Brunch Time at Xavier's

February 16, 2017:

Warren, Laura, Bobby, Betsy and Gambit find their way to the dining hall at Xavier's.

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

It's brunch-time or lunch-time for the students and faculty of Xavier's Institute and already a steady stream of people can be seen heading into the main dining hall. One person, however, is simply standing just outside the doorways. Waiting.

It's fairly clear that Laura is waiting as the slim assassin has her gaze turned toward the hallway, vivid green eyes flicking to the various people that are meandering towards the eatery. And while her expression holds a mostly flat look to it for those able to read her they'll see an expectant quality to her features. Yes, she's definitely waiting.

While most people would pace, or fidget, or even offer casual hellos to those passing, Laura doesn't. She's simply focused on her task at hand. As usual, she's dressed in her typical outfit of black boots, black pants, black top and her battered red leather jacket.


Laura's lonely vigil catches at least one eye— Betsy Braddock, moving through the halls with a leggy grace and effortlessly perfect posture. Her clothing's simple enough—- jeans, wedge heels, and a red camisole, but she makes even that simple attire look as if she belongs on the catwalk. With her wealth of purple hair drawn back in a high, narrow ponytail, even the two thin bangs framing her features seem artfully arranged instead of escapees of careful coiffure.

"Good afternoon Laura," Betsy says, politely hailing the petite warrior. "Are you not hungry?" she inquires of her.


It's been a little while since Bobby last ate in the Institute Cafeteria, but Storm was called away on business even as she was bringing him to grab something to eat. It's a school and it's a cafeteria…he should be able to handle this on his own just fine without an escort. The two women get a friendly nod of greeting even as he peeks into the room and gives a low whistle. "That's a lot of students…" far more than he's used to!


Lonely vigil no more, it seems, as Betsy hails the much more petite assassin. Upon hearing that greeting, Laura's gaze will flick away from being watchful to more focused, as she turns those green eyes upon the purple-haired woman. "I am." She states in that typically flat voice of hers. "I am waiting for someone." Comes her monotone explanation as to why she hasn't entered the main dining hall just yet.

And while her gaze turns momentarily back towards the encroaching students, it once again swivels, when Bobby makes his way to the doors and offers that low whistle of his. His words earn a faint tilt of her head, as she says to his rather rhetorical statement, "There are."


"I see. Would you prefer to join us in the lunchroom and wait there?" Betsy offers, solicitously. Perhaps Laura has good reason to be standing outside the lunchroom— but Betsy clearly errs on the side of trying to extend an olive branch of inclusion to the intense young woman.

Bobby Drake gets a flickering smile, an expression that more manifests itself in the corner of her eyes, and Betsy tilts her head towards Bobby a few inches. "Mr. Drake," she says, greeting the young mutant. "School is back in full swing, it seems," she agrees, eyes surveilling his assessment of the heavy lunchtime crowds.


Bobby Drake looks a moment at X-23 before he blinks to Betsy as she seems to know him. "Uhm. Yeah, I guess so. I'm sorry, you seem to know me, but I don't know you. I have a feeling that's going to happen a lot. It's just 'Bobby'…" since 'Mr. Drake' is his dad. Or was his dad. He's not really sure how that works. "This is really weird."


Having gotten a phone call while walking Laura to breakfast and he had to step aside to take it, Warren is finally just catching back up to the sniklet and company. "Man.. I didn't know how much I owned." he says with a frown as he notices Bobby and gives a wave. "That was the Gotham office, they were trying to get me some information on a woman that broke into the Worthington Industries last night." he says, giving his wings a ruffle of irritation in the cold.


While most might not be able to see the indecision that flickers across her features, Betsy might. Laura can't quite decide whether to join Betsy, or not, and it's enough to cause that faint shift to her expression. Finally, however, the slim assassin will offer a singular nod. "Yes. I will join."

With one last look towards the hallway at large, Laura will turn away from her post. It seems she's was ditched for this particular lunch not-date -

- And so, with her attention focused on Betsy and Bobby, Laura will turn a look towards Bobby and Betsy. This allows her to miss Warren arrival, though thankfully, her hearing and sense of smell soon alert her to his arrival. Pivoting upon her heel, Laura will turn towards the winged man. "Warren." She'll offer in greeting when he's near enough.

The four person group is mostly standing near the doors, with a variety of students and faculty streaming past them to head into the dining hall.


