2012-08-25 The Wild Side

The very top of the Institute, above the attic, is a lovely belvedere which gives a full view of the grounds and the lake. It's a quiet place where teachers sometimes go to gather their thoughts, or students sneak up to make out. For Jean Grey it has become, of late, her secret spot to depart for and arrive from her nightly flights. It's become a ritual for her since her return from space and her merging with the Phoenix. She doesn't require as much sleep as she used to, and being Earth-bound feels so confining to the cosmic entity inhabiting her body, that she's taken to visiting the deep black in the wee hours of the morning.

So far, she doesn't think anyone has noticed her nocturnal jaunts. Tonight though, she may be found out. She descends from the heavens, using her much enhanced telepathy to mask her presence from any minds outside of the institute in Salem Center who could see her flight. To them, it is a simple shooting star. To those awake at Xavier's, the form of the firebird is kept close and tight about Jean's form, clad in her new green and gold costume. She heads for the belvedere in pure silence.

Tonight, Logan is sitting in lotus position on the belvedere's floor, still and silent. Barely breathing, even. With the beginning of the school year and a dozen other woes to occupy his thoughts, having an hour or two's break from them is valuable. Most teachers or students looking for solitude would be wise to turn the other way, lest they interrupt him--most.

His brow twitches when a familiar scent - the same one lingering in the belvedere - approaches from--outside? Logan slowly opens an eye; when he's greeted with a swiftly approaching firebird, he opens both, stands, and quickly dusts himself off.

She senses him before she sees him. The presence of Logan's mind is a unique one, and one she knows well. The firebird alights in the belvedere before the flames slide away with her costume, leaving Jean in a simple pair of shorts and a tank top. Her eyes ghost from blank white, to her usual green. "Logan," she greets with a smile, her voice a bit breathless from the flight. That indicates exertion, which for the Phoenix, means well above and beyond what it used to mean for Miss Grey.

She runs a hand through her wind-tousled hair and looks around. "What are you doing up here? Everything all right?" Jean scans the darkness for other minds, anyone else who might have questions about where she's been going and why.

Logan catches himself trying to fix his hair and crosses his arms with a frown. When he's sure that Jean's going to land up /here/, he steps backwards to give her space, and by the time the flames have receded, his expression is neutral.

"Meditating." Logan reaches into the cooler stationed nearby and tosses a beer Jean's way. "You?" He gestures towards a seat, any seat; it hardly matters when there's only two of them up here. "Lemme guess:" he dryly continues as he snatches and opens up his own beer, "stretching your wings?"

They're alone. Good. Jean's shoulders ease into a more relaxed state. She catches the beer easily and opens it. "Have you ever felt like you are being caged, Logan?" she asks in the sort of tone meant for offhand questions. Her eyes slide aside, to the view outside. "Like you're trapped in the tiniest part of what your life could, or should be?" She looks back at him and takes a step his way, sliding into the seat nearest him.

Jean's usual polite distance seems to have gone the way of the dodo tonight. She's...different. "Sometimes I fly at night, as high as I can, or as high as I think I can, just to feel like I'm not chained down." She takes a sip of the beer.

The question jabs at Logan like an icicle to the gut. Has he ever felt caged? Has he ever wanted to act on impulses that nobody else could possibly understand?

He doesn't look her in the eye as he drinks his beer -- /all/ of his beer -- and listens. It isn't even that he needs to think about his answer, it's just that he needs to be able to give it at all. Soon enough, the can is empty, and after crushing and tossing it aside he looks up, expression as black as the sky she arrived from; her proximity isn't exactly a surprise, but there's still a moment of tensesness when he actually sees her there.

"Sometimes," he offers, trying to /sound/ non-chalant even if he can't really look it. He grabs himself another beer and plops down on the ground with a heavy thud. "I cope." He gestures towards the sky a little with his can. "Granted, it sounds like /your/ copin' skills beat the crap outta mine. Does it help? Goin' out there?" He pops the top and just lets the can sit in his lap rather than guzzling it down. "Anything to make slummin' it down here easier, right?"

