Plans and Things

September 26, 2015:

Betsy and Jean make a plan to travel.

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

Jean goes flying through the air and lands flat on her back, heels well up over her head, and hits the ground with a lung-draining *hurrff*.

Using Jean's wrist for leverage- as well as helping to control the unexpected fall- Betsy at least prevents Jean from breaking any bones despite the power of the simple wrist lock and throw she'd just used to throw her friend ass over teakettle. "Better," she tells the redhead, peering down at her friend. She releases Jean's wrist from her grasp and offers a tug to help her to her feet. "You're still a bit slow in stopping your fall. If you can't levitate smartly, then you can at least push off the ground enough to keep it from feeling like someone boxed your ears."

Betsy brushes a stray tendril of hair back from her face, though it falls right back into place, and steps back so Jean can recover her equilibrium. Their bare feet leave momentary indentations on the soft padded mat on the Danger Room's floor, Betsy moving with perfect balance despite the relatively uneven surface. Even in athletic clothing, she's dressed like she just stepped off the cover of a Lulemon advertising flyer- naturally, in a color-coordinated sports bra and capri yoga pants.

"You got a bit greedy with your punches and started leaning into it too much. Keep your weight centered closer to your heels, dear. Shall we?" She holds her cloth-padded hands at chest level in a loose, ready curl, a professional fighter's stance and her face unreadable.

Ego and self ceneteredness is usually left at the door, especially when being trained in combat in the danger room. Certainly, people could bump up the levels within to new heights and push themselves against AI simulated battles but nothing beats the actual physical, hand to hand combat. One that teaches, one that you can learn from, and one that you could actually attend lunch with and discuss the days events.

Training came in the form of Jericho Trent and Elizabeth Braddock, the need to master all avenues pertinent so that she wouldn't be caught unawares again, from the vicious and quick beating she took from Taskmaster and being fooled and follied in her own home, self improvement.. was necessary.

"It's a bit hard to differentiate the style of combat and what to use in the heat of the moment." Though, it was no excuse. It was just as it is. "There's kicks, there's spins and aikido throws, there's also military style combat where everything is aggressive and -leading- almost seems as if it were a dominance tactic."

Her own fingers brush through her hair, a little tickle upon the scalp immediately swiped away with her fingers as she takes in a breath, dropping herself into a cat-style stance, both hands straight with fingers pointed into the air as.. once again, Jean leads in with the punches and swipes she aims at her friend.

Betsy keeps her hands just below her chin, blocking the sloppiest of blows and letting the others through. A smart blow to her cheekbone doesn't even make her blink, absorbing the hit with stoicism that'd make Logan proud.

"Don't think about styles," Betsy says, circling with Jean and throwing cautious, looping punches designed more to make Jean think about her own head rather than to actually hurt her friend. "Stylistic training is arrogant. Cat style, crane forms, sambo. They've all got weaknesses that can be exploited." She abruptly steps forward past a blow that misses her chin by a fractional inch and, inside of Jean's effective striking range, hipchecks her at a point of imbalance and with a surprising amount of force. "I want you to learn how to win street fights, not make pretty moves better suited for flying-wire fighting." She catches both of Jean's wrists and shoves Jean's hands back to a proper defensive posture, then releases and backs up, gesturing for Jean to press the attack again. "Low risk maneuvers, dear. Short kicks. Short jabs. Focus on keeping your balance and fighting conseratively." She demonstrates by snapping the top of her bare foot into the inside of Jean's lower thigh, a stinging but relatively painless blow that is more meant to momentarily foil Jean's over-aggressive posture.

It was almost as if Jean really wasn't trying, or.. maybe she was and that she sucked -that- bad. Almost everything was done lack-luster and with minimal results, even though a hit was landed yet held back enough to not cause serious damage. "If that's the case, everyone that we've come across is arrogant." She mutters beneath her breath, the hip check catching her off guard enough for her to stumble and drop her hands in a mild hint of frustration. Fingers flex and stretch, wriggling briefly, the defensive posture taken up once again as she curls her fingers into a fist.

"Most of the time, my low risk involves using my powers." Hand lifts to tap at her temple, the blow to the lower thigh draws her back just enough to drop a hand to rub out the sting. "Remind me why we're doing this again.." She mutters dryly.. drawing her hands up yet again but.. she doesn't attack this time, she lays in wait.

