May 02, 2018:

Rose and Ruth arrive at the mansion at the same time, Warren Worthington greets them.

Exterior Grounds - Xavier's Institute


NPCs: None.



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

With the way that Ruth walks past 1407 Graymalkin Lane, one would consider her to be high on spirits. Or something. The obvious bag hung upon her back, the other slung along her shoulders, the ratted knee high socks that seem too thick for the winter and skirt that.. well. Seemed too ruined to be really true this day and age. At least it was clean. Much like the off-beat suit coat that she wears that looked as if it were patchwork, the busted pair of chucks (converse) upon her feet and the seemingly soiled (but clean) blindfold upon her eyes.

But hey. Life was great. Life is going to be great. Life -will- be great. In about five minutes. Probably five seconds. Or was it two? She couldn't tell. All she knew was that she was supposed to walk towards the gate and stand there to wait for someone to come to it. Maybe. Probably. Actually, the music is really good!

Walking on sunshine.. she'd dance.. well, she is dancing mentally, but not right now. Just a little bob of her head here and there to keep herself from shaking her tail-feather all along the street..


Warren Worthington has been catching up around the mansion since returning recently to the team. He's clad casually, for him, which means slacks, nice shoes, a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up. And, of course, the wings, metallic and gleaming, jutting from his back and casting their shadows across everything about him. His golden hair, grown long, has been pulled back into a ponytail at the moment.

At the sight of the unusual young woman at the gate, he lets his wings lift him, a few lazy beats enough to carry him most of the length of the yard to land easily in front of her, "Can I help you?" he says.


What a hot, rumpled mess Rose is right now. Auburn hair licked with fiery reds, currently swirled in a frizzy tousle that looks like she just rolled out of bed. She probably did. Or rolled out of something, at least.

A wane 'morning after' paleness colors her tired-seeming face, but a pair of large, buggy black sunglasses hides her eyes from any light that may irritate whatever kind of hangover the slim, disheveled girl is experiencing at the moment. A half-burnt cigarette dangles from her lips, sizzling with smoke. She carries a single backpack, looking overstuffed ad heavy, slung over one shoulder.

"Mn," she groans, dance slippers scuffing against the asphalt below as she moves through the gates into the institute grounds proper. She pauses, ash falling from her cigarette as she's met by not one, but two strange sights. The dancing blindfolded girl and the winged male model. She frowns, and adjusts her sunglasses, shrouded eyes squinting throught he inky dark lenses. Too much. She doesn't like it. She rubs a hand over her cheek, and grunts. "… Uh." Before she says anything else, she yawns. "… Found it," she determines to herself.


There wasn't really much going on. The music was blasting in her ears clear as day, though to everyone else it'll sound like little tics and little tings, and the sound of tiny people in some tiny little i-pod that was held in her coat pocket. As Warren descends from where ever he came from (cause she wasn't paying attention), Ruth took a step back and a bit to the side to allow passage of another, her finger drawing up to hook into the chord within her ear, popping it out as one would do..

"Waiting for someone to open the gate, sorry." She says quietly, patching her way through to follow the path that Rose herself had taken, but stops rather abruptly with a turn to pluck the other from her ear. "Hi. Okay," which was muttered to the both of them, because .. why not?!

Her head nods then, fingers working to ravel the chords politely before she takes to wandering the grounds. A nap would soon be in order. Maybe a snack..


Warren Worthington watches Rose blearily make her way in, reminded of more than a few occasions from his own errant youth. He was more responsible now. Mostly. In some ways.

He isn't immediately sure what to make of either of them. He's not current on who belongs and doesn't these days, although neither seems hostile or threatening. "Warren Worthington," he says by way of introduction, inclining his head. "I'm an, uh, alumni," he says. "But I try to stay active around the place when I can."


Any and all outside stimuli seems to be too much for Rose in her fragile hungover state. She looks like she just wants to flop onto the ground and lie there for a while. But she doesn't. She rolls her shoulder, and shifts her neck in a way that elicits a popping crack of her spine.

She looks right passed Warren's introduction, watching Ruth as she meanders about. "… Nn," she lets outs, creaky head shifting back to the angelic man. "… Rose," she mutters out, half-heartedly. "I was told t' come here. I dunno. I can fuck off, too, whatever's easier."

She yawns again, squeaky and high-pitched. "Just looks like a big, fancier psych ward," she comments in a mumble, head raising some a she peers upon the distant mansion.