"The burden of the bourgeoise," Betsy says, flickering fingers through the air at Warren's pronouncement. As if 'money' were things that only peasants concerned themselves with. Still, she's amicable enough, and once there's a certain amount of inertia, she 'takes charge' in that way of hers, and with a flick of her head that tosses her ponytail, she heads into the cafeteria with a pre-emptory sort of authority.

"Yes, Mr. Drake— I make myself familiar with all new arrivals to the premises," Betsy informs Bobby. "It's a security practice to which we are all quite accustomed at this point." She gets in line and starts loading a tray full of food— all high proteins, fats, and leafy greens, until she almost has a half a cow piled on a bed of mixed salad.


Bobby Drake turns at a familiar voice and takes in a breath when he catches sight of Warren…but then there's the realization that this is probably this place's 'Warren' and they don't know each other at all. Betsy's explanation gets another blink and he looks briefly to the very quiet Laura before he offers, "You know…I'm not really that hungry." He so lies because his stomach growls audibly. "I think I'll just grab something when it's less crazy…" and he doesn't have to deal with people he thinks he knows or people who seem to know him.

This is going to be a challenge.


"Hey Bobby." Warren says and grins, though he seems to notice the look of disappointment. There's a flick of his wings and he picks up an olive to flick at the lassiezfaire Betsy with a grin. "That's the reason we'd never date, Bets. You'd spend it before I could make it." he winks at her, and looks back to Bobby. "Hey. About time I saw another familiar face around here." He leans in conspiratorily. "Have you seen the pictures of Scott? He looks old." he says with a grin.


Once Betsy moves, Laura will too. While not necessarily a follower, neither is Laura a leader, not when it comes to social situations. Perhaps some day, but that's definitely not /today/.

The oddity of Bobby and Betsy's conversation also isn't quite lost on Laura. It's clear that the two possibly knew each other, but now doesn't? And that's enough to cause Laura to focus another look upon the young Iceman. His words are heard, likewise the rumble of his stomach and at the realization of the lie, X-23 offers the faintest of frown. Along with that frown there's a brief flare of nostrils as she scents the air about the small group. "That is not the truth." The slim assassin states bluntly, her voice still that typical monotone she has, "You are hungry."

There's a pause to her steps now, as she waits to see what Bobby will do. Warren's whisper is heard quite easily by Laura, and earns the winged man a look from the petite killer. Though that look has no censure in it, simply the awareness of what the winged man just said.


Betsy stops the olive in midair with a thought. She doesn't even look at it as she gathers her utensils, then with a deft flick of a knife, spears the olive and bites it off the tip.

Chew, chew, gone, and she gives Warren a look that's either flat and unamused, or just plain unamused.

"And you're just not quite pretty enough for me," Betsy says, her tone as dry as the Sahara. She doesn't /sound/ like she's being particularly mean, but then again, it's an absurd sort of insult, so…

Mysterious are the way of ninja women.

She finds a seat at a table and settles into it, crossing her legs under the table and sitting properly upright. It takes her just a few moments to get her meal arranged /just so/, and she joins Laura's skeptical regard of Bobby.

"Your transition here will be much easier if you accept that it will be a bit uncomfortable, for a time," she tells the young Drake. "I assure you, we are all very accustomed to absurdity."


"It is," Bobby admits to Laura with a little bit of amusement. He can appreciate that honesty, even if it doesn't quite let him slink off. Warren's words catch him as the winged mutant leans in to speak to him and he blinks, "What?" Familiar? He knows Warren and this one at least looks to be the right age and like the one he knew, but he's not sure anymore. Blue eyes flick to Betsy…he hasn't even gotten a tray and she's already seated. He's also not sure that he feels like dealing with said 'absurdity' at the moment.


"And you're just not enough British for me, Betsy." Warren fires right back as his phone goes off and he sighs. "How did he.. me.. whatever.. handle all this?" he asks noone in particular as he ends up grabbing an energy bar for lunch as he heads off to deal with another crisis of something insignificant.


"Eat." Comes Laura's almost commanding flat voice, "You are hungry." And with that said the slim assassin will step further into the dining hall, near where the trays sit stacked neatly up. When Warren moves to leave, Laura will offer the faintest flicks of frowns toward his back, before her attention swings back to Bobby.

Now she waits to see what the nervous seeming young man does.


"Nonsense," Betsy sniffs, at Warren's back.

"I'm too British for /any/ Yankee."

