Coming to America

October 13, 2015:

Betsy picks her brother up from the airport and makes an introduction at the Institute.

JFK Int'l, Xavier's Institute


NPCs: None.



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

It's not a terriby long drive from the Institute to JFK international, particularly because Betsy's Aston has good radar detection and a whopping 800 HP engine block under the hood. Casually breaking a half-dozen traffic laws, it only takes thirty minutes to make the commute to the airport in her convertible- top down, wind screaming along in her wake.

She pauses at a stop light to fire a text off to Lunair- 'Terminal B 2:30'- and roars off towards the terminal and the impossible maze of roads and ramps leading up to it.

She pulls up to the curb and hops up out of the car without using the door, undoing her flower-patterned kerchief that keeps her hair in place, and with a flick of her wrist produces a little brush to tug the few windblown hairs that are out of place back to where they belong. She's dressed like a flower- dark leggings, pink windbreaker, orchid boots. Betsy checks her appearance in the time it takes to open the boot, makes the brush disappear into her little purse, and then leans against the passenger side of her car and waits for Brian to show up.

She glances at the buzz of her phone and texts Lunair again. 'Here. u on ur way?' she fires off, thumbs tapping quickly.

The large updating bulletin boards that update flights constantly show that British Airways BAO180 has arrived on time - however, that has not stopped Brian Braddock from getting held up in Customs as he waits his turn in the queue.

"Do you have anything to declare?" the TSA officer asks Brian.

"Uh.. I am very pleased to be here in the Colonies?" he asks, oblivious to what the customs agent is asking - he's used to just flying where he wants to go. The whole reason he took a flight in first class was because his sister was insistant that he show up like a normal human being and not as the erstwise Captain Britain.

"No, wise guy, do you have any items from your home country to declare entry for into the United States."

"Oh!" Brian offers, a mirthful smile given. "Yes, I promised Bets, that's my sister, some gifts from home she can't get.. I have some tea, and a tin of her favorite biscuits, and these!" With that, he pulls out a small case of Kinder Eggs.

"I'm sorry, sir.. we're going to have to confiscate these."

"The tea?" Brian asks, clearly confused, "I thought that was fine.. but I suppose I can understand that it could be mistaken for something else, I'm very sorry." he offers apologetically.

"No, those." the TSA agent gestures to the Kinder Eggs. "They're banned in the States."

"What?" Brian gets a look like he was just kicked. "But.. Betsy loves these. She has a shelf of in her room back home filled with toys from them." he protests, "Please, they are just chocolate and a toy, nothing more."

"No exceptions, they are on the banned list."

Brian sighs - surrendering the box of goodies to the TSA agent as he moves through the line, his box gone forever. If he had flown himself, this would not have been a problem!

And that is why he's running just a little late and not made it to baggage claim yet.

Lunair will text back, 'Almost there! watching for you!' And Lunair will indeed make her way along. She will make her way easily enough, navigating about. She has her messenger bag close, and scampers along easily enough. She seems mostly to stand out due to her lack of emotion in her facial expression, and being a teenager meandering along alone. Weird. Nevertheless, she'll find Betsy with the power of - whatever it is Lunair has. A nice six-armed lady once told Lunair she was touched by the wildways before Lunair was summarily defenestrated.

Another text. 'Parked scooter, heading in after I find you?'

"ohmygodheistakingforeeveeeer," Betsy sighs, when the clock rounds to exactly one minute past the arrival hour and Brian hasn't magically leapt ahead of weather, security, and customs. She glances at her phone again and sends off a few more texts- Emma, Jean, Aiko, a joke for Flash, a dinner date with Jessica, and then responds to Lunair, too. 'kk im in pickup zone 3 w/ my aston out front c u soon'.

She looks at her clock again. How did that only take 30 seconds? She sighs heavily and brings up a YouTube video, which she watches for three seconds before her arms go limp and she exhales. Her features are perfectly stoically composed, of course, and the tinted sunglasses hide her eyes- but there's a bit of nervous tension to her frame that belies her apparent calm. Only a small twitch in her jittery right calf belies her anxiety, watching every movement in the terminal to correlate with her general sense of where Brian might be at.

Thirty seconds drones into a minute. A minute into five. Others from his flight are already loading up and leaving from the airport, off to their vacations, or back to the work grind. As for Brian? He's at the Duty-Free shop, quickly trying to find something, anything, to make up for the loss of the Kinder Eggs. Finally, he decides on an item, and takes it up to the counter to pay for it.

