Movie Night

June 09, 2015:

Betsy-Boop and Jeanie-Pop discuss relationships and future travel plans.

Betsy's Bedroom

Its her room! Why don't you ask her!


NPCs: None.


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Betsy and Jean are in Betsy's room. Because Jean's room has a certain scarlet-eyed jerkface living in it, who wouldn't appreciate being the butt of a girl's night. A TV set has been commandeered and set up, and is currently playing Danny Kaye's 'The Court Jester', because it's classic movie night.

Laying on the bed with her feet sticking straight up above her, heels on the wall and head dangling off the edge of the bed, Betsy doesn't seem at all bothered by her unconventional position. She tears off a bite of her Red Vine from the giant plastic bucket on the floor, chewing thoughtfully. There are no carbs on Movie Night.

"I have /no/ idea what to do about Zoe. I mean… yes. She's cute. But she's such a /child/. And then Kitty said she showed up and made a pass at /her/. So now I don't know if I should just drop the training entirely, or just… you know. Keep calm and carry on, and just swat her on the nose if she starts getting out of hand again. She's got talent and potential, but bloody hell, Jean, she's /relentless/," she complains, regaling Jean with the story of her arguments with Zoe in the Danger Room- and Kitty's somewhat confusing and then, very awkward conversation with the smitten young student. "It's like she turned eighteen and decided that everyone in the school was a future boy or girlfriend."


Red Vine, it was.. weird. Though, since the cheat day was already had, Jean suffered along with raw veg. An assortment of carrots, califlower, broccoli. There were even a bit of kiwi slices she managed to cut up into a pretty bloom that's left undisturbed upon her plate. It was too pretty to eat. But a califlower was picked up; the no shoe wearing Jean tugs upon her gym shorts just enough to make them feel comfortable. She was listening, of course, the movie an after thought.

"You have to understand, that we were once children too." Her brows lift and lower, body scooting up so that her back remains flush against the bed, possibly only a glance away from Betsy but their physical closeness was as tight as their bond. "After all of the years of Zoe actually being at this school and becoming acclimated and comfortable with all of us, it's only a matter of time that she decides to seek someone out to help quell her raging hormones."

*CRUNCH* snacksnacksnack*

"Clear boundaries need to be established if you are going to train her. If you are going to continue to train her. I highly doubt you would need a buddy system to keep her little paws off of you." Jean leans, brushing cheek against cheek, just because she could and was allowed. "Perhaps it's hero worship, you think? There are many stories where students fall in love with their professors.."


Betsy turns her head to bump against Jean's cheek, sighing softly. "God. Yes, she /led/ with this thing about… Samurai and students having relationships, and well… the first night we talked, I'd had a little bit of vodka and I was maybe a bit less frosty than I should have been. But you're right- on both counts. I'll have a talk with her if it turns into an issue." She reaches down (up?) and pats Jean's opposite cheek in a hug, dressed much the same- thin, comfortable white cami top and white gym shorts with pink piping.

"I'm also renting a place in town," she says after a song and dance number finishes. She puts her index finger quickly on Jean's lips, still upside down and her hair spilling on the ground at the bedside. "Shush! I'm not moving /out/. I met two girls who work for Howard Stark, and we hit it off, and they invited me to rent a spare room from them in Midtown. It's just so I have a place to stay in the city a few nights a week, so I don't have to rent a hotel room or stay with friends on their bloody sofas." She lets her arms hang, the one on Jean's face draping affably across her shoulder.


Jean wrinkles her nose a little, her shoulders drawing upright to kiss the bottom lobe of her ear, her head shaking briefly which allows the red curls to mess and fray. "Gosh Bets." She manages to get out, a baby carrot picked up and pointed. "Do you remember the story I told you of my calculus professor in Columbia?" Slightly pale cheeks turn a little hint of red as she continually leans on Bet's now. Head to head. A weird position but comfortable. "Ian Somerhalder eyes. Impossible smile. Dark hair. In fact, the man was irresistably handsome and personable. So personable that the few women did not fall for the man rightfully assumed that he was a sociopathic serial killer. No man could be that gorgeous and not be damaged." She takes a bite of the carrot in thought.