Barb launched, she deftly slices her steak into thin, manageable strips, and spreads it out over the salad underneath. With polite but quick bites, she digs into her repast, watching expectantly out the corner of her eye— and with a subtle expression of approval— as Laura neatly corrals Bobby into socializing.

Perhaps not how Betsy would have done it…

…she blinks, realizing that Laura did it /precisely/ how Betsy would have done it.


Bobby Drake watches as Warren takes off…can't be the one he knew if he's set up with business and a phone, right? There's a sigh before he turns back at Laura's commentary on his state of hunger. There's a very teenagerly roll of his eyes and a grunt of exasperation before he offers, "Fine. I'll get some food. Happy?" Pushiness seems to be a universal trait among dimensions, it seems.


Crisis? That one outside that Remy just snuck away from. Nothing at all to do with it. It's just kids having fun with their powers and absolutely no encouragement from the Cajun.
Warren is whisking past Remy LeBeau an elbow-to-wing shy of bumping in to eachother. A quick circle back on his heels and boots make a scraping sound against the polished floors. "Excusez moi and yourself…" Warren? The tall, wiry-to-muscular thief eases up next to the expresso machines, one of several housed on Xavier Grounds. This one he insists is the best and it's supposedly reserved just for Institute staff but no one respects or honors that. Why would they!?
"Good afternoon!" An exclaimation to no one in particular just the entire cafeteria near him.


Good. He'll eat. That allows her to reach for a tray, though that reach pauses at Bobby's very last question.

Happy?

Is she happy? Should she be happy? That causes the slim assassin to (once more) frown slightly. For a normal person that half-sarcastic happy wouldn't throw a person for such a loop, but for Laura, it does. Her gaze turns inward for a few seconds as she now considers whether him acquiescing to eat did indeed make her happy.

Thankfully, she doesn't have long to ponder that question, as Gambit enters the dining hall with his usual flare. His exclamation of good afternoon pulls the young woman away from her inner thoughts, as she now focuses upon the Cajun.


Betsy's eyes narrow— minutely— at Gambit when the Cajun reprobate joins the cafeteria. The two couldn't be more dissimilar, after all. Polar opposites, with the epitome of cultured society opposite… well, a fellow who looks like he is comfortable sleeping in his street clothes.

She sniffs, once, and by the time anyone's looking at her, her usual unreadable expression is firmly in place on her haughty, stoic features.

She looks to Laura, sensing some of the woman's consternation, and when timing permits beckons her over to the table. It'd not be unlike Laura to stand in the middle of the 'flow' of traffic with a frown on her face, trying to puzzle through something that was troubling her.

And not as if anyone would dare bump into her!


The grin worn across the Cajun's features is enough to ward off any puzzled or glowering looks cast his way.
Some advice to Bobby as he approaches with the intentions of getting some food. "Avoid the chilli, it a thursday and they always add something to it that don't sit right wit anyone. Bet you even Logan not stomach it for long." Then again, maybe Logan is the one tampering with it.

The sound of the machine filling his cup only makes his day that much better a slow lazy roll of those red-to-black eyes over each face present and he stops upon Laura and Betsy, "Bonjour. Want a refill?" Assuming they're drinking the same thing! Why wouldn't he. It's the most obvious target here.


Bobby Drake looks at Remy when he's told to avoid the chili…which he does. "Thanks," is offered as he grabs a couple of sandwiches and a chocolate milk. There's another look at Betsy and then Laura…before he just offers, "Yeah. So, I think I'm going to go do…stuff…while I eat. 'Absurdity' he can deal with. Awkwardness…why should he have to put himself through that?


Betsy's motion for her to join causes Laura to step away, the tray abandoned for now. When Bobby leaves, Laura will look over his shoulder at the young man, a frown bending her features downward. Still, there's not much she can do to stop Bobby, so Laura settles into a chair at Betsy's table.

When Gambit offers to bring over a re-fill, Laura will offer a singular shake of her head. "No. Thank you." In fact, she'll look toward the doors and then rise from her seat, "If you both will excuse me, I must leave." Betsy might catch a flash of what she intends (to check on Bobby), but it might still seem somewhat abrupt.

"I shall see you both later." She ends with, in that monotone voice of hers as she steps away from the table.


"Yes, thank you," Betsy tells Gambit politely. After all, she's not going to be /rude/ to him. That's just not How One Does.

"One lump, two tablespoons of cream," she requests, watching him work the machine.

Betsy excuses Laura and Bobby with a regal nod, leaving her relatively alone at the table. No one seems in a rush to join her there, either— Betsy is not disliked, by any stretch, but she does exude that haughty aura that might make some less inclined to join her.


