Princess

October 18, 2015:

A very revealing chat happens after Ms. Braddock's encounter with SHIELD.

Xavier's Mansion

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

Betsy eyes the ensemble on hangars, frowning to herself. It's a smart looking number- vividly periwinkle blouse and shoes with a charcoal pantsuit that puts every inch of her frame on display.

"Holy Mary, mother of God," Betsy mutters to herself, standing in the temporarily shared room she's using along with Jean and Emma. "What on /Earth/ possessed you to do that?" she growls, looking at her reflection. She mutters again and goes to hang her pantsuit up and put away the shoes that go with it, unable to resist the urge to regard herself in the mirror.


Long, long.. long weekend of work and well, finally being able to sleep for a while, a well rested Jean just.. opens the door and barges into the room, her lips at a slight frown as she too holds up a pair of clothing that seems.. a little bit too big. "I was going through everything to move into Scott's room and.. this.."

Jean holds up a gray, grease stained sweatshirt and a pair of yoga pants that looked as if they could fit someones Aunt Pam. They were shaken, and soon tossed to the floor, her face at a flush as she crumples down upon the ground along with it. "I.. I thought the jokes at least were just light chidings or what have you but.. was I really this.. junky in the trunky?"


Betsy turns to look at Jean. Standing barefoot, she's still far too tall, and the seafoam-green, matching Victoria's Secret bra and panties make her look as if she's ready for a turn on the catwalk.

"I didn't want to say anything, but yes, you gained a few pounds while I was… dead," Betsy says, almost hiding the hitch in her voice. She turns and looks in the mirror again. "But, if you'd gone and died on me, I'd have drowned my sorrows in Kurt's brownies and gallons of Irish Creme," Betsy assures Jean, her eyes still fixed on her reflection. She turns and looks over her shoulder at the mirror, affecting a sultry pout, then just scowling.

"Damn. I don't know if I've a thing to wear," Betsy says, looking at her wardrobe- which is in fact, spilling over into /Jean's/ closet space.


The clothes were picked up again and tossed to the ground as she draws her fingers along her cheeks. Ever since she had left and came back, the Danger Room has been put into full use over the past few months. Taking a sabbatical to where ever she was.. was not good on the hips. Thankfully, her metabolism upped itself into a killer stance and she was back to slim and trim. With.. thanks to all the bad that has been going on.

"Twice.. I have. Have you indulged when I did?" She asks, her eyes gone up to her friend as she slowly draws herself to her feet, kicking the clothes to the side as she moves over towards her own closet to draw out an outfit to stare. It was just.. a regular white blouse with frills and a pair of ratty jeans underneath. Her clothes were stared at, then towards Betsy's, then towards Emma's.. each of their closets were invading Jean's space. She sighs a little, then shakes her head.

"Wear for what? If I had that wardrobe I wouldn't want for a damn thing."


"It's not a competition, Jean," Betsy murmurs, eyes scouring her frame for any sign of cellulite. She looks to Jean and exhales in a sign, throwing one hand up in frustration. "Yes, the first time," Betsy confesses. "Remember? You were the reason I went to a high-fat diet. I was eating cheese crisps by the kilo," Betsy tells her friend.

She starts digging through her closet again, tossing a little black dress, a daring blue ensemble, and a 'yes, I look sexy but it's not that hard' outfit of jeans and a gauzy blouse on her bed behind her.

Realizing Jean isn't going to let this one go, she buries herself in the wardrobe, eyes screwing shut. "I… bumped into… I mean, that is, Brian and I had an appointment… to, uh, see Captain Am- I mean, Steve Rogers," Betsy says, almost hiding in her clothes. "And.. I… ….uh."


"God, how could it not be? Both of you.." Jean struggles, pushing Emma's clothing out of her own space, and attempting to do the same for Betsy's. "..have more stuff than I do. I'm debating on worrying Scott with all of my crap and leaving you two the room." She takes a step back, then reaches out to grab the thick of her clothing, moving it towards the opposite bed to dump upon its surface. She glances back towards Betsy as she.. confesses, her brows lowering.. eyes squinting..

"…no…"

"..No… Way…"

"OH MY GOD YOU DID!"

There was a shriek of a cackle, to the point that Jean collapses upon the bed, her feet kicking and arms flailing. This.. this was rich!


Betsy cringes and drops to her rear on the ground, holding her face in her hands. "Jean, SHUT IT!" she cries, to no avail.

"I … my god, have you seen him in person? He's… he's gorgeous! Adonaic!" Betsy wrings her fingers, eyes flickering this way and that. "And he's charming, and a bit dull in the sweetest of ways."