Should the story continue? Because Jean was going somewhere with this, she was just momentarily distracted.

But the renting a place? It causes her eyebrows to shoot upright. She thought Betsy was leaving again but.. "Oh.. god.." Jean breathes a sigh in relief. "I would love to join you there, to get away from the madness of students and paper work and.. everything for a while."

Carrot fully popped within her mouth and chewed.. a thoughtful glance now given towards Betsy. "Who's Flash?"


"aauauauuauagghhhhh…" Betsy grabs a pillow and covers her face with it, then goes boneless like a cat, wrists hitting the floor over her head. "He's… all right. He's with SHIELD," she admits, squinting her eyes shut. "He was part of the escort team they assigned me when I was staying at Triskelion. He… well. God, he was /sweet/," she says, sighing a bit dreamily. "He never looked crossways at me. Or stared at me as lasciviously as some of those bastiches did. I mean… he /did/," she admits, "but he was at least discreet about it. And those shoulders. Argghf." She twists her hands into claws several feet wide. "You just want to…"

She reaches for her tablet and brings up a Facebook photo of him. Flash does indeed look like the all-American blonde boy you'd cast in a movie about college football players, blonde and athletic. She hands the tablet to Jean. "But my god, Jean, he was just so damned /nice/ that I couldn't stop thinking about him. And dinner, the /rose/, he brought a rose, how romantic is that?" she demands, babbling a bit.

"So… god. I don't know. I know part of this is that I- Kwannon- never had this kind of opportunity. And we're acting out a bit," she exhales. "And I wonder if I should even be /dating/ let alone seeing someone as sweet as Flash. I've been asked out a dozen times since I got back and I haven't yet said no to anyone who was reasonably interesting. That's not like me," she says, wailing a bit.

"But those SHOULDERS, Jean. And that ASS. URGH." She covers her face.


Jean breaks out into a fit of laughter, drawing herself up with her elbows pressed upon the bed to slide upon it. It was awkward really, the way she turned and rolled, crawled upon her knees, shifted to the left and flopped upon her back to stare up at the ceiling. Foot propped, one leg crossed upon the knee, and her legs were swaying left and right at an easy cadence.

"It sounds like you have a crush.." She reaches for the tablet, pressing the pictures tab to bring up the others, filtering through them slowly. He was a looker, that was for certain, but she quietly longed for a romantic night of her own.

"I think it's amazing." She finally breathes out, letting the tablet rest upon her stomach as she draws her hands behind her head as a mock pillow. "If you've been asked out so many times and only manage to talk about this man to me then I think there's something there."

She grins a little. "The problem with dating a man or even being with a man with high resumes such as Flash and Scott.. there's sometimes very little time for you both to connect." She sighs then, that smile fading. "But he made time for you Eliza-non. The world is falling apart and he made time." The tablet was grabbed to prevent her from rolling upon it, facing Betsy with a side lay and a propped head by hand.

"I say go for it. Go for him. I would kill for a bouquet of roses and a candlelight dinner.. a trip to France.."


"Well. Howard Stark might have… invited me to go see his car collection," Betsy mutters, shifting her eyes away. When Jean does her seal impression, Betsy shifts her butt a bit so Jean can tuck her legs up more comfortably. Her hand drifts down while she looks across the room, fingers finding Jean's and twining with effortless affection. "I'm /only/ taking him up on it because there's a chance I might get to sit in the original Stark hovercar," Betsy says. Jean might be one of the only people who knows of Betsy's affection for classic cars. "I promise to do nothing you wouldn't do." She bounces their hands back and forth absently, eyes focused on the ceiling for a long moment.

"You'd tell me if I was really different, wouldn't you?" she says, softly, a rare uncertain note in her voice. "I mean, I know I am different. I can see it in the way I respond to things and people and situations. At the mall, when you wanted to… you know… with…" she goes silent. Some things don't need to be articulated, but her soaring approval for Jean's firey resilence and furious decisiveness can be felt palpably by the other woman.