"We don't offer exchange from pounds to dollars, sir." the counter clerk offers, smacking on her gum.

"Oh for bloody sakes.." Brian says with a sigh, fishing out his cheque card to pay for the purchase before he places it in the bag and starts to make his way at a brisk pace from the customs area to the baggage claim.

It's easy for Betsy to spy her brother - not only is there a small ping on her psychic radar of frustration mixed with relief, but he easily stands taller than most of his fellow travelers. At six foot and six inches, he easily stands out with his blonde hair combed and brushed into a small feathered style.

Gathering his bags, he lowers the wheels and takes the handle to head for the entrance. If one was expecting an Asian descendant considering what Betsy looks like now is in for a surprise. Brian is a very tall Brit, his dress far more formal - a twill overcoat over a dark blue suit and red tie with light blue vest.

Noticing his sister, he lifts his hand and waves the bag at her. "Hey, Bets!" he offers with a good-natured smile and his gait is easily a long stride. "I was a little hung up in Customs, and had to do a bit of last minute shopping, I hope I didn't make you wait too long!" It's an apologetic and amused smile, but it is very genuine.

Lunair has to stop and text back 'okay'. And she will turn up pretty quickly. Since Lunair doesn't have to worry about Nazis, evil sexy libarians, drones, sigma six, metahuman hunters, darts, snipers or what have you, she moves much more easily. She'll find Betsy easily enough.

"Hi! Hope I didn't keep you waiting?" Lunair remembers to smile when she greets. She'll get it. There's a lingering paranoia to her aura. "I brought US cash in case they forgot," She offers. And really, few things in an airport go quickly, unless one is running behind. Then an owlish blink. She looks between the two. Somewhere, somehow one of her neurons is trying to divide by 0. SPOINK. "Oh wow. You guys are tall." And she comes to a conclusion completely off the wall. Her body language is strangely flat, even if her gaze reflects a curious, friendly energy. And she does look like a Bronte novel exploded. BAM.

Betsy looks up and, despite literal centuries of British propriety being hammered into her and an Asian predilection for stoicism, grins at the sight of Brian waving at her like a giant lumbering fieldhand. Realizing she's expressing emotion, she wipes the smile from her face when he gets past the last glass wall between the two of them, kipping off the car easily. "Hullo, Brian," she says, flickering her phone into her back pocket of her pants. She fidgets for a second then steps forward and gives Brian a quick, if awkward hug. Forgetting she's not five foot and change anymore, she nearly headbutts him in the jaw. Still, the enthusiasm of the bone-cracking hug around his ribs makes up for any show of reticence at his arrival.

"Customs is terrible," Betsy confirms. She reaches for Brian's other bag and without any visible effort, lifts it into the Aston's boot, then pulls the passenger seat forward for his carry-on and the baggy from the duty-free shoppette. "My friend Lunair is going to- oh, here she is," Betsy says, gesturing at the oddly accoutremented young woman joining them. "Lunair, this is Brian. Brian, this is Lunair. She's quite mad, but not terribly dangerous as long as you're not downrange of her." She gives Lunair a fond smile, touching the other woman's shoulder with a quick squeeze of greeting.

"I /used/ to be barely five foot six, Lunair," Betsy points out. "Brian didn't get tall until he got to Uni and someone started slipping HGH into his protein shakes." She clasps her hands and looks to Brian. "Do you need some food or the facilities? It's about a forty kilometer trip to the Institute— we should arrive right around suppertime."

Even though Betsy is a little taller, Brian still has the advantage. And when she gives him the hug, she'll realize - his hug back has a little extra oomph to it. Odd. He's not in costume, nor is he wearing the amulet around his neck. Something's amiss - or he's just not bothered to tell his sister about recent events. "You know, I should say I have to go to the loo, just to make you wait just a bit longer. But no, I went once we disembarked from the aircraft, thank you."

At the introduction to Lunair, it takes Brian a moment, as she looks really familiar to something he's seen in the past and he has to rub his eyes. "Sorry, jetlag." he offers with a good-natured smile and offers the bag to Betsy with one hand. "Present for my favorite twin." he says, as his other hand is extended to Lunair. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Lunair." A polite shake of her hand is offered. "You look as though you have just escaped from the rabbit hole. But it is a very energetic look."