"And I don't know what possessed me— Brian was RIGHT THERE," she says, sounding desperate. "But he /shook my hand/, and how often do you get to meet the bloke who was hanging on your bedroom wall as a gel?" she demands, hurling a pillow at Jean who is still caught in peals of laughter.

"So I went for it, all right? And he said yes!" Betsy knee-walks towards Jean, fingers grasping Jeans' blouse and worry on her features.

"Jeanie-bean, I've got a /date/ with /Captain America!/" Betsy says, her voice going shrill. "What have I done?!"


"I REFUSE!" Oh god, she couldn't take it. She's remembered those pictures on the wall. At times Jean thought she was a pathetic piece, admiring Scott from afar and yet attempting to go on dates with other people to hide the attraction but this? This was just too much.

"Yes.. I've seen him before. I haven't had the pleasure but.. oh god. He's going to come around here too.. sneak out in the middle of the night with his shirt hung over his shoulders.. "

Jean, was a never ending fount of laughter, clapping her hands even as Betsy tugs upon her shirt. "What have you done? You have done the single.. most epic thing you could have ever done!" She immediately stands.. that stand sharp enough to possibly pile Betsy to the ground. "Oh.. oh.. we have to find you something to wear. And it has to be great. So great, that three dates in, you'll introduce me to him and I can tell him -every- little dirty secret and dream that I've managed to gleam from you of him through all the years."

Her nose wrinkles, grabbing a red number.. even a purple number that says 'I'm yours tonight'. Oh.. oh.. oh.. so excited.


Betsy curls herself into a ball, forearms wrapping her knees and burying her face, which despite her partially-Asiatic geneology is burning a merry shade of red.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," she says, over and over again, the sounds muffled.

"I don't- Jean I don't know if there's even going to be /a/ date," Betsy wails. "He was brought up so short! I'm sure he's going to call me anytime and tell me that he's 'just not in a good place'. Or- or- or oh god, he's going to blow me off with a TEXT," Betsy says. She wheezes and clutches her chest. "Oh god he's going to show up and tell me I'm not anything like that curvy Cockney piece of tail he was with and oh god-" Betsy starts hyperventilating a bit, fanning herself urgently with one hand.


With all of the outfits that -she- would pick were laid out, her hands press against her hips to eyeball the ensemble with a slight shake of her head. "No no.. this won't do.. and you're too tall to fit my clothes.." Maybe.. just Maybe Emma had something that Betsy could wear.

But she does stop in her path to look down towards Elizabeth, a slight shake of her head given. "Oh don't you dare!" She moves over to her, immediately kneeling at her side. "This is not the Elizabeth Braddock that -I- know!" She reaches out to give her leg a little push. "The Elizabeth Braddock I know would find the -best- outfit to wear, do her hair up all nice, and approach that man and say.. something.. posh.. but nevermind that!"

She rises then, stalking towards Emma's wardrobe. "And you know what, if he chooses to do that? Forget that guy! You could do better.." Not really. So not really. Totally.. not really.


Betsy swats at Jean's hand, albeit without any real energy. "Of course I will!" she snaps, regaining some of her fire. She curls back into herself almost immediately, looking haunted.

"I… god, Jean, Flash turned out to be such a boy-man. Jessica left. I haven't even gotten laid in /months/." She presses palms to her face. "I don't know what on Earth possessed me to ask him out. I… I just had a moment where I thought 'what's the worst than can happen? He'll say no!' and then," she reaches over and squeezes Jean's fingers, "he said /yes/ and Brian was a wretch about it, sniggering for hours, but… aaaaugh!" Betsy rubs her calves worridly. "I just… this is kind of a big deal, isn't it?"


"And none of them, I haven't met -any- of them. Which is just a damn shame in itself." Jean remarks. "You want to know what on earth caused you to do this? You have a thing for boy scouts. I just know it." She turns with a slight grin, trying her best not to laugh. "First Scott.. then this Flash person. I'm sure Jessica was a true blue peach.. and now Captain America? -The- Ultimate Boy scout." She lets in a sigh, then exhales.

"You're like.. a little princess on the inside. Just a cute.. cute little princess who wants that Boy Scout to get down on bended knee, or Girl Scout, for that matter.. and possibly, maybe propose."

She begins to laugh again, shaking her head. "In the grand scheme of things, Elizabeth. No. It's not."

Yes it is.


Betsy blinks and forms her mouth into protest, but then blinks, and then turns a vividly duksy shade from her collarbone to her hair.

"I… … uh… no I don't," she says, weakly, already floundering at the truth of that statement.