"I just worry. I don't know if I'm changed, or this is just… I don't know, some sort of mid-life crisis…?" she says, flickering her purple-manicured fingers on her free hand, frustration in her movements. "Part of me is really scared, Jeaniebean," she says, softly, fidgeting with the hem of her brief shorts. "I worry that if this is all just part of that brainwashing… I don't…" she sniffles and wipes at her amethyst eyes, brushing away something sparkling.


"You're.. kidding me.." Howard Stark? THE Howard Stark? Jean had no words. The man was a true legend in the science world; if Hank heard that Betsy has met Howard? Maybe his head would roll! A finger lifts to bite for a moment, then drops to join hands, her gaze following the lines of where their flesh became different, noting the changing in color, in tone. It was slight, but a lovely contrast, so much so that Jean allowed her thumb to brush along her skin.

"Do you think me a prude, Bets?" An eyebrow lifts. "Really?" It was a joking tone, but the conversation turns serious. Serious enough for those hands to disconnect so that Jean could roll upon her back again. She wasn't Xavier. She had kind words to share with her friend but nothing as deep. Maybe.

"Most do not realize this, but we do. You, me. Xavier. Quinten." Her lips press slightly. "Change comes whether we like it or not. Whether it's subtle, or on a grand scale such as your case. Sometimes we can tell when that change happens and sometimes we don't. Sometimes that change opens us up to more things and more possibilities, which are often times in the guise of something else. It doesn't matter what happened to you in the end. Betsy. Your heart is still your heart and nothing can change that. It's still you. And I've always seen you clearly."


Betsy smiles at Jean. Not just the words- the emotions that go behind them. So much clearer than her own, so ordered and full of a deep and burning affection. Maybe that's what the Phoenix saw in Jean- that boundless capacity for love. Perhaps that's what Betsy admired and envied most in her lovely best friend, who'd been with her through thick and thin.

"Yes, you're a prude. You're the prudiest… prude who… ever pruded," Betsy says, smiling and sniffling through tears that are more filled from touching that resevoir of joy and kindness. "And you've got a fat butt and you're even shorter now than ever," and she rolls sideways and wraps her arms around legs around her friend in a flailing mess of dusky, well-muscled skin. "But you're MINE and I LOVE you," she croons teasingly, hugging Jean against her with a lot more heart than she has words to adequately express.


Jean laughed, she wasn't laughing at the tears, but the feeling of joy that overwhelmed their connection. She positively curled once the arms were wrapped around her, only coming up from air to not be trapped by her bosom. "My ass isn't fat!" She whines out, it almost sounded like a cry, yet arms were interwined with legs and hugs were returned equally as tight and loving.

"Just for that, let me regal you with tells of steamy nights with your ex-lover. Oh.. my.. god.. that man.." She didn't continue, she just broke out into laughter as she settles into the hug-lock, the movie long, long forgotten. "I love you too Bets. We'll get everything figured out. One day at a time."


"Oh, you horrid cow," Betsy sniffs, poking Jean in the side and resting her forehead against Jean's, eyes shut in her smile. She opens those unusually-hued amethyst eyes and pecks Jean's cheek, then rolls onto her back again, leaving one arm trapped behind Jean's neck. Her other hand squeezes Jean's fingers again, thumb poking and rolling against her knuckles absently. She takes a deep breath, chest stretching her cami top threateningly, and then deflates, blowing all her negative emotions away.

"We should have a date night," she says after a companionable silence, one foot bobbing in the air as she does while thinking. "Just us girls. For fun. We can get all dressed up- oooh, I could wear that gown Pietro made," she gasps, eyes widening at the thought. "We'll go see something… classy, like an opera, or a Chippendale's show. And then a really nice dinner somewhere, with wine we didn't hide in a box in our room for a week. And then a carriage!" she says, bouncing on the bed a little. "And we'll get absolutely /pissed/ on a trip around Manhattan and wake up with a dreadful hangover."