Ruth really didn't have a plan of action, just at this day, at this time, she saw herself in this particular yard, and that her luck would change. Quite possibly, she could fake it til she made it among the throes of whomever was inside.. it was a school, right? So she tries. Tries her best to put on the cool demeanor that Rose had put up, slouching her shoulders awkwardly, even though her hands were joined in front of her, swaying a little back and forth as her head tilts to hear the words from them both in either direction.

"Yes. Sorry. I was told t' come here." She states, then nods. "I'm Ruth."

She really wasn't told to come here. Not in that way. "Big and scary a bit. Smells fresh."


Warren Worthington smiles, "Thank you. It's Clive Christian, my personal blend," he says, referring to his aftershave. "And I may be scary in some ways, but I mean you no harm. I do wish people would take greater care when instructing newcomers to come visit. I imagine there has to be some sort of official protocol. Nonetheless, welcome to the Institute. I'm sure there's a faculty person about…somewhere," he says. He glances at Rose again, "You might want to freshen up a bit, though. There are extensive facilities in the dorm area. If you need help with any…addictions, they have good counselors as well."


"… How can you tell if it's big?" Rose wonders, the dark lenses of her shades glinting in the sunlight. She tilts her head at Ruth and her blindfold. "Weird. Two new freaks showing up at Castle Freak's gate at the same time," she comments idly, sharing another curious look with Ruth. "Funny coincidence. Freak world must be bigger than I thought." She shrugs it off, and looks back towards Warren.

"… She was talking abou…" Rose trails off before she finishes the sentence, not having the energy to continue it. "I don't need to freshen up," she says in lazy defense of herself, "It's my clothes that are dirty." Another yawn. "I don't get dirty," she claims with a casual confidence. The mention of 'addictions' and counselors just has her eyebrows raising, no verbal response necessary. "Thanks," she says, flatly, before looking away.


Ruth's eyebrows sinch a little beneath her blindfold, her hand lifting to nearly point towards the mansion but she decides not to. The conversation was flowing well, even when a question was directed towards her she lifts her shoulders in an innocent shrug. "It just does." The mansion, she meant. It looked huge.

Freshening up really wasn't a bad idea, Ruth herself was pretty ripe, and if the angel's nose was that good, he may have been smelling her after all. "Pardon. Clothes in there?" She asks, taking a little step.. but.. the over-useage of Freak gives her a cringe that nearly makes her want to shirk away. "I.. I'm not a freak.." She says quietly, her head lowering as her hand reaches to rub harshly at her cheek. So harsh, that the skin beneath slowly begins to burn a red color, in which she turns away from the two to hide..

"Sorry. Not nice.."


Warren Worthington nods, "You're right, Ruth. Very much not nice. You won't find people take very well to be called freaks around here. I know some young mutants like to try and take it as a point of pride, but here, we try to use inclusive and supportive language to encourage one another," he says smoothly.

"Everyone is an individual. And there's no such thing as a freak," he says. "And however you find yourself here, you are welcome," he says, "The mansion is, indeed, large, but I promise you it can seem very much like a small place more quickly than you might imagine," he says. Of course, he grew up in a house just as large as the mansion that held only himself and his parents, so he might be the wrong person to ask.


"… Eh." Rose blinks, her dulled stupor broken a bit by the reaction Ruth has to her words. Her face twitches with some guilt, and her cigarette burns out in her lips before falling to the floor. She scuffs it out with the heel of her slipper. "Sorry. You get called something enuogh and you start to believe it." She tries for a smile, but it doesn't last long. "… I use it to try and take the power away from it, I guess. So it can't hurt me…" She rubs at her nape, and sighs. Last thing she wants to do is use that word to hurt someone like her.

"Inclusive… Supportive language." She grumbles. "Sounds like a psych ward, alright." She looks up at the mansion again, lips twitching thoughtfully. She sighs, resigning herself to her fate. "Bet the food's better, though…" She glances behind herself, at the empty street outside the gate. As if that were her only other option. Mansion it is. "They take anyone who wanders in here?" she wonders to Warren, then.


Ruth's head shakes as she remains turned away from them, still rubbing away at her face, her shoulders hunkering even further, her head shaking rapidly as she mutters quietly. "Empty words. Evil. Sorry." Still, she tries to straighten up, attempting a little smile even though she's facing the right way, an inhale, then exhale as she begins to walk to the house. Yup, she belongs. She totally wasn't invited. Though was she? The gate was opened for her, right?

Who cares. She'll lie. Someone told her to come here, just like they did Rose.

