are she's working for someone." He touches his lip gingerly and grins a little. "OK. I'll help. For now at least." The hesitation speaks volumes. He's not keen to declare his loyalties because, well, it remains to be seen if these folks really will watch his back. He's been disappointed before.
Both men were worse for wear, but they'll live. Nothing that a good nights rest and a resistance to scratching themselves won't fix. Hearing Scott's thoughts on the young man causes her eyes to shift in his direction. They needed someone fast on their team, faster than bullets fast. He could do a lot of good, even for himself. This causes her to smile.. wonder if he'd be interested in schooling?
She wasn't unaware of his staring, for that quick moment, she felt eyes upon her that may have been returned if he hadn't looked away. That lingering glance, a deep breath taken as she takes a slight step back to snap off the gloves as he mentions looking over the evidence they gathered.
"Domino.. huh?" She asks, the name was unique. She actually liked it.
"Well. You guys aren't too bad off. Just stop at the medical bay and grab some asprin for yourselves to help with the swelling and pain. I'll bring down food in a little while." Men like them usually have no preference, as long as it was meat. "Scoot. I need to clean. Get on with it." Gentle prying, smiles.. and the like as she begins to straighten up the mess that was made.
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