"Yes, and while I was growing taller on HGH, you were busily making friends with everyone that bothered to look at you cross-eyed." he says with a slight chuckle. If Betsy looks in the bag, he lost the tea, biscuits and Kinder Eggs, but she now has one of those Japanese cat clocks that waves it's paw as it's eyes go back and forth and tail wags with each passing second. It just said 'BETSY' to him in his momentary desperation. "Mum always said not to show up at a new home empty-hands. I'd brought a gift for your friend as well, but I was not informed you'd have guests." he comments as he helps with loading the bags. "My knees are going to be in my chest in this thing, Bets." he says with a small sigh. But he just takes it all in stride.

While the Braddock twins reunite, a CCTV camera watches the two of them impassively. Information travels through the lines to the hub, to the internet, to a dedicated line, to an undisclosed location where a system takes in the information with interest.

Lunair looks between the two. She remembers to smile, as the two hug. "They are," She agrees quietly. "Salutations!" She pauses. And then a blink. "Oh, well. It's hard when you have to go chase this rabbit and there's an angry lady with red roses…" She offers. Lunair smiles back to Betsy. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Brian." Lunair lowers her head politely.

Her body language is somewhat flat, but she's genuinely happy for them. "I see. Fair enough. And yeah, I only brought some earl grey from the maid cafe, sorry." Way to stereotype, Lunair. "Was it too much? I don't know…" It's probably a bit strange she really lacks a lot of social context. "It's okay, I'm very sneaky." She offers this easily enough. She accepts the handshake from Brian. "Umm. Welcome! And oh." He really might be squished just a bit, huh? There's some sympathy. "I'd offer my Vespa but I don't know if that would be better." This is wry, and serious all at once. She's like a social platypus playing for the US Hockey Team. It really shouldn't be happening, but there it is and no one knows why.

Betsy digs the cat out and eyes it, then gives Brian a narrow-eyed gaze. She holds the cat up so they both face him, holding it at face level. "Cute," she comments, waving at him with her other hand. She flickers a smile despite herself and looks the cat over. "They're all over Shirahige-no-sutto— there's a village near the mountain that swears manki-neko spirits bring them good harvests. Can't hurt, right?"

She sets the cat carefully back into the bag while Lunair and Brian do their handshaking, and then shoves the seat back as far as it'll go. "All right, get in, you lummox," she tells Brian. She vaults into the driver's side with leggy grace and slips into the seat, locking her five-point harness into place and pointedly not starting the car until Brian does, too. "Safety first, dear. Sunglasses?" she offers, passing him a spare set of aviators. She takes her time tying her hair down with a kerchief. Brian might notice a lot of features that weren't standard on the Aston when Betsy bought it, including a new display scree and a lot of switches that look like they belonged on James Bond's Vanquish.

"See you at the Institute, Lunair!" Betsy hits the electric starter and the Aston /surges/ into motion with face-melting acceleration, all flat and close to the surface.

"Maid cafe?" Brian asks, clearly confused, not quite understanding the context there. Brian is all things British, cosplay and Japanese culture is not on that list. "Ah, but as long as you worry not, the Jabberwock will still be defeated." he offers to the young woman as he eyes the Vespa. He can just see his legs dragging behind him as they race down the highway. The disadvantages of being so blasted tall.

He gives his sister a plantive look. Just let him fly, it'll be so much easier. But no, she insists on the car, and despite Brian being socially awkward, he knows why. They're going to have a little talk on the drive to the Institute. Once he's settled in and buckled up, he glances over with a grin and accepts the glasses.

Once they're on the highway, he awkwardly offers, "So, where do I begin? I have my reasons for being here, Bets. And I know it's a major downer for you.. but I'll explain it in time - but right now, you should probably know - I don't need the Amulet of Right or Star Scepter to access my powers anymore. And the suit is with me - but I can use some of my powers without it now. That's an even longer story, and would probably make you pull over and beat me with a shoe until you felt better."

The rest of the trip is spent with an alternating silence and catching up on anything other than why Brian is currently in America. When they arrive at the Institute, Brian's eyes widen. "Well.. this is unexpected. Here I thought that our home was large. I think the Duke and Duchess of Windsor would consider this large." he says with a small chuckle. "Though you said it is a school, so I shouldn't be surprised."

