2013.07.03 - Downtime in the X-Lounge

It's towards the end of the day, here at the Xavier Institute Mansion, and the sun is swiftly falling behind the forest cover that surround the Mansion's back side. The soft, warm, glow of of an obscured sunset floods into the open windows of the second floor lounge... illuminating the room's occupants and all things inside.

And there's quite a few persons in here, this time of day... mostly young students but some faculty as well. Many are lounging in the various seats provided, watching television or engaging in some computer time or reading amongst other things.

Seated upon a brown leather sofa in a far corner of the room, a good ways from the television and its chattering viewers, is a woman with long, flowing, violet mane and emerald green eyes. She's dressed rather casually today, wearing a simple pink blouse with frilly white undershirt and a white knee-length skirt with mini heels. In her right hand, is a book she appears to be reading from idly... expresssion as neutral and unexpressive as can be.

Something starts to come from one of the many cold air return vents in the mansion's lounge.

Black smoke.

Many of the students are well aware of what it is. There was a bet going around amongst Kwabena Odame's senior survival class; whomever scored the highest on the mid terms would be granted the 'dare' of their choice, which would be performed by the Ghanaian instructor. Stephen Hoff was the lucky winner, one of the older students who had shown promise in Shift's classroom.

Stephen had kept his lips tightly sealed as to what, exactly, the dare would be.

Now, Kwabena isn't much for showing off. However, he's also a man of his word, and Stephen's dare was far from too disruptive or dangerous.

Many of the younger students dart from their seats, pointing at the cold air return with expressions of shock, surprise, and confusion. The black smoke billows out, soars around the room, and suddenly snatches the sandwich being held and munched on by the runner up, Missy Eckhart. Missy gasps and reaches for the stolen sandwich, but it's no use; the parcel is thoroughly caught up in the tendrils of black.

Those tendrils form the shape of a man, and then with a quiet sucking sound of air being displaced, Kwabena forms in the cloud's place, sandwich in hand. He's clad in his X-Men Uniform, which, of course, for those who aren't aware of the secretive team, would easily mistake it for some special bit of clothing Mr. Odame wears to avoid embarassing de-clothing when having taken his gaseous form, complete with the stylized 'X' of the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning.

Kwabena munches on the sandwich, and waves at Missy with the most charming grin he can muster.

Cessily's in a fairly good mood, sauntering through the door of the mansion, swinging some shopping bags. The silver girls' dressed for the weather, pink top, denim skirt, simple shoes, although one might gather that she has fancier things in her bags, given the labels. She sails past the door to the lounge, then pauses and does a bit of a take, eyeing the violet-haired woman and trying desperately to place her.

An iPad happily tucked under his arm, Doug approaches the lounge, intent on finding a place to sit. Like Cessily, dressed for the weather in tan shorts and a polo shirt, the young blond mutant pauses as Cessily is in the way. "Hey, Cess, what's the matter?" he comments, moving slightly to the side. "You're blocking the door..." His voice trails off as he follows her gaze towards Betsy. "Oh, that's Betsy Braddock," the blonde comments. "You know, the model on those magazines you've seen in supermarket stands. Professor X brought her back in..."

A smile crosses his face. "Go on in, I'll introduce you."

Kwabena's presence is met with a hello in Dangme. "< Greetings, Kwa! How are you? >" he calls out, before stepping into the room, mindful of traditional Ghanaian cultural etiquette.

Being rather unaccustomed to the goings on of the mansion just yet, due to not living around the place, the sudden movement of surprised students in the backdrop draws Betsy's eyes from the pages of her reading material.

And those eyes track upwards toward the ominous black smoke oozing out of the cold air vents. An ordinary person might assume it to be the result of something alarming, like a fire. But those eyes of hers are full of curiousity as opposed to alarm. She feels she knows, immediately, who it is - both due to the psychic signature and familiarity she cannot yet put words to. The same familiarity that struck both of them wordless in the atrium a day prior.

Her focus on the spectacle is such that, for a few moments, she neglects to acknowledge Cessily's staring. ... That is, until, Doug shows up... and her eyes are forcibly drawn from Kwabena at the critical moment of the gag. She misses the sight entirely, eyes shifting toward the girl... mildly quizzical... and then flit to Doug wordlessly.

And she closes the book with a *whumpf* of air, painted lips parting to express -something-... but the students' laughter draws her eyes again momentarily... provoking an amused smile... before settling on Cessily again. "...Hello there?"