"It helps, a little," Jean admits softly. She slams down her beer, crushes the can (telekinetically) and tosses it after his, in comical imitation. Only she then belches like a trucker. BLOOOORP. "I could take you with me, you know," she offers with a small quirk of a smile in the corner of her mouth. "Or we could find some better way to cope with our feet on the ground if you don't like heights." Was that...a come on?

And with one gigantic belch, the redhead banishes Logan's gloom. He peers at her with equal parts shock and admiration for a little while before tipping his can back and shaking his head. A quiet, "Eh," is the best he can muster for the idea of flying amongst the stars, at least at first. After another sip, he starts to tack something else on, but Jean pre-empts him. It takes him a while to actually bring his can back down after that; he's too busy staring at her again, mostly because he isn't quite sure if coming back from the dead has done something terrible to her sense of humour.

After maybe five seconds, he somewhat cautiously replies, "I wouldn't complain; I ain't exactly the flying type, these days."

Jean digs a second beer out of the cooler and pops it open. She gives Logan a grin as she leans against the railing idly, watching him. It's almost like she's enjoying his surprise at her behavior. "What if I told you that nearly dying made me realize I'd been living my life based on what everyone's expectations of me were? Be a doctor. Be a teacher. Date a nice boy." She snorts. "What if I don't want to date a 'nice boy?' What if I'd rather spend time with a /bad boy/" Her lips curl into a mischievous grin. "I think I'm tired of living down to the expectations of others. I just want to /live/."

After maybe five seconds, he somewhat cautiously replies, "I wouldn't complain; I ain't exactly the flying type, these days."

Jean digs a second beer out of the cooler and pops it open. She gives Logan a grin as she leans against the railing idly, watching him. It's almost like she's enjoying his surprise at her behavior. "What if I told you that nearly dying made me realize I'd been living my life based on what everyone's expectations of me were? Be a doctor. Be a teacher. Date a nice boy." She snorts. "What if I don't want to date a 'nice boy?' What if I'd rather spend time with a /bad boy/" Her lips curl into a mischievous grin. "I think I'm tired of living down to the expectations of others. I just want to /live/."

Logan can't /help/ but watch her, too, though he lowers his eyes a touch when he snickers at her complaint about nice boys. The snickering is closely followed by a sip of beer as he lets Jean unburden herself, and when he's done, there's a small grin on his lips.

"Far as I'm concerned, Red," he offers, returning his eyes to hers, "you can live however you want. Smart, tough lady like you?" The grin widens as he shrugs his shoulder a little. "Who's gonna /stop/ you from havin' everything you deserve?"

Jean stretches out her arms, letting her telekinesis hold her beer in place, and spins, looking up at the ceiling. "Finally, someone who gets me!" she declares to the universe. She stops the spin, hair whipping back to rest, and grabs her beer out of midair.

Jean moves over to Logan and makes an attempt to slide into his lap. "Take me for a ride?" she asks in a low tone. "On your motorcycle," she clarifies with a grin. "Since you're not fond of flying. I want to get out of here. Do something totally inappropriate before school starts and I have to be Professor Grey again."

Logan winces and has to restrain himself from growling at the sharp, sudden noise of Jean's celebration. Rather than jump up and gleefully spin around with her or something, he just rubs his ear with a foreknuckle and tries not to grumble at the ringing. "Yeah," he mutters, peering up at her with an arched brow. "I'm gl--"

Before he can finish his thought, there Jean is--/right/ there, climbing onto him. While he doesn't move, he does lay a gentle hand on her shoulder and offer a token amount of resistance before just going with it. His brow arches further at her question; once she gives the addendum, though, he manages another small grin.

"Like I said," he murmurs. "Smart; you came to the right guy. I know a place." After a beat, his grin widens further and he quietly adds, "'course, there's the matter'a gettin' from /here/ to the garage..."

"That's the benefit of being with me, Logan," Jean purrs. She leans in, her lips a hair's breadth from him, then shifts to whisper in his ear, "When I don't want to be seen, I'm not seen." She leans back, gets up, and reaches a hand to try and tug him to his feet. "No one will see us. I can cloud all their minds."