"A cafe with uniforms," Lunair offers. "And surely. No worries." Beam. There's some sympathy. Lunair uses social stats as her total dump stats. If Brian is socially awkward, she doesn't seem to notice. She is a blank slate, accepting things as they are. Lunair will probably give them the tea when they arrive.

Sadly, her Vespa is not as fast and powerful - even if it is highway capable, legal and pretty strong as Vespas go.

"Oh, bloody hell, I /knew/ this was going to be more than just a visit," Betsy says, softly banging the back of her head against the headrest of the Aston. Her driving is… well, it's terrifying. She's going almost twice the speed limit and weaving in and out of traffic. Her face starts to get that stony look that promises brewing trouble, but she checks it at the last moment and exhales with slow control. "Let's… let's put a pin in that for the mo', all right? I want to try and enjoy your company for at least a day or so before I feel a need to cane you."

She pulls up to the Institute with a j-brake turn, tires squealing, and hops out of the car carelessly, undoing her kerchief and tossing it on the center console. "Oh, how /is/ William?" she asks Brian. "Did you see him and Catherine at Auntie Gertrude's soiree? I felt so bad I couldn't be there."

She pauses and looks around the garage area at the vehicles parked in 'Staff' spots.

"Hmm. Emma's here, you might get to meet her," Betsy says, noting the all-white towncar that notable uses. She whirls on Brian and jabs him in the sternum with an iron-firm finger, eyes narrowing. "You are /not/ allowed to flirt with her. In fact, don't flirt with anyone here! No flirting. All the girls here are off-limits, check? We're not having a repeat of your last trip to the Colonies." She glares at him pointedly for a few seconds, then steps back and pops the boot open to drag out his suitcase.

"Scott's here, too, it looks like. Yes, we broke up, and no, I don't want to talk about it. Come along, let's get some food. I'm famished, I haven't eaten in hours," she says, moving with a brisk step to the front steps of the mansion.

Indeed, Scott Summers is waiting at the entryway, expression hidden behind his ruby glasses. He has an umbrella under one arm; there's rain on the distant horizon, and with Storm absent from the grounds, it could strike at any moment.

An eyebrow arches upward at Elizabeth's 'reckless' driving.

Brian is somewhat used to Elizabeth's crazy-taxi stylings, hearing his luggage bopping around in the back of the car, smacking against each other and he lets out a long suffering sigh as he grabs the chicken bar on occassion. Yes, he's pretty sturdy, but he's used to faking it for others - including his younger sister. "Just make sure you don't kill us before we meet anyone." he offeres with a chagrined, if semi-terrified smile.

The jab in the sternum causes him to frown a little. "Flirt?" Brian asks in complete confusion. Brian doesn't flirt. He's just himself. "I have no idea what you're talking about. The only catching up I have to do is an invitation is from a Peggy Carter, who said she knew our parents. So unless you've decided I'm into fossils now.." he trails off as he glances at his sister, concern creasing his features. "I reserved a penthouse in the city, so I will not be staying here." he promises his sister, hopefully allaying her fears of womanizing or whatever it is she fears that Brian may do.

"Other than that, it's meetings with the JLA representative as the Captain, and enrolling at NYU to finish up my dissertation. My Professors are looking forward to what I present." he says with a winning smile as he starts to unload his baggage. He'll carry it where it needs to go later.

Lunair is actually a very good, safe driver. But she's also the loon who did a Tokyo drift in a muscle car she stole to save her peeps, so there's that. Lunair is a creature of many mysterious talents, though she is often in awe of the others around her. Ironically, she attends NYU when the classes she takes aren't here. For her part, she will arrive after Elizabeth and Brian. There's a wave for Scott. Eyebeamz!

"Hello! Um, wow. That was an action packed parking job." It's a compliment, quietly amused. She seems to see vibrance and energy in enthusiasm. "But yes, you two have tea and US dollars. Welcome!" Hey, why not? It's her way.

"You know what I mean," Betsy says, irritably. "All you wanted to do last time was sit on your arse in your hotel room and read boring textbooks. Then you complained that I wasn't taking you enough places. Then I brought you to the Fashion Week show, and you pulled that big innocent puppy-dog-slash-tourist routine and my gelfriends all insisted we bring you out for celebratory drinks and then, oh my god, you were singing God Save The Queen and doing gelatin shots off of Bar Rafeli and I /still/ can't get her to stop pestering me for your phone number," she hisses.

