2012-06-24 Venom and Poison

In the war room it's mostly dark with a small lamp light lit over a station at the circular table, while handwritten documents are splashed across the monitors and giant screens on the far wall. This would be easier if he knew Polish.

Scott Summers, aka CYCLOPS, sits with a pen and paper in hand trying to decipher the words on the pages. These documents came from the prison in eastern Poland where they liberated a mutant named Schoennagel. In the commotion, Nightcrawler stumbled upon some information; information that may prove useful for the X-men and they're mission.

Jean Grey steps into the War Room with a clipboard in hand, and a lab coat over her blouse and slacks. She blinks at finding Scott there. She admittedly uses it for medical paperwork a lot of the time, because the infirmary itself has those beeps and bloops of machinery to distract her, and that antisceptic smell that comes with all hospitals. "Hey," she greets, her lips curving into a warm smile. Her eyes narrow a little as she looks at the screen. "What are you looking at?" She steps behind his chair, resting one hand on the back of it to look over his shoulder.

"These are documents from the Schoennagel rescue. Found in the prisons. Translation is slow." Scott leans back in his chair, his neck brushing by Jean's arm. "It's not a network or anything, as far as I can tell. It's more of a...a commonplace event in pockets of eastern Poland, Ukraine, Russia, etc. Basically rural towns all sort of doing this on their own without governmental prompting. It's terrifying. These governments feel they have enough to worry about, and I think if you really polled their true feelings, they'd be pretty anti-mutant. Sometimes living in America is depressing. Then you realize how bad it is elsewhere."

"Agreed. We don't have anyone who speaks Polish? Maybe we can go into the City (New York of course), and see if we can talk to one of the pastors at one of the churches in the Polish community about a translation." They usually speak Polish and, face it, they're about as trustworthy as one can get. "Do you think this attitude might spread to the US? We might need to start mounting rescue missions overseas. That's a sticky wicket of course. If we bring them back here, we need forged immigration papers, or the government will be all over us."

"Well, Schoennagel was easy. We just brought him back to Bavaria. But yeah, bringing them back here presents a lot of problems." Cyclops motions up towards the screen, "To be honest I'm a bit concerned that showing this to anyone might cause a can of worms the Professor might not want opened yet. I mean, look at this." He pushes away some of his paperwork and reveals a notepad of handwritten notes. "At a prison 100 miles northwest of Kiev, a warden with very little oversight, instituted extreme electric treatments trying to 'shock the mutant' out of of some of his Non-Visibles." He sighs and rubs at his hair. "I mean, it's like frankenstein meets the old south. Not only are they bigots, but their scientific knowledge is so out of whack they're just..." His voice trails and he shakes his head.

"We won't be doing those mutants any good if we can't translate the documents though, Scott," Jean says softly. She rests her hand on his shoulder. "I know it's hard to trust outsiders, but we might not have much choice in this matter. Unless you think maybe Schoennagel would translate for us if we brought them to him?" She lifts a brow questioningly.

Scott shakes his head, "I don't want to bother that man and put him through any more than he's already been through." His eyes, hidden behind his glasses go up to the board, "I'm not going to move on it until I talk to the Professor. If nothing else, the translation will be slow, but I can do it."

"All right. If you reconsider, though, let me know. If we have to," Jean says hesitantly, "though I hate doing it, I can alter the pastor's memories after we get our translation, to keep him from remembering what he saw." She settles into the seat beside Scott and flips the papers on her clipboard. "We had some poison ivy on the grounds. One of the little ones is itching like mad."

The news is probably not funny, but it breaks the tension and the fear of what he might find in the files. Scott swivels in his chair and shakes his head. "Are you serious? Oh man. Nothing like a poison ivy outbreak at the beginning of summer. I am so happy school is done."

Jean chuckles softly. "I know. I pretty much dipped him in a vat of calamine lotion and I have him in the upstairs infirmary wearing mittens so he can't scratch at it. He's sleeping from the antihistamines I gave him." She sighs. "Maybe we should make it a point to take the kids out on the boat in a few days when he's feeling better, to cheer him up."

Scott raises an eyebrow, "If that's your trick to try and see me in a bathing suit, Jean, it worked. You don't think Warren will care if we borrow one of his, do you? After what went on here post-spring break and the kids squirrelliness, I have half a mind to make some kids wipe out pretty hard on the tube."

"I don't think Warren would mind. If he did, he certainly has the money to park his boat somewhere else," Jean notes with a smile. "Maybe I just want /you/ to see /me/ in a bathing suit. Ever think of that?" She taps her pen against her chin, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Yes, I did think of that. In fact, since you're a mind reader, you might have sensed the reverse psychology in that." Scott smiles and plops his pen back on the tablet. "You wanna get a drink?"

Jean scrawls her signature at the bottom of the ivy-victim's paperwork. "I'd love a drink," she replies, standing again to tuck one hand in a pocket. "Here or Harry's?"

"Up to you. It's either brandy in Scott's room or whatever you want at Harry's. If we're going out though, I'm going to need to change and need some time go get ready." Scott's already gathering his things.

"All right, how about Harry's then? I need to get out of the house." Some house, Jean, it's a fricken mansion. "Let me go put on something less work-like and I'll meet you downstairs in 20?"

Scott nods, "Sounds good. I'll drive." He stands up, grabs his paperwork, flashes her a grin, and breaks for the door at a brisk pace.