As she approaches, Logan's head instinctively twitches forward a bit to meet her... and then she shifts to the side, forcing him to stop himself lest he end up with a face-full of hair.

"Perfect," he lowly says as he takes her hand--mostly to be polite; he climbs right up without giving her much of a chance to even try supporting his metal-clad frame. After letting go of her hand, he starts to slide an arm around her waist before pocketing both of his hands and bowing out an elbow for her to take. "Guess I'm all yours, then, eh?"

"That remains to be seen," Jean quips, linking her arm through his. She leads him through the mansion and, true to her word, no one seems to notice them. It's like they're a couple of ghosts, who can only see and hear and feel one another, moving through the rest of the world unknown.

Once they make it to the garage, Jean closes the door behind them and leans against it, taking a breath, heart fluttering wildly at doing something risky or out of her norm. "Where's your bike?" she asks.

It's tough to maintain any real distance from someone when you're linked at the arm with them, but Logan still drifts away a little as they work their way down to the ground floor. There are moments where he could /swear/ he smells something - or someone - right next to them. He doesn't keep the best track of incoming students, at least not once they pass his initial 'are they a shapeshifting assassin' test; for all he knows, they could be slipping right by a freshman with the mutant power to detect redheads and/or Canadians at /any moment.

When they actually make it to the garage, he slides both hands out of his pockets to brush his hair back; before he can even finish doing that, though, the arrhythmic pulse of his fellow teacher's heart catches his ear. He slowly looks over at her as his hands fall.

"You sure you don't wanna rest tonight, Jeanie?" he quietly asks, edging towards the tarp-covered bike. "'cause I dunno about you, but I know that when /I/ let myself go - when I ain't thinkin' about what everyone else thinks of or wants outta me - it's a /rush/." He hesitates a little, then turns to actually walk towards the bike--at an even more gradual pace. "I'm just sayin': sometimes, y' get caught up in the moment, and you do things you maybe wouldn't when you're clearer headed." He shrugs and tries not to curse himself out too badly for attempting to talk Jean /out/ of her desire for late night motorcycle riding.

"Like I said: could just be me," he lowly finishes.

When he turns around, Jean is right there, grinning brightly. "Shut up and drive, Logan. What happens tonight, happens. If I have to go back to being prim and proper Jean tomorrow, so be it, but I want one damned night to live like it's my last."

"How--" Logan begins, blinking at her. He glances over his shoulder, then back to the redhead. Oh well; at least he can tell himself he tried.

"Shuttin' up." He breezes by her, throws the tarp aside to unveil his vintage Harley, and climbs on. Once the engine's purring, he revs it sharply then looks up at her expectantly. There's a helmet resting on the rear of the bike--just one; he's not so worried about crashing.

Neither is she. When you can fly, crashes tend not to scare you. Jean throws her leg over the bike and snugs in behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. He can feel her heart pounding against his back and sense her excitement and joy as it radiates out from her telepathically. "Make us fly," she whispers to him.

Logan braces as she settles in, and while he waits for her to get situated he closes his eyes and tries not to think about the steady pulse of her heartbeat against his back. He flicks a switch to open the garage up, and at her command, he guns the engine and the two peel out into the night with a roar.

Hopefully, Jean was thoughtful enough to keep /that/ quiet; there are sleeping students to consider, after all.

It's simple enough for her to mask. The sleeping Xavier's teachers and students are kept deep in their dreams while the motorcycle throttles up and out of the grounds. Glee is the closest word to describe what's coming off Jean. For so many years she's been so buttoned up, so careful, so controlled in every aspect of her life. She's been terrified to let go, because letting go means giving up that tight control, that thing that keeps her solidly out of the minds and emotions of others, like her friend who died in her arms and triggered her telepathy as a child. But now the fear is slowly fading from her, since her merger with the Phoenix. The power she wields now is frightening in its scope, but perhaps more frightening in that it makes her feel more confident in letting go of her control. Nothing can hurt her.

Jean rests her chin on Logan's shoulder, beside his ear, watching the world flash by them in a blur while the steady thrum of the bike resonates in her bones.