"It is?" Cessily asks Doug, before realizing how incredibly rude that must come off. "Oh, right! Hello, Miss Braddock," she says, raising a hand. Truth is they covered past X-Men in some of the X-Menning classes but having not actually met her before, Betsy didn't quite lodge in Cessily's skull. "Welcome back?" she says tentatively. "I'm Cessily Kincaid. I...I just graduated, actually," she says with a rather proud smile. She glances sideways as smoke gathers and collects, reforming into Shift. "Oh. Mister Odame. Quite the entrance as always," Cessily says with a faint smile.

Kwabena lifts the sandwich up in a mock salute to those who are cheering and laughing. He walks across the way toward Missy Eckhart, and hands the sandwich back to her. "You can thank Mistah Hoff for dat display, young miss," explains the accented African. "He's scored de highest on my survivahl tests, and a dare is a dare."

Missy looks at her sandwich with a curled nose, then back up at Kwabena plaintively.

"Don't worry," he says, reaching out to pat the girl on her shoulder. "Next time, you'll get de highest marks, and it will be your turn to fiah back."

Leaving the students to snicker and chide each other over their relative successes with Kwabena's mid terms, he turns and notices first the traditional greeting offered by Doug. "Doug," he says, then breaks into his own natural Dangme. "< I am quite well. It is good to see you. >" He walks approaches Doug and tips his head down just slightly. "< I hope my orders haven't put too much of an overload on the communications network. I'm afraid the precautions are absolutely necessary, given the Inhibitor many of us have encountered. >"

Reverting to his accented and sometimes screwy English, he cants his head toward Cessily when she acknowledges him. "Hey," he offers. "Listen. Some few times have I done dat for show. Oddah times it is for necessity!" He smiles at her broadly, before his attention is naturally captured by the violet haired model.

He's had some time to process their most unexpected encounter, of course, but seeing her takes him off guard nevertheless. There is a brief pause, before he tips his head toward her in more of a bow than a nod. "Hello, Bets. You've settled in nicely." He smiles. "Good."

"< Don't worry about it, we'll take care of it, >" Doug replies to Kwa, as he steps around Cessily, motioning for her to come along. It's not as though Betsy was going to bite, not with that amused/uncertain body language.

Bringing his iPad down onto his lap as he settles onto a seat next to Betsy, Doug nods with a smile towards Missy as she's reassured by Kwa. "Cess's also one of... ah, the special students... excuse me, graduate," Doug says with that faintly secretive smile, the one that had been on Betsy's the other day when she spoke of special work.

Glancing at Kwa's question, Doug smiles. "What'd the Professor say?" he asks curiously, canting his head.

Betsy seems not overly concerned with what Cessily might have thought to be her rudeness. From the psion's own perspective, she was not necessarily worthy of recognition here yet. A model she was, yes, but not everyone follows the fashion world closely - or at all. Instead, she politely places the hardcover book she was reading upon the sofa next to her and stands... taking Cessily's offered hand as courtesy demands and giving it restrained shake. "Hello to you too, darling. It is a pleasure.", she intones deeply, a touch of Britain in the way she expresses this.

"Really? A Graduate? That /is/ something to be proud of." She was not yet fully-aware of the Istitute's standards yet, but given her brief exposures to Professor Xavier, she had confidence the students here were being groomed well. "Well, though I have been introduced somewhat already it's only right I provide my own. Elizabeth Braddock, but you may call me Betsy."

She then acknowledges Kwabena, again,returning his bow with a genuinely warm smile. "Yes, I am starting to. Getting acclimated has been easier than I had anticipated. ... It is a pleasure to see you again, as well, Kwabena." No 'Mr. Odame', interestingly enough. She reciprocates his familiarity readily.

...And then, having done proper introductions, she settles into the sofa again beside Doug, eyeing him momentarily before adding, "Greetings to you as well."

Cessily returns the shake, looking just a bit awkward. The woman's older than her, but not super older than her, so it's a strange area, as far as Cess is concerned. "I...like to think so," she says with a slight smile. "I'll be starting ESU in the fall do we'll see how prepared I really am, right?" she asks. "But I'm still volunteering here at the school and I'll come back to visit. It's....the place that made me what I am today." Shift has reconnected.

"He agrees," notes Kwabena, offering a more simple response to Doug's question. "Desperate times, and all dat. Of course, dere were some few recommendations he made given de circumstance."

The familiarity given by Betsy does get a moment's notice from him. It was enough to acknowledge that, perhaps, their close friendship had managed to live beyond whatever it was that had changed her. Mental note; he will have to confront her at some point. But not now. Certainly not now.

