ArchivedLogs:Winding Down

Winding Down
Dramatis Personae Mariot, She-Hulk
In Absentia	2013-04-16 After a hectic return to Xavier's school, Jennifer winds down in the gym. Mariot joins in.
Location <XS> Gymnasium - B1
For a mutant school, this is a pretty standard gym, even if its sturdy construction to handle mutant powers is less standard. Still, it is designed along normal lines; setup for a basketball court, standard equipment -- punching bags, rubber mats, standard assortment of balls, weight training equipment, the usual fare. It is large, and as well-appointed as the rest of Xavier's tends to be. Today, the gym is filled with noises early on. There is music blaring from a radio set on the ground some distance away from where it is plugged in. The vast space of the gym distorts the already questionable quality, but it's good enough to nudge Jennifer's mood in the right direction. Still in her human form, she is dressed in practical clothing - gray sweat pants, running shoes and a sports top of white with purple sides. Her hands are wrapped in bandages, curled into fists and flung angrily at the hefty punching bag. One after another, the hits land on the sand-filled victim with plentiful force. Muscles ripple and shift. The teacher does not relent, although she has the occasional break to catch her breath and pace herself. Her auburn pony-tail swishes actively, mimicking her movements. In the meantime, the bag oofs and sways beneath all the punishment. Having hoped to have the place to herself at this time of day, Mariot enters the gym with a mingling of curiosity and mild disappointment. Clad in cycling shorts and a cut-off sports top, she shows off a good deal of toning - and the perceptive might possibly notice a few old scars here and there, though none are especially dramatic. Presently finishing the task of tying back her hair, she cocks her head, studying both Jennifer and her technique as she pads quietly closer. There is not that much technique in Jennifer's raw movements. Strength, experience and hints of a style are present with each thud of a hit that lands on the poor punching bag. Jab, jab. Cross. Jab. Cross. Cross. The occasional hook sneaks in. In the meantime, the annoying interlude of the radio host chatting ends, and Wolfmother's Joker and the Thief comes on. It is as though there is some sort of unwritten rule about gyms and not-so-ambient music. Distracted by the shift in the music genre, Jennifer breathes in deeply and takes on step away from the bag. She looks over to the portable stereo. On the way there, her green eyes catch sight of Mariot. It takes her maybe a second to process the visual information and flag the arrival as /Not a Student/. "Hey", she greets her cheerfully, running her thumbs against her palms, massaging her hands. "Bad day, daily practice, or do you have a class coming on?" Hair now sorted out, Mariot raises a hand in greeting, cracking a wry smile. "I was hoping to have the place to myself", she confesses amiably, her accent unmistakably educated and British. "Though I have the impression that you're not a student..." There is a brief flash of confusion crossing Jennifer's face as she shears Mariot speak. That particular accent is not one she hears often, and unfortunately she does not veil the fact very well, or even has the intention to. On the other hand, it is a fleeting response. "Nope. I hope I'm right in thinking neither are you." While she lets one hand drop to her side, the friendlier one - her right - is extended to Mariot. A broad smile adorns her beaming face. "Jennifer Walters. Or She-Hulk, as the media likes to call me. /They/ think they're being insulting." Stepping forward and offering a hand, the Briton cracks a grin. "Mariot Gall. The Professor's new pet Brit. And expert in assorted classes almost no one seems to want to take. I suspect a lot of my time will be spent serving as a backup for other teachers." Whether or not it is returned in equal measure, an overly strong grip is poured into the handshake. "Mariot Gall?" The name is echoed and a hint of familiarity glimmers in Jennifer's emerald eyes. "You teach Power and Social Responsibility, don't you? That makes us colleagues! Except my first lesson involved fetching students teleported across all of New York." As the handshaking gesture ends, Jennifer would sigh irritably, recalling yesterday's events. "I suspect /your/ time and /mine/ will be spent trying to gather the little rugrats together, if nothing else. They're young. Young students with super powers that create, destroy and manipulate. Of /course/ they think they're too cool for school." "That... kind of thing does seem to be a problem. I found myself rescuing a pupil from oversized bugs in the girls' bathroom, with the individual responsible for them +naturally+ nowhere nearby", Mariot says, ruefully amused. Her own grip is strong, but she looks a little surprised at the power in Jennifer's. "And yes - by academic training, I'm an historian and specialist in international conflict. Here... history does not exactly seem to be popular, especially if it's non-American. So my list of responsibilities is long, but not exactly arduous for the most part." "Eh." Jennifer does not seem all too concerned at the jab aimed to American patriotism. In fact, it is taken in stride and even played with. "Just add Washington in