"Lunair, are you joining us for dinner?" she asks of the walking weapons factory, before shutting the boot of the Aston and making her way to the doors.

She stomps the last few steps up to the front of the Institute's doors, looking at Scott, then snaps her glasses up onto her purple hair. "Scott, Brian. Brian, Scott." Fingers gesture in flickering introduction from one man to another. "There, everyone knows everyone now and we don't need to bring up anything that anyone might have said in the past about anyone, ever."

This /does/ draw a frown from Brian. "I'm nearly two years sober." he says with quiet calm, a breath let out between his teeth. "There's a reason for that too." he offers as he glances towards his sister. "The crazy college days are pretty much gone now." It's a gentle chide - but not snapping at her, just putting in his own course-correction. "But no, I'm not looking to settle down or anything. And yes, please, Miss Lunair, I would enjoy your unique perspectives over dinner." And this is why Betsy gets upset.

Offering his hand to Scott, Brian offers a warm smile. "Forgive my sister's abruptness, but you're probably used to it. Brian Braddock. You must be Mister Summers.." Or Visor Up His Butt as Betsy has said many a time, but Brian doesn't spill that. Unlike her, he knows loose lips sink ships. Especially friendships. See what he did there?

"Would you like to join us for dinner as well? I am not sure what Betsy's ordering, but she promised it would be uniquely American." the tall Brit offers.

Lunair likes textbooks! So does Skaar. It's a neat thing. She's sensing something potentially dangerous, perhaps. Dangerous in the social way. Like interactive sharks. And then there's a pause. "If you like. I would hate to invite myself," She admits. Lunair seems to realize the two hadn't seen one another in ages, and well. It's their dinner.

Lunair is quiet. Listening. "Huh? Oh, sure, thank you." An owlish peer at Brian. Seems like a friendly guy.

She is quietly amused, even if she's having difficulty processing it all. "It would be an honor." Pause. "In a Betsyacceptablemanner." Of coures! Lunair is thoughtful. If incredibly inept.

By the time the party has reached him, Scott's eyebrow has found its home back where it belongs. He meets Brian with a handshake of his own, "Yes," he confirms. "It's my pleasure. Welcome to the Xavier Institute." He says this while passing a look toward Betsy that is half smirk, half frown. For his part, he hasn't spoken a word of their relationship since… well, since that one time. It takes a lot of effort not to shake his head at her, but he makes it.

Just… barely.

"Hmm? Oh!" Scott looks back to Brian, shoulders straightening. "Uniquely American?" A sideward glance is cast to Lunair. "What do you think; chicken wings or burgers?" Back to Betsy. "If you ordered McDonalds I'll be disappointed."

Betsy fidgets under Brian's frown, having at least the grace to look somewhat abashed. Her own drinking had gotten her into plenty of trouble, and quite a bit more recently. She exhales as Scott's greeting delivers her from anything like an emotionally meaningful response, her weight shifting over one foot and hands resting on her hips.

"You can't 'order' McDonald's, Scott," Betsy says, sourly. "They don't deliver and I'm not driving into town for cheeseburgers." She looks from Scott to Lunair, to Brian's expectant gaze, then scowls again and stares at the floor.

"…I ordered pizza." Not giving either of the gentlemen a chance to say something snarky, she purposefully walks into the Institute's entryway. "Brian! Your room is in the gentlemen's wing of the dorms. Are you keeping up?" she calls, still carrying his luggage in one hand.

"You do realize that there is Domino's in Britain now?" Brian asks as confusion sinks into his features at the reactions between Scott and Betsy. As he walks by Betsy, he gives her a light swat in the back of the head. "Remember your manners, mum would be so mad." Which is why he mum-slapped his sister just now. "Yes, I can keep up. And for the night. I can move back to the penthouse in the morning." he's trying to not be a bother or a pest and here she is. "We'll be back as soon as we drop off the luggage."

"…?" Blink. Lunair blinks slowly at Betsy. "I was honestly thinking chili, steaks or something… American food is kind of nebulous and all encompassing. We're like English Grammar. We push over others, take parts we like and smash them all together." Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn't.

"I don't mind running to grab something to help out," She remarks. Lunair is unsure of what to make of this. Brian seems so nice! What a nice dude. She glnces to Scott. "Uniquely American seems hard to pin down for me. But I am catching up a lot. And yes, welcome!" Beam.

"…….. pizza?"