Jean grins, keeping her laughter contained for the moment, yet once Betsy moves, she does as well. Back to her side again, one hand curling around her arm as she scoots in just enough to close the distance. The prospect of a date night.. wasn't all that bad. But the drinking?

"I'm afraid to drink." She openly confesses, something that wouldn't leave the room. "Ever since that night in Cabo.. I could and still can touch a drink, yes. But to get pissed?" She grins. "Knackered.." The grin fades as she worries upon her lower lip.

"But lets do it. I'll be your DD. I'll make sure that you don't go off the rails and send the entire room into a dizzying tailspin. And if it's the Chippendale's? I'll keep you proper."

She sits up then, looking down towards her friend, her gaze slowly gone vacant as she remarks on times past. "Two date nights. Your world and mine. Dress down to casual and see a movie. Stop by the local ranch and go horseback riding. Something mundane.." She flops forward, chin pressed to Betsy's belly as she looks on, clearly she was thinking too hard about the date. "Or.. a trip to France with our loves."

"Oh my god, Cabo," Betsy moans, putting her hand over a suddenly red face. "God. Fine, that's… yes, that's a fair point," she murmurs, touching her lips with eyes screwed shut, suppressing a laugh. "I still can't look at oysters," she admits, tittering a little.

When Jean flops forward, Betsy strokes her friend's brow, pushing some of those errant scarlet locks away from Jean's sweet features, pulling her head up so she can look down at her bright eyes. "Jean, darling, I love you, but I'm not taking a trip to France with you and Scott," she says, lifting an eyebrow in a decidedly Elizabeth expression. "Even with Flash or Honey along to keep me company. I would't mind going with just the two of us, though," she says, thoughtfully. "Oh, that could be fun. You could see my family estates in England. You could meet my horses!" She chews her lower lip, an expression she stole from Jean without realizing it. "Then it's a short trip across the Chunnel and there are… oh my, wineries everywhere, and my cousins from outside Calais have a lovely little estate- Paris is horrible, but Calais is so lovley…" she sighs dreamily, lost in memories of trips to Europe with her friends and family.


The thought of Cabo.. it sends an errant itch across her body. One hand lifts to idly scratch at her back even though nothing was there yet the feeling? It was comforting. "Blrughgh.." She manages to get out, shuddering completely. "Margarine makes me gag.."

"Bets.." Jean protests. "Scott and I have been planning this trip a very long time. Circumstances have gotten in the way but.. just come." She grahs quietly, then shakes her head completely. "Alright. Compromise." She finally manages to murmur, slipping upright to lightly kiss her chin as she pushes herself up to her knees carefully. "England."

"England and those parts only. We can go wher—.." And then those green eyes light up like a childs. "I want to go to Whitechapel! I want to see any and everything to do with Jack the Ripper and it's history. I want to stand outside of the Thames House.. maybe pick the brains of those inside and.." Gah, morality hits. ".. I just want to see England. I'll save France for Scott."


Betsy chokes back a laugh, hands slapping over her dark cherry lips. She sighs happily at the little affectionate touch from Jean to her chin, squeezing her friend comfortingly in response. When Jean shifts, Betsy does, too, though quite a bit more nimbly- legs coiling and slipping around so she faces Jean, her knees bumping the outside of the redhead's. She drops her rear down on the bed, between her heels, ever the flexible kunoichi. When Jean's eyes light up, she grabs her friend's hands, amethyst gaze opening wide in mutual glee.

"Yes! Yes!" she says, tugging on Jean's hands and bouncing on the bed excitedly. "Oh, it'll be fun! I can get us into the House of Lords, and Parliament, and we can do a trip over to /Ireland/ for a few days, I have a friend from Oxford there, Scotland's /dreadful/," she grates, rolling her eyes, "so just Ireland and maaaaybe a day trip to Wales…" She squeezes Jean's fingers and leans forward with bright, happy eyes, pushing her forehead against Jean's again, expression sparkling with a real joy she seldom expresses. "Oh, you'll love it there, Jeaniebean, you'll love it," she assures her, grinning that million-watt model's smile.

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