everywhere. Pyramids? Washington. Eiffel Tower? Washington. Sliced bread? Washington." Pursing her lips in faux thought, Jennifer reconsiders. "No, wait, that last one was actually Thomas Jefferson." The song shifts again, this time to AC/DC's Thunderstruck. Jennifer tosses a quick glance in the direction of the music's source, before she considers the still punching bag again. It's not too long before her attention is back on Mariot again. "Wait, did you say... bugs from the girls' bathroom?" Furrowing her brows, Jennifer scoffs. "Right, so you were the one who helped out - Shelby, is her name? I actually thought /she/ was in danger. Turns out Ivan was just worried about his spider. Did you know the kid names his... /subjects/?" "I've not +exactly+ had a chance to have a long talk with him as yet", Mariot says dryly. "And yes - the girl's Shelby. She appears to have had a phobia of such things even before that... encounter. I rather doubt that her opinion of them's improved. Still, I did my best to make sure to capture them safely - I wondered if they might be an extension of him, or something. I do need to pin him down and... find out quite what was happening." "Well, I checked the roster-- Ivan's advisor is a guy called Jackson. I might have to have a word or two with him. I know the kids had it rough last night, not just me, but they should have a little bit more foresight. What happened was--" Jennifer inhales deeply before freeing a heavy sigh from her chest. Throwing her hands halfway up her torso, she explains, "Basically, Ivan spooked another student, Faelan, probably to see if that would trigger his teleportation ability. Lo and behold, it actually /did/, and /no one/ but Ivan and his friend were surprised. This was just before class started, so Ivan's friend, Peter, told me what happened so I could go get the two." The convoluted story only gets worse, and Jennifer is aware of it. The redhead buries her face in one of her bandaged palms, muffling her voice. "And then Ivan said Shelby and his spider Lena were in the same room, and that /she/ was at the risk of death. I thought he meant Shelby." Mariot lifts a brow, then nods. "Jackson's... not here round the clock. Only teaches one class, and that only for some of the year - but he shouldn't be too hard to get hold of. And yeah... I briefly met Faelan. The kid's struggling to persuade himself even to venture out in public and talk to people. Being used as a lab-rat is unlikely to encourage him to continue taking the risk of social contact." "As for Shelby... I don't +think+ she was in any real danger. It's the foot-long millipede I was more worried about: I know that +some+ of those are venomous, but I've no idea which species. Or what the heck this Ivan does to or with his 'subjects', as you call them. The tarantula was blue...." Shaking her head, Mariot then chuckles. "So... was the punchbag letting you work off a bit of frustration after all that?" Jennifer holds both her hands up defensively and her mood seemingly lightens up after a chuckle. "Don't look at me, I'm not a biology graduate." The punching bag is eyed again, then. Turning to face it and situating her footing in the appropriate manner, another punch is landed to help remind the thing that it is well-loved and cared for. The hook is initiated by the left hand, just to ensure the swing has no chance of hitting Mariot, who stands on the other side. "Yes. Stick around long enough and you'll hear others say I have a short temper. This helps me vent and focus. I also do yoga." Jab. Jab. "Sam helps too." Cross. All three hits with her left fist, while her right arm is pressed against her waist. The final hit is particularly strong; in fact, it is /almost/ strong enough to hint at just what her own power might be. "But I've been hogging the gym /all/ morning", she admits, turning to face Mariot again, this time with a broad toothy grin. "I think I'll take Sam out for a ride and hand the rule of this splendid kingdom over to you. Sound fair?" "Who or what is Sam?", Mariot asks with a smile. "And feel free to stick around, honestly. If you promise not to break me, I'll even let you whale on me in sparring, if you want to. I've not got any real idea of how I measure up here." Just as Jennifer steps away from the punching bag to render the spot before it vacant, she halts. "Sam? Samael's the closest thing I have to a long-term relationship." With a bit of a coy grin, she confidently admits, "Ivan names spiders, I name things that go fast. Sam's a motorcycle, a second generation Suzuki Hayabusa. A hundred and ninety seven horsepower, 6-speed slipper clutch, constant mesh and a chain drive even a shark would be jealous of. Top speed of hundred and eighty six miles per hour, so he's /never/ late for a date." Jennifer is under no illusion that the object she described is no living thing, if her self-satisfied grin is anything to go by, but she's also aware of the undue value she attaches to that superbike. "I have an idea." The eccentric redhead stands with legs spread, palms flat against her legs. "Hit me?" Mariot cracks a swift grin. "Oh, naming the things you love makes complete sense to me", she assures Jennifer, before cocking her head and chuckling. "For some reason, I feel as if I'm being set up", she observes amiably, before smoothly shifting into a loose combat stance, then throwing a simple right at Jennifer's