Attention turns then to Cessily, to whom Kwabena gives a more broadened smile. He'd played a small role in her development, to be sure, for she had attended some of his survival classes in the Danger Room. "Cessily and I share some few familiar traits. Dough my particular form of 'turning into liquid' is quite different from hers." He smirks slightly. "Makes me jealous at times." He casts his eyes toward Doug and Betsy, explaining, "she's fastah."

Nodding in acknowledgment of Kwabena's statement, Doug turns his attention towards Cessily with some pride. "Well, prepared enough for starting to decide where your path will go, at least. Now what you want to study..."

The eyeing causes Doug to run his fingers through his hair sheepishly. "Ms. Braddock," he says. "Uh... what will you be working with here at the Institute?"

Elizabeth gives a slow, thoughtful, nod of her head... with violet curls dancingly elegantly about... as Cessily continues with regards to her education. The psion's eyes focus intensely upon the other girl the entire time, as though she were the only other person in the room forf the moment as she speaks. "Continuing education, are you luv? ... That's lovely. There is nothing more valuable than education. ... I readily admit, I have given some thought to pursuing more education myself. Not for the money, obviously. More for the benefit of my own curiousity."

She lifts the hardcover book from beside her again, placing it upon her lap gingerly, and then brings her hands to rest upon its surface. "That is, if I ever escape my agent." A soft chuckle escapes her.

Then, her emerald green eyes lift to regard Kwabena once more... expression reverting to a more neutral state as she absorbs what is said passively. Her eyes shift between Kwabena and Cessily as he explains her power, and reveals another of his own, and the psion's expression seems to shift yet again to a more contemplative one. "...Quite a useful and unsual set of abilities the two of you have. I'm sure it makes you invaluable." To what, she doesn't say. But everyone knows. ... One can only imagine the ways of applying such powers to the situations the X-Men doubtlessly find themselves in.

And, finally, her eyes fall upon Doug as is sheepish tone reaches her ears. She gives him another rather amused, almost flirtacious, smile, saying, "Well.... I have many gifts. Were I asked to teach here, I'd be hard pressed to choose. I have skillsets ranging from piloting small aircraft to the expertise in the use of Telepathy and Telekinesis." But, she knew there were other mutants with those abilities here surely. Those niches were probably already filled...

Cessily raises her eyebrows, startled that Shift just dropped the bomb like that. "Not, not really liquid," she says, waving her hands in protests, as best she can. "I just...shapeshift," she says, and demonstrates by stretching her left arm, the one not holding the bags, out. "But I can't change my skin or anything. I'm....just a blob of metal, really," she admits.

Missy excuses herself, running off. And after a brief pause, so too, does Kwabena with a merry smile and a farewell in his ... interesting English.

Doug glances at Cessily, but as a previous suggestion that it might be in her head was rebuffed, decides not to say. Instead, he reaches out and tries to ruffle Cessily's hair. "Not all metal, silly. You've still got heart."

His attention shifts to Betsy's entolling of her abilities, blinking at the smile, before absentmindedly returning it, the grin growning warmer as he whistles. "Well, that's great. There's going to be a lot of demand to work with you."

"I see.", Betsy's tone crests momentarily as Cessily displays her unique power, peaking with her interest, before falling back to its usual low. "Don't be so modest, dear. You have a gift, you should learn to cherish it." It's not a condescending manner in which the violet-maned psion says this, there's a soft, almost motherly, touch to it. "And don't let anyone tell you differently. Your gifts could save the world some day, if they have not already." There's another warm smile at the end there. She does not know whether Cessily has participated in many - if any - missions yet. But she knows from years of experience the sort of impacts gifted mutants can have, good or bad.

"It's my understanding there are others with my gifts here.", she replies to Doug, "I know Charles is certainly a telepath. He and I have had some rather interesting, if brief, discussions o the subject. ... Still, ..." and she trails off momentarily, lifting a hand to toy with her hair in thought, "I have decided to do what I can." ... It's then that she notices an oddity, and ceases to toy with her violet locks, "...And what of your own gifts? If you don't mind my asing. You seem to have a knack for languages."

"It's easier some days than others," Cessily says with a faint smile at Betsy. "I think it's easier when you look like...well, you, than like me," the metal girl says. "I should get upstairs and put all this away," she says, lifting her bags by way of demonstration. "Nice to meet you, Miss Braddock," she says. "And nice hair!" she says, waving and departing.

"She's right," Doug begins, before Cessily hurries to go, and the young blonde is left with an arched eyebrow, before tilting his head towards Betsy.

Taking a deep breath, the young blond mutant nods. "I think, though, it's probably better to have several teachers, so that Professor X can stay the headmaster and focus on that. So it's a good thing. And I think, uh... honestly, it might be easier to talk with you than with Professor X."