"The meatloaf is great." Ruth blurts out. "In. Straight. Right. Left and down the hall. Kitchen. Someones makig meatloaf. It's pretty good." Yes, she was about to wander inside, Warren invited them though!


Warren Worthington puts a hand gently on Ruth's shoulder, provided she doesn't shake it off, showing a bit of support for the young woman. She'd obviously been through a lot, given her condition.

"That won't be up to me. As I said, I'm an alumni, but not part of the faculty. But the Institute accepts people from all sorts of backgrounds and in all kinds of circumstances. So long as you come here with good intentions - and if you aren't, they'll find out quick enough - then you'll likely be welcomed with open arms," he says.


"Eh," Rose says with a shrug, having been called much worse than 'evil' in her time. Her fingers twitch, and she instinctively begins to pat herself down for her cigarette pack. When she finds it, the only remaining cigarette is broken. She doesn't mind though, plopping the broken-off part into her mouth and lighting it filterless.

"Well, if there's good meatloaf…" Rose murmurs, a trail of smoke following the tired ragamuffin as she trails a few paces behind Ruth. "My intentions are to do what my Doc told me to do, which is to come here, and take care of myself." She smiles a thin smile. Her eyes return to the manse as well, which she moves towards at a sluggish pace. "Harder than it sounds," she comments through another stifled squeak of a yawn.


The hand rests upon her shoulder briefly, and yet before a glimpse flashes before her eyes she quickly shakes him off. It wasn't a violent shake, but a clear shake none the less. "Sorry.." She mumbles. But they were off. Ruth walking to the mansion with a little bit of confidence, though its slowly dripping away, up and around the cobblestone driveway with a few trips here and there, both hands clasping each strap of her back as she turns, listens.. and nods.

"No. No malice." Ruth says evenly. "We come to do what the Doc told us to do. Yes." Ruth states. "Me and Rose. Rose and I were told to come here to take care of ourselves." She pauses a bit. "Cause we're on drugs." T'was a guess, right?


Warren Worthington shakes his head, "I'm not much of a meatloaf fan myself, but to each their own," he says. His firmness softens a bit, though, and he nods, "I imagine it is. Everyone has their own challenges. Sometimes we stumble, even," he says, feeling the metal wings on his back as a testament to that.

Ruth's words draw another pat on the shoulder. He's not sure he believes her, if only because she doesn't seem particularly drugged - nor friendly with Rose. But, whatever her story, it doesn't really matter. "I'm sure they'll do their best to help," he reassures.


"… Uh." Rose doesn't know what to say at first, so she doesn't do much but stare at Ruth. Her left eyebrow twitches, and she nudges her shades back up her nose with her pinky. "Something like that," she murmurs. "More like to keep me on the drugs, though." She stares off at that looming building again.

"Maybe I should come back later…" She's getting cold feet. Feet that have only been free for so long. Feet about to walk into another place with 'Institute' in the name. What if this isn't the right choice? She hesitates, and stops walking. "You two go ahead. I'm gonna. I dunno… Walk around a bit?"


The pat had her teetering away from him, stumbling briefly and continuing on the path. The movement was slow of course, and his assurance was more than welcome. With Rose's speechlessness, Ruth finally manages a little laugh. "Don't be silly, you won't be back until someone forces you to come back." Uh oh, here we go. "You'll get hurt, then you'll come crawling."

It could be true, it couldn't be true, but that's the way those things works. "Sorry. Meatloaf is done. There's potatos. Starch is good sometimes when we're high." They're not high. "Come on Rose. We can go together."


Warren Worthington nods to Rose, "If you prefer. Whatever you like. You know where to find the place," he says. He supposes these young woman might be in some sort of trouble, but he didn't really know what. Ruth's ominous words make him raise his eyebrows.

"The grounds are free to explore. Certain areas may be off-limits, but they're pretty clearly marked and…well, you'll know pretty quickly if you go somewhere you shouldn't," he says.


"… I don't get hurt. And I don't crawl," Rose murmurs, taken aback by the strange response from the girl. Her offense is dulled by the dazed state dampening her demeanor right now, so it doesn't look like it affects her as much as it does.

"Mnn…" She's still conflicted, glancing between the manse, Ruth, Warren, and the gate outside. "Well. I did walk here. All the way from the city." She looks tired - but not THAT tired. "So I guess. Yeah. Better go inside, huh?" That last part is spoken to herself, and she picks up her feet again, catching up to Ruth.

"Thanks, wings," she says back to Warren with a lift of her palm. "No booby traps, I hope?

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