gut - not putting +everything+ into it, but she seems inclined to trust her new colleague, and is putting a good portion of her muscle power behind the blow. The graceless raw power the punching bag as previously exposed to is replaced with serpentine speed. It is by no means a level of agility that surpasses the human capacity, yet it is definitely the kind to suggest the individual has had her fair share of experience. Those gem-like green eyes track the trajectory of the hit, and her hands rush to move upward. One from side and one from the other, they both flank the incoming hit and apply enough pressure to slow it down. Fingers clamp down around Mariot's forearm and the punch is stopped an inch away from Jennifer's midriff. The grip is not maintained longer than necessary - feet close some of the distance between them and the Brit's arm is let go. "The System. Where I grew up, there was a little shabby place with a Russian immigrant. It's slightly too advanced for your typical self-defense-- Unless you grow up in the Bronx, I suppose." A swift flick of the wrist has an index finger point at Mariot's right hand. "That was a good throw. You an amateur, or something more?" Jennifer looks more curious and perhaps even excited than anything else. "I'm no champion fighter, but I +am+ used to being able to think of myself as fit, and able to handle myself", she says, lips twitching into another smile. "I +have+ been rather worried that I might have to change that self-image, here." "Here? In Xavier's?" The thought amuses Walters. The redhead starts walking away from the punching bags and over to the weights. "Come", she beckons. Not the patient sort, she continues walking /and/ talking, regardless. "In my opinion, if anyone should teach these kids how to defend themselves, it should be someone who knows non-lethal takedowns. Now, I know they're mostly in good hands under Logan's care, but have you seen the guy? He has /claws/, and that little pile of ruined punching bags in the corner? Not me. That said--" And then Jennifer starts attaching weights to one of the barbells. One after the other. At first, it doesn't look like there's anything special about what she's doing, but there comes a point where the weight is ludicrous. "In Xavier's, if there's anything you don't have to worry about, it's your self-image. This school is about coming to terms with your self-image and chiselling coals into diamonds. Probably even literally, if someone with a pressure super-power comes along." Mariot cocks her head, definitely watching Jennifer as well as the piling-on of the weights, a smile audible in her voice as she replies. "I virtually always wear long sleeves around civilians, lest I be taken for a 'freak' thanks to having visible biceps. At a beach or in a gym, I can blend in much more easily - even if people notice the occasional scar. But anywhere that's 'fashionable', I'm used to being at the seriously unusual end of things. At Xavier's... well. I can see why I was told that this'd present a whole new set of challenges for me to adjust to. In quite a number of ways." By now, the weight of the barbell must be over a hundred kilograms. Hell, it might be halfway on its way to two. Put it simply, there is no way Jennifer going to lift it, unless she is about to demonstrate her super-strength; at least, one would hope she has it, but she does occasionally struggle with applying further weight. Showing off her power is not entirely the core point of what she wants to demonstrate, however. Her hand grips the center of the barbell and, as she readies the momentum necessary in aiding her to lift it up, grows in size. Her height surpasses six feet and her skin attains a green tint. Her clothes understandably tighten around the increased body mass, which explains the former looseness of the sweat pants and the flexible fabric of her top. The barbell is lifted like a toy, tossed a short distance before the hand is flipped around and she grabs the bar from below, henceforth holding it with one hand, while the other rests comfortably on her hip. Those dark green lips are grinning widely. Her good looks are still very recognisable, especially on her pretty face, but overall appearance is far from the social norm. "Some call /me/ a freak. I call them an ambulance." It's hard to tell whether she is joking or not. "We are who we are, and each of us has their strengths and their weaknesses. People will always point at our weaknesses, doesn't matter what they are. We just have to show them our strengths." Mariot looks more than a little impressed, though not wholly surprised, as she gazes up at She-Hulk. "I +thought+ the eyes looked familiar", she risks teasing, cracking a grin. "And... I can't do anything remotely that impressive. Most mutants, let alone most 'mundanes', won't even notice I have any unusual ability at all. So I have to settle for just being a five-nine short-arse with these puny muscles." Helplessly amused, She-Hulk looks down at Mariot with her wide grin still very much present. "/Puny/ muscles? Don't sell yourself short." The pun is, judging by the tone, very much intended. The overwhelmingly heavy barbell is carefully placed back in its place; not for the green amazon's own safety, but rather because the floor would collapse if the damn thing would be simply let go or put down too briskly. She may possess