Cripes, he'd better be careful about thinking about -why- that would be.

Betsy's question about his abilities causes Doug to smile. "Well, my ability is linguistics. Uh, basically, all methods of communication... I can understand and translte all that." He'd had this conversation with Caitlin and others, and it seemed less and less lame the more and more computer technology - and computer languages- became prevalent in an ever-increasing global society.

Betsy's lips contort into a bit of a mildy concerned expression, as Cessily expresses weariness and a lack of confidence in herself - especially in her looks. Her hand idly toys with her hair again, but this time the movements seems a bit more... unskillful and empty. As though her though her thoughts were elsewhere. She does, eventually, reply to the girl before she leaves though, "...Take care, luv." and then offers a polite nod as she watches the girl disappear from the room.

"Oh...?", the violet-haired woman ceases with her toying momentarily to shift her gaze from the door to Doug. There is a bit of surprise in her tone. "You don't find Charles an easy person to speak to?" She found that a bit odd, she got along with him just fine so far. He was a bit anal-retentive, she had to admit, but otherise he always seemed to have his heart in the right place. And his students were always on his mind, something she found endearing. "I suppose I can understand that, he can be... rather stiff." Another soft chuckle escapes her.

"Hmm, quite useful that. Must come in very handy for commnunications, and you can never underestimate the import of communications." She knew this well, having worked for the government for numerous years where communication was critical to keeping everything from falling apart.

"It's not that he's not an easy person to speak to," Doug comments, his hands shifting to tug his iPad tablet closer to him, almost practically hugging it. "It's just that when you've been a student of his, you don't just go to -equal- so easily."

A wry smirk crosses his face. "Plus the Professor was pretty surprised when I turned back up here." Mostly because he'd been -dead-, but that was a story for another time.

The smile on his face has abandoned 'politeness' and achieved genuineness. "Yes, Do you know how many more languages are being developed every day? I swear, I don't even know till I get to see or hear it, and then... blam!" His mouth and hands does a fair imitation of Emeril, before the young man grins. "The Professor thought it worked on at least a bit of a psychic level, but... you know, I don't feel like I read minds... well, I do read bodies, at least."

"That would have been my first guess, as well. Being a telepath myself, and knowing how easily communication becomes once you connect in that way, it seems only natural for an ability like that to be founded on telepathy..." She ponders that peculiarity in silence for a moment, releasing her hair to touch a finger to her lips as she does so.

By now, the other students seem to slowly be departing the room as the sun sinks well below the horizon outside... leaving the room a bit darker than it had been.

She watches a student pass by, hand still touching her lip, until he passes the doorway and out of sight. "...Well, anyway...", she begins, leaning away from Doug momentarily and stretching across the sofa with the sinuous grace of a cat. There's a click as she turns on a nearby light, and then she leans back in, eyeing him. "That's still quite an intriguing gift. ... And, your ability applies to reading body language as well...?" Her brows raise, momentarily, at that revelation... and then she laughs, patting the book in her lap softly as she does so, "...I suppose all of my usual wily tricks won't work on you, then, hm...?" She adopts a low, teasing tone, as she gives him a knowing smile, "You probably already know, but I am qute decent with non-verbal communication myself." But she's not very earnest with unfamiliar people though.

Warming to the subject, Doug nods enthusically. "Though it wouldn't account for computer languages and... I think, anything that conveys information could be considered a language, so, I don't know, I might be able to read bumblebees dancing to tell other bees where the honey is. Not that I want to get anywhere near a beehive," the young blond shudders.

The languid stretch has Doug politely averting his eyes, as she seems to be relaxing, and ... well, yes, the grace of a cat could also mean the playfulness of a cat, and judging by her laugh, she's aware of that.

"Ah yes," Doug says, shifting his eyes back towards her teasing knowing smile, before nodding. "Yes, though uh, it's probably easy to identify when you're putting someone on, and when you're being sincere."

Rubbing the base of his neck, Doug smiles, tilting his head to glance at the book she was reading. What was it, anyway?

"That's true, although... I think... that's only accounting for direct person-to-person telepathy. What if, perhaps, your ability stemmed from something akin to 'reading the mind of the world'...?", she postulates for the moment that such a thing exists, "What if, everything that is known or ever has been known to anyone exists in some accessible form... tucked away in a collective consciousness beyond the individual level? And you had a direct link to that? That's pretty far out there, I know, but I've seen stranger things... I am also capable of traversing the astral planes like the Professor..."

She stops herself, suddenly, realizing he may have absolutely no grasp of what she's talking about. "..Uh, well, don't worry too much about it." She waves her whole 'getting lost in the world of ideas' thing right off, adding as an aside, "...It's a /very thought-provoking power you have. You should be proud. I am sure Charles thinks much the same."