"And if we get hit with another airborne chemical attack?" Betsy says, one eyebrow going up in a familiar fashion. "If your talents have been netralized? If we're somewhere that a telekinetic blow would raise suspicion, you have to be able to at least defend yourself with your bare hands."

Betsy frowns at Jean's reticence, resting her hands on her hips and shifting her weight to the right. "It's not about finding the easiest way to deal with every given problem," Betsy reminds Jean. "It's about being prepared to handle a challenge despite any handicap. I know you can telekinetically lift a car, but that won't do you any good if you're so dazed you can't focus your talents," Betsy points out.

After a moment of silence, she turns her head minutely, staring at Jean with a knowing look. "What's the problem? You seem hardly engaged in the training today," she observes, looking at the redhead studiously.

"Worst case scenarios, Bets. There's a chance that I won't even be there because I'll be confined to my desk." But, Jean understood her clearly. There was a time when she was gung ho about the training that she was getting, but it was only that. Training. To have real application out in the field possibly would have gotten her adrenaline fix, the need to save and rescue or just.. go on a simple mission.

"And I know this, all too clearly and well, there were times when we both were handicapped .. multiple times and we've always pulled through." She smiles a little, then throws her hands up, turning away from her friend to walk towards the bench of the created room to snatch her towel and bottle of water.

"We've been at this for a while now." Jean starts, only pausing to take a drink of water. A much needed drink. "But.. as I said. I'm stuck behind a desk and taking on classes that most people happen to miss, and dealing with the students and their issues as well as the teachers here.." She glances around. "I know it sounds like I'm complaining. And I love the kids and our faculty. But.. holy jeebers Bets, I need to get out and do something. -Anything-. Rescue a kitten from a tree or a window ledge, something."

"Mhm." Betsy watches Jean with a neutral expression as her friend walks away, contemplating her response. "You /do/ sound like you're complaining," Betsy tells Jean, following her to the bench. She eases onto the little seat with a thoughtless grace and crosses her legs at the knee, reaching for her water bottle and taking a careful sip.

"I'm sure we can find something, Jean, but I'm a bit concerned about this sudden urge for 'action', as you say. I could frankly go for a year before being shelled in Mutant Town again," she says with a deadpan British wryness to her tone. "Are you just feeling cloistered by work again? Or is there something else you're not telling me?"

Jean could only shrug with a slight shake of her head. "Alright, I am. But they're valid complaints from my perspective. You try being benched until the masses think you're 'better' to see how that pans out for you." She was dripping with sarcasm, really. Highly unlike her. She turns to take a seat as well, no grace behind her movements, just a frumpy flop with one leg draped over the other, knee pointed left.

But those walls immediately draw themselves upright, protecting her inner most thoughts as she gives a slight, side-long glance towards her friend. "Cloistered by work." Which, is partially true. But there was that hint of inner aggression.. "It's either that or a much, very much needed vacation. Somewhere not in New York. Period."

"I'm not saying they're invalid. Merely a bit unexpected." Betsy shrugs at Jean, in a sorry-not-sorry sort of way. "I understand the feeling, however. You've a lot of obligations, particularly with Scott being somewhat incommunicado again and Charles being off campus. I wish Ororo was a bit more available," she exhales. "And frankly, I know I'm of little use in terms of academics. At best I can keep them running around in circles until they tire themselves out," Betsy says wryly. "I'm not much of a teacher."

"We've talked about taking a vacation before, dear," she reminds Jean. "Or just some sort of holiday abroad. England's dreary shores await, you know," she says. "My family estates aren't lavish but they're comfortable and quiet. It might be a nice distraction for a little while," she offers.

Jean nods slightly, it was unexpected. She didn't expect to feel the way that she does but it was put out there as her own truth. "You and me both. I miss them all but.." She shakes her head a little. "Work is work." She does grin however, a slight nod given as she takes another drink of her water. "Running them in circles is all what being a gym teacher is about. By the time they get home to their parents, they're docile, ready to do homework, eat, shower and sleep with less of a fuss." She winks a little, then sighs.