"Dis I can do." Remy assures and preps Betsy's new cup before his own. Polite is a practised skill and Remy has found honey makes the best of companions in any avenue. "You getting through to that one?" A mentor to mentor question as he approaches, sliding in to the seat opposite of her. Not mindful of the fact she likely now has multiple cups.
"She a rough one but which ones aren't, non?"
"Also, somethin' been spoking my cats. You put a notice up about a leopard?" Curiousity clear there, the quirk of brows says as much.


"In fits and starts," Betsy acknowledges. She accepts the coffee in both hands— carefully— and with a murmured 'thank you', setting it at the corner of her tray, and sips it cautiously.

Deeming it acceptable, she inches it a bit closer and focuses on Remy again, matching his unusual crimson and sable gaze with her own shockingly amythyst eyes. "It's a difficult path. She has no frame of reference that many of us do. No matter where you are from, you understand… /some/ social contract. A quid pro quo, manners, customs. She is lacking any of that. It's making things difficult for her, at times," Betsy says, her voice carrying precisely no furthur than Gambit's ears.

"But she tries hard. She /wants/ to fit in. And that is a powerful humanizing agent."


"We used to have a team for types like that. Like minded." Remy remembers 'Blue' team in which Psylocke was a member or as far as reality distorted memory recalls she was. The 'snikt' crew. Things are different now under Storm's leadership and it's just one big crew again. The dream, the mission, all of it remains the same though. This is still Charles Xavier's school and Laura has become one of them or will be, "You best option to get through to her, outside of Logan of course… maybe. She come around in time. Seeing all of this is probably whats best for her. We're a dysfunctional family but we got a mission and we're all… thieves? Assassins? Outcasts? She a perfect fit."
Remy takes a testing slurp of his own drink, his grin does not abate. It's as good as expected.


"Naturally," Betsy says, in a tone that somewhat-suggests-Remy-is-stating-the-obvious, but not going so far as to allow sarcasm to enter her voice.

A creature of nuance, she is.

"I've dealt with my own demons in this matter. Logan has his moments, of course, but he is capricious as the winds at times. Mentorship is not a task to tackle when convenient or of passing interest. He could teach her a great deal about harnessing their latent anger, of course— though I think few in the world have the resevoirs of life experience Logan draws upon to fuel his anger" she spears more salad, taking a bite. "but what she needs most critically now is healthy social emotion, instead of discipline and raw emotion."


"Chere famille, it full of demons and the ones we tasked to fight." Remy is carries on without consideration of his stating the obvious. It is one of his many fortes. "So positive social role models? You, Jean, Storm, Remy even take a whack, you send her on some missions with me, she have some fun and see its not all about rage." Despite the Ragin' Cajun title.
"Legal fun, eh, legal as X-Men get." The cup in front of him is rolled around on the table, slid between his fingers back and forth.


"I /am/ trying to teach her how to blend with polite society, Remy," Betsy points out, with an arched brow— but an amused something tugs at the corner of her mouth. For a millisecond. "Coasters and forks. Proper wearing of hats. How not to commit petty larceny. Things that are an important part of being in society."

She eyes Remy, then folds her elbows on the table, staring at him. "I'll make you a bargain, Cajun— once I feel she's suitably adapted to living /inside/ the confines of the social construct, I'll talk to you about teaching her how to work /outside/ those lines. Yes?"


Remy feigns offense by tipping his chin up, "You sayin' I maybe be a bad influence? Proper as spades, mon amie. That wounds, Betsy."
"I can teach her how to wear a scarf, maybe a trench, all the measurements of the X-Men… and hey now! it is only petty if you do it without flair or get caught.'
Further words are cut off by a drink but it is obvious hes enjoying the playful ribbing, "Sound like a deal. When she ready, when you an' her both decide. It good though, you know, good you helping her out. Teaching her this when she need it most. Maybe she grow up better adjusted than you-know-who."


"I'll let you know, Remy," Betsy says— shaking her head as she finishes her meal and rising, but unable to wholly suppress a smile at his irrepressible insoucience. It is a hallmark of his charm that nothing keeps the Cajun down, after all!

"It's back to work for me. 'twas nice to share lunch with you, Remy. I hope we see more of you around the Institute," Betsy offers, as politely as if at a state dinner. Collecting her things, she leaves the table and heads back towards the Institute's halls.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 License