As for the book, though her hand is presently covering some of the lettering, it can be gathered from the cover picture, which features an old greek marble statue, and the title that it is a book on ancient greek philosophy most likely.

A Greek philosophy book. Doug smiles briefly at that, shifting his attention back towards Betsy's espousation, eyes widening slightly. "Reading the mind of the -world-?" His head tilts as he considers that. "... I... you know, I don't think I've ever taken philosophy, but... wow, that -is- out there."

Putting the iPad down over his lap, Doug settles deeper into his seat, motioning towards the book. "Then again, I shouldn't be surprised, right?" It's rather obvious, what Doug is saying, but it seems more like the young man was keeping converation going, if only to get a better understanding of what Betsy was getting at. "You really think the world is... well, personified into Gaea, and that we're just tapping into it?"

"Mm, no I wouldn't go that far." A small shake of her comes, and violet ringlets dance again. She then turns to face him a bit more directly, drawing her legs up closer to her body such that they tuck neatly upon the sofa. It brings those leanly muscular legs, previously harder to see due to them being beneath her, into plain sight. What of them wasn't covered by her skirt, anyhow. With that she raises her right elbow up, resting it against the sofa, and props her head against an open hand as she eyes him. "I don't believe in Greek mythology. But I -do- believe in the possibility of a collective consciousness. It's easy to understand -why-, I should think. After all, how is that two or more minds can engage one another through telepathy if they are not interconnected? I believe a telepath does not form connections with others psychically, they exploit them in a way that very few can."

Her eyes drop to his iPad momentarily, as she continues that thought, "Music, for instance, has a power to speak to the soul that seems to defy language barriers. It doesn't matter what language a song is in, if it is well-made the feelings inherent to the song speak for themselves." And then her eyes bounce back up to his face, she smiles warmly again, "...Body language is also like that... so much can be said with a gesture even so simple as a smile. It can communicate happiness, amusement, playfulness, or even dishonesty..."

Her fingers drum against the book that was now resting atop her left thigh, "...The scientific explanation says that the brain is responsible for all of this, but I don't believe that's the whole story." ... And then, the the gonging of a nearby oaken wall clock catches her attention, drawing her eyes off of him momentarily, "Hrm... it is later than I thought..."

Sometimes, tracking body language could be a problem with people, and Doug's eyes shifts for just a moment to get a read, before realizing just what he was looking at, and quickly snapping back, as he looks away bashfully, back towards Betsy's quizzical gaze as she talks about communicating mind to mind.

Nodding slowly in agreement with music, Doug hesitates as the way she words things -almost- sounds like subtext somewhere. But no, she wasn't...

Was she?

No, no, Doug did -not- so need to be trying to decipher that.

Nodding rather quickly, as he glances towards the clock, the young mutant nods. "Yeah, the sun sets pretty late at this time of the year."

Yes, thank you, Captain Obvious.

"Um... I should be going. I have, uh... people to meet."

Online, but hey, do you really want to explain that to...

Oh cripes, she was a telepath anyway. Still... it -was- true enough!

There was always subtext with Elizabeth. As a powerful telepath and a model who is used to thinking in layers, and presenting them, Doug may not be too far off with his thoughts. Yet, he might also be imposing his own impulses upon the temptresses otherwise playful, but usually empty, games... a quandry that perhaps might present a challenge to his abilities...?

Or perhaps not. But she did so love those challenges...

Either way, his apparent flusteredness at her expositions (both physical and mental) and word games amuses her. And it'd be easy for him to read in her body language. Especially in the way she wields that inviting, yet slighly teasing, smile and the somewhat lazy-lidded way she stares at him in silence through his stammering. When he finally finishes, she turns her head... eyeing the clock again for a pendulum swing or two... before wordlessly beginning to push herself up off the sofa and finally giving him space again to breath. "Very well, it's been a right /pleasure/ speaking to you again... Doug. I do hope you enjoy your evening..." And little else is said from the woman beyond that, not even a parting tease (probably just to throw a monkey wrench in his thoughts). She waits, a moment or so, for his reply... and then she departs from the room clutching the philosophy book beneath her right arm.

Wordlessly, Doug nods. Silence, in itself, was a language, and sometimes just saying -nothing- spoke volumes. Such as that he was -positive- that, as an older woman, more confident in her communication skills, he was positive that trying to translate -that- subtext was going to lead to trouble, and so he simply offers a smile, a wave, and then beats a hasty retreat as smoothly as he can without looking like he was fleeing.