Scott positively stares at Betsy for a long moment. This, from the woman who was chiding Jean about useless carb intake? The stare soon becomes a broad grin. "Elizabeth Braddock, I am shocked at your good taste." He turns to follow along, leveling that grin, albeit a bit more subdued, toward Brian. "She probably got it from Pizza Kitchen. Boring name, amazing pies."

Stepping away, he moves over to walk by Lunair's side. "Make sure they find their way? I'll run to the kitchen for water and sodas. Pizza and soda, a true American tradition."

Betsy blinks when Brian smacks her in the head and kicks him in his well-toned rump when he saunters past. "Thank you, Lunair," she says with a cool tone. "I'll make a note of that for the next time Brian visits for the first time in four years." Of course chili would have been a better idea, but it didn't occur to Betsy to make something real for her visiting sibling. Visibly forcing herself to restraint, she then gives Scott a narrow-eyed glare and stomps off, swearing under her breath in a constant stream of French.

"You're a poncy git," she mutters, falling into step with her brother.

"And you're hiding something." Brian says quietly to his sister, even as she kicks him. He stretches out lazily as he puts his bags in his room. "I need to use the loo again." he mutters quietly. "I'll be down in a few minutes." he promises his sister. He knows he can't just go flying - but after a sixteen hour flight and time in customs and such, he feels his whole frame literally startng to crash. Closing the door after his twin, he goes over and unlocks his bag to pull out the Captain Britain costume.

Slipping it on, he leaves the helmet off, as he feels his connection to Avalon re-established.

<Brian Braddock.> a voice, soft as the wind in the north hills in his head.

<I'm here, Roma. My apologies, my travel was longer than I though.>

<You are safe, then.>


The connection breaks as easily as it was established as the British hero spends the next few minutes sitting on the bed, gathering back his powers and recharging his batteries as it were.

A short while later, the pizza man shows up at the front gate, and Betsy retrieves the pizza and returns to the kitchen in short order, where everyone's gathered around the large table where the staff and visitors tend to eat, instead of the cafeteria for the children's meals. "I got pepperoni, hawaiian, italian sausage, vegetarian, and barbecue," Betsy says, sliding the pizzas into the middle of the table and opening the flaps up. She gets plates out, too, and utensils, and going to the hawaiian pizza promptly scrapes the surface off of four slices onto a bed of lettuce leaves and digs in with fork and knife, for herself.

After about twenty minutes, Brian arrives in a more comfortable pair of sweat pants and a Fettes College t-shirt. "Needed a little cat nap, I'm better now." he says with a small smile as he looks to pick at one of the pies to eat at. "You really have gone native Yank, Betsy." he says with a grin. "Pineapple on your pizza?"

Lunair pauses. "You are welcome. I'm sorry. I think your idea was great," She offers to Betsy. "I was only guessig," She admits. "thank you for having us." She really does appreciate it. And she nods to Scott. "Okay!" Beam. Lunair will walk with them, trying not to antagonize anyone.

She doesn't follow anyone to the bathroom. "Yes, it is the spikiest of fruits," She offers to Brian. Lunair doesn't seem bothered in the slightest. She instead is trying to figure out how to figure this out, watching and - pauses. "… you eat pizza with a fork." Her eyes are wide at Betsy, as if Betsy just turned into a tiger and started noshing on tourists. Fascinating! Lunair is easily surprised, perhaps.

By the time Brian returns, Scott has been called away. His apologies are left with Betsy and Lunair; it seems, the job of school teacher and administrator is an on-call deal.

"Don't knock it," Betsy tells Brian smugly. She takes another quick bite and shrugs at Lunair's question, hair tossing when she shakes her head. "The crust is the worst part. All gluten and empty carbohydrates. Ecch." She shudders and pushes the cheese around to help it cool, sitting properly upright on the bar-height chair and with her elbows at her side.

"Did you have help finding your penthouse?" she asks Brian, her temper having cooled a bit. "It took me forever to get that flat," she tells Brian. "That damnable landlady— ugh. I was so furious when I found out she'd leased it to someone else. Such a lovely location."

"I contacted the embassy. The Ambassador was very helpful in his assistance in finding me lodgings." Well, Captain Britain, that is. But Betsy doesn't know what strings he needed to pull. "I didn't want to be a burden to you while I was visiting, since I'm not sure how long my time will be here. I just started my dissertation, after all." Brian offers as he sits down finally.