She looks stricken at that proposal. The more she thinks about it, the more wild-eyed and panicked she looks. "Oh god in heaven, have mercy on me," Betsy murmurs in desperate prayer, hugging her shins again. "When did THAT happen?" she demands. "I used to date the rough and tumble types! The… you know… rough, rangy, good looking sorts that no one would approve of." She looks at her hands. Didn't she?


"Mm, yes you do." Jean casually offers up. Even as Betsy begins to pray to the gods, Jean was picking through Emma's closet to pick out something white.. something wholesome.. something NOT so wholesome all the same. This was held up, Betsy's curled frame in view, tilting her head left and right as she continues to pick out clothes for Betsy's crisis.

"Rugged, rough and tumble guys who were probably on the football team with good grades who called their mothers every night just to make sure that she was alright." Jean points out.

"As I'm sure, if Scott's mother was still alive he'd do the same, but instead he used to walk and talk with Charles until his later, angsty years."


Betsy finally gets herself under control, the dark rush fading from her high cheekbones. "Well, Natalie didn't," she says, still struggling against the sudden shift in her self-perception. "She was only at Oxford for two trimesters a year, then she would … go … home." Betsy exhales and palms her face.

"And she'd take her siblings out to the beach before they all got together for the last football match of the season and then Christmas."

"Bloody hell," Betsy swears, still looking numbed and shocked. "Well, thank you for ruining my sense of self-identity," she tells Jean, her tone rich with irony. "Here I thought I had a thing for bad gels who surfed and boys with motorcycles and authority issues." She props the heel of her hand up against her cheekbone, knees flopping flat on the ground. "Blimey, that's a turn."


All of the outfits were laid out for Betsy's viewing. Jean didn't have great taste when it came to dressing herself, but others? She was moderately decent. "Natalie? Who?" She didn't know who, nor remember.. but still.. Elizabeth and Captain Rogers. That was something.

"I didn't ruin your self identity, love. You're just in a state of shock. You like what you like and there is no harm nor shame in that. These boy scouts? All of them have the moxy to fight the good fight and stand strong without help for another. They are on your level. Your equal. Remember that.." She flops to the ground to sit next to her friend, then gives her a slight nudge with her elbow. "It'll be alright. Even if it pans out or not. There is always Emma."


Betsy leans against Jean, though without throwing her full weight into it. "She was when I was abroad, at Oxford?" Betsy reminds Jean. "The blonde New Zealander— the surfer? I think I've got her on Facebook, still," she frowns, casting around for her phone and in a rare moment, not finding it in arm's reach.

"As for Emma… that's… a bit of a sticky wicket, isn't it?" she says, caution in her tone. "I can't get a read on her. She's never mentioned girlfriends, only boys. And, I don't know," Betsy winces, drumming a knee softly against the ankle folded under it. "It worked out eventually, but look at the mess I made of things dating Scott. And then you hooked up with him, and there's been a fair mess of drama," she observes. "Dating inside the group seems to have not worked out over well for me," she says, wryly.


"Oh.. oh oh." Jean snaps a little, supporting Betsy even though there was no need. "The daredevil one." Jean grins a little, then tilts her head. "I.. have a bit of a read on Emma, just a touch. Though, I suppose I can put out my feelers to actually see if there could be something there, quietly of course."

She shakes her head just a touch, "You didn't make a mess of things. If anything, it just gave him someone else to rely on truly. I.. felt the way that he leaned on you when I was in my coma. How he depended on you for answers. Even the current position you are in now with the 'other team'.." She even uses quote-y fingers.. ".. who else would he trust with that? You didn't make a mess, you just unknowingly strengthened the trust you two have for each other." She slides an arm around Betsy's neck, then plants a kiss against her temple. "Me hooking up with Scott is something else in it's entirety. Something else that's filled with many different realities of complications that we couldn't even begin to dream of. But you?" She squeezes her tightly. "Have to find your own mess. Maybe it's with Mr. Rogers.. maybe Jessica will come back. Maybe Flash. But you don't get there by being a whiny git."


"Thanks," Betsy murmurs, nodding her head at the offer. "I… well, it'd at least answer some outstanding questions," she admits wryly.

She sighs and rests her head against the bed behind her, looking at the ceiling, though the kiss to her temple elicits a fond smile despite her mood and she bumps her brow against Jean's forehead, taking the moment to appreciate the silent gesture of support her friend offers. "Fine," she says, after a moment. "No more whinging. Whinging over," she agrees, slashing a hand through the air. She takes that three-count to close her eyes, inhale deep and exhale slowly, literally blowing her emotions out to the wind.

She giggles, then, a girlish sound few people besides Jean ever hear from her. "Oh my god, I asked out /Steve Rogers/. And he said yes!" she yelps, laughing and clapping her hands softly. "Oh my god, teenage me would very much approve."

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