"I know. I was holding out for Scott. I wanted him there, if anyone needs a vacation more than I do, it's him." But she shakes her head slowly, her hand drawn up to rub a little at her cheek. "But I suppose a few days away across the ocean on my own wouldn't hurt.."

"Darling, we all, perpetually, need a vacation," Betsy points out to Jean. "It seems a month can't go by without more than one of us in the emergency room. If we all went off the standard of someone else 'needing' more of a vacation than the other at a given moment, then no one would ever get a day off of work."

"If you think of somewhere you'd like to go, just say the word. I have some friends who could use a cargo pilot- it's not luxury accomodation, but it's cheap and direct. No layovers," Betsy offers. "And we could make a trip going back the other way fairly easily. If you'd like," she says, solicitously. "It's not as if this place will fall apart if you take a weekender away, you know. The students will be thrilled to have a short hol from homework, I'm sure."

"Do you know that some countries have workdays that only last three days a week? And they pride on vacation taken? Why America couldn't take on that mantle is far beyond me." She even chuckles a bit. "And elsewhere, school sometimes starts on Wednesday. It's their Monday." She does agree however, nodding her head and lowering it for a time, her hand soon lifting to rub at the back of her neck.

"I know that you can fly, but damn. It's an odd sight to see." She chuckles a touch, then glances up towards the makeshift ceiling. "Perhaps.. we should just go to London. See the night life for the weekend. We could probably be back before Monday morning." She points out. "And if not? There's Kurt and Hank."

"Because you Yanks have this maddening work ethic that keeps you slaving away at a school for six days of eight," Betsy tells Jean wryly. "A little holiday abroad is just the ticket. When I was a gel we'd take a driver out to Calais every third weekend just for a change of pace," Betsy tells Jean. "Where would we drive from here? Vermont? We'd still be in America," she says.

"I'll make some arrangements for travel," Betsy tells Jean, sipping more of her water. "You just coordinate with Hank and Kurt- let them know we'll be taking a bit of personal time. A few days, at most. I don't anticipate us being there terribly long." She goes to take another sip, then makes a face.

"Ugh. I'll have to at least stop in and see Brian," Betsy says with a weary exhale. "He'll be ever so cross if I didn't drop in and say hullo. Rotten little bugger," she mutters into her drink. "I can't remember, have you and Brian met?" she asks Jean, looking to her friend.

"What can I say? We're a country that lives to work." Another hint of sarcasm, and it wasn't angry nor dripping. She does listen even though it appears as if she was not, her hand lifting to twist left and right as well as a bob of her head. "Vermont is a thing of beauty, however. We may as well not be in America if we go there." A smile is given, as well as a push to a stand to her feet.

"I'll let them know. Of course there will be cause for concern that I'm leaving yet again, but at least I won't be alone this time." There was a clench of her jaw, then a gesture. "Emma. Perhaps she could go as well. I've been meaning to spend time with her." A bit.

She does give a little grin and a shake of her head, "A very long, long, long time ago. I'm unsure if he'd remember me." She shrugs her shoulders. "I think we were young, I wouldn't mind seeing how the illustrious twin brother of Ms. Braddock has turned out."

"He's a wanker," Betsy says automatically. She checks herself and sighs heavily, chin lolling up and eyes closing. "But he's my dear brother, so we'll stop in. I'll ask Emma if she's of a mind to go with us," she says, more agreeably, opening her amethyst eyes again and looking at Jean. "I'm glad you're willing to spend a few hours with her on a plane, Jean," Betsy says, sincerely. "She's become quite a good friend. It'd mean a lot to me if you two became friends, too," she says with gratitude in her voice. "And the effort means quite a bit to me. Thank you," she says, simply, rolling one bare shoulder in a shrug.

"Shall we aim for this coming Saturday, then?"

"Oh stop it." Jean happens to laugh out, shaking her head briefly. "It would be nice, however, if he came to visit the states. I'm sure he'll be a hit with the faculty here. Not to mention, the childhood stories he could share of you two." She winks a little, then prepares to leave.

"Saturday it is. And.. I know you care about Emma a great deal and how she's taken the time to help you after your.. incident." She winces at that. "And I know you'd do it for me, or at least try." And then she's off.. heading towards the exit. "Dinner is in an hour!"

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