And like his sister, he uses a fork and knife on his pie - but he doesn't put it on lettuce like she did, he's perfectly fine with the extra carbs. "So tell me about yourself, Lunair." he asks, making conversation, "Are you from New York as well, or from somewhere else in the country? Or even from another country?"

Lunair will help bring in drinks, in lieu of Scott, then. "We have soda, water and stuff. If you want ice, there is ice. Also-" She gives them the box of alarmingly expensive looking Earl Grey tea and a small envelope. She made good on the US cash. "It is tea and US dollars so you guys can have fun and stuff." Beam.

She just boggles a bit. "I had no idea you could eat pizza with a fork. I shall try this." Lunair is a teenager. She eats nearly anything that doesn't eat her first - at least until her metabolism eventually catches up to her. She listens. She will try this fork and pizza thing. "Dissertation? What's it about?" She seems curious. "I often go to NYU." But she is a humble undergrad.

There's a pause as Brian asks about her. "I don't know," She admits quietly. She doesn't seem to know. "I think I may be from Seattle, but my memories are uncertain. I was sick a lot. I lived in a hospital room and a lab. I wish I could tell you." Frown. She furrows her brows. "Which part of um, England are you from?"

"Fortunately, we're nowhere near the City," Betsy says, referring of course, to London, "so there's no shame in admitting we were technically born in Essex." Which is like Jersey Shore, except for being British. "But the family estates aren't far from London, near Ipswich. Which is a nice compromise between the city and the country." She doesn't even seem to realize she's answered for Brian, cutting up another bite of pizza.

"Did you get that boffy Christmas Card from Ted and Wilhelmina?" she asks Brian, giving him a perplexed look. "I understood about half of it, but the note about their horses going to Oxford and their son at Dover Downs confused me."

"That's because Wilhelmina was about as sauced as a goose at Christmas when she wrote the note." Brian says as Betsy answers for him, and he chuckles, though the concerned look he gives Lunair furrows his brow. "So you don't remember much of your past? Or parents?" His smile turns sympathetic. This is what Betsy was worried about. He just takes such a personal interest in everything as he sips from the tea that Lunair made. "Thank you." he says. "And I have a cheque card.. it will work until I get my currency converted. Thank you though." he offers to the young woman.

Cutting the last piece of his pizza into two, he enjoys one bite, and then the other and lets out a slow breath. "I should get some rest - I slept on the flight, but the time change does take some getting used to."

Lunair smiles faintly. "I see," Lunair has no clue about that. She'll look it up later. As far as she knows, England is vast, mysterious, and it is full of sheep, English people and like, tea.

Also strange dudes in telephone boxes. She listens, for her part. Learning a bit. "… Maybe? It's kind of a downer of a story." She doesn't offer much more for now, perhaps out of respect for Betsy and her worries. "You're welcome. And okay." She doesn't press the subject. She'll try cutting her pizza up. "No worries. I can clean this up. It was nice to meet you, and good to see you, Betsy."

Betsy sighs understandingly. "Well, at least it's not their ancestral marriage habits. This is why first cousins shouldn't wed," she mutters. She finishes her semi-pizza with a few quick bites and gets up, giving Brian another hug with a sincerity that belies her harassment of him. "Sleep tight, dear. I'll drive you into town tomorrow," she promises. She breaks the hug halfway and gives Brian a flashing smile, then releases him.

"You're sweet to offer Lunair, but I'll clean," she assures the girl. "The children will be descending like piranhas once they know we're gone, and I want to hide some leftovers for breakfast tomorrow." She starts cleaning up, putting things into boxes and containers, and waves Brian off. "Sleep well, all right? …oh, and, uh, don't go sleepwalking," she adds. "The children here tend to be insomniacs and they can get a bit jumpy at strangers."

Brian returns the hug and chuckles. "I'll make sure to lock my door so noone wanders in." Probably for the best, he's going to be sleeping in costume, after all. "Good night, Betsy dear." he says to her, and offers Lunair a smile. "And no chasing white rabbits down holes, you." he says with a wink, before he heads upstairs to his room for the evening.

Lunair pauses. "Okay," A smile. Lunair is probably one of said pirhanas. She beams at Brian. "Fair enough." No rabbit chasing, duly noted. "I'll see you guys around then." Nodnod. And Lunair will probably meander off to do LunairStuff(TM).

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