super-strength, but she remains cautious and considerate. Her human form is reverted to a touch slower, and it seems the process dizzies her a bit. Jennifer's composure is regained soon after, and she lets go an audible and theatrical little sigh. Reaching behind her, she grabs hold of the hair-band, tugging it back to free her lush auburn hair. "Why? I would have guessed denying mutants their power, but then I would have embarrassed myself just now." Ruffling her hair after the prison that was the cruel band, she eyes Mariot curiously, as if her power was written somewhere on there. Mariot cracks a grin, then strikes a pose. "Can't you guess? Isn't it obvious?", she asks cheerfully. "Against you, I suspect that it'd be +entirely+ useless, unless there're some extra elements to your particular talent beyond the, ahh, visible." "If you were a guy, I'd dare think you were hitting on me", comes the quip. Still greatly amused, it's clear Jennifer's mood has vastly improved by now. "Useless against me? Super-strength, high resistance threshold, good stamina-- I can't really." Yet she seems determined to know. That ever-busy mind of hers sorts the many files, the many mutants she's been exposed to throughout life. It's clear that Jennifer likes guessing-- nay, not guessing, /solving/. "No, it /has/ to be some sort of power denial. Something physical, maybe?" And so the slew of potential bullseyes begins. "Anti-telepath? Denying non-physical powers? Shutting down powers that are aimed at you?" She-Hulk is awfully eager to know which one it is. "I'm a muscley ex-soldier. Are we allowed to talk to a woman without hitting on them?", Mariot asks with a wink. "And... pretty close. They dubbed it 'Targeting Immunity'. If a power needs to 'lock' onto someone, then... I just don't exist. And I extend it by touch, by default. So myself, my clothes, anyone I'm holding onto..." Her 'puny' muscles shift across her shoulders as she shrugs. "So... innate superstrength will pulverise me just like anyone else. But if, say, an aspect of your ability was that you enhanced the impact of your physical muscles, multiplying their effect upon a target... that would fizzle. It's pretty seriously hit and miss whether it's useful or not. Passively, I'm told I'm Hell for empaths and telepaths to get used to being around." The bounced back quip about flirtatious remarks elicits further amusement, although She-Hulk dodges further elaboration on the subject matter. Her attention shifts to Mariot's power, instead, imagining the various scenarios where it might prove to save the ex-soldier's life... and scenarios where it might prove fatally useless. The notion that telepaths find such a power uncomfortable distracts Jenny from further thought experiments. An incredulous chortle marks her dismissal of such would-be complaints. "Yes, God forbid they actually converse with us like /ordinary people/." Shaking her head, Jennifer purses her lips disapprovingly. "Y'know what I think, Mariot? I think, at the end of the day, when all the super-powered punches are thrown, all the fireballs are tossed and the earth shakes under our ground? It's going to be a powerless human who is going to ensure our future." "I'd certainly like to think so", Mariot agrees. "Certainly, it's as humanity that we're going to stand much chance of dealing with this successfully, rather than as separate 'normals' and 'mutants'...." She shrugs once more. "Still - to offer a minor note in favour of the telepaths and empaths: many of them are accustomed to sensing when people are around them. Apparently, talking to me is a bit like talking to someone who's invisible - to one of their most trustworthy, most significant senses, there's simply +no one there+. Whereas I can stand at least some chance of spotting +them+ - I can... feel it when someone pushes against my defences. If they can see me, or touch me, or something, then they can try to focus on me, and I can feel that. Same for some broader-area abilities - if someone, say, broadcasts images into people's minds, I'll get no more than a sort of echo of it, but I'll certainly be aware it's happening. Which, frankly, is something I think might be good for a lot more people to have. Still... the teaching here in psychic defence, I'm wholly behind. It being mandatory's a great idea. Especially with the Professor to help direct it." "Oh, yes. Xavier's a great teacher, although I remain slightly biased towards my own mother." Pocketing the hair-band, Jennifer begins to unravel the bandages from her hands. "I'm also pretty behind in the whole telepathic defence stuff. I had a few lessons a year ago, but I think most I could conceal from a telepath is what I had for lunch." A pause to consider her words, then; she momentarily stops freeing her hands. When she resumes, the redhead notes, "Which in today's case is /nothing/, actually. I should /really/ change that." With the bandages off, she stuffs those in a pocket, too. "I think /now/ I will go grab Sam, if you don't mind?" Mariot grins. "If you don't mind, I'd like to meet Sam some time. Though I won't detain you." She offers her hand again. "It's been good to meet you, Jennifer. In both versions." "Hey, Sam's a one-girl kind of guy." Jennifer shapes her hand into a gun and pretend-shoots Mariot. "I'll be /watching/ you." The ominous tone is undermined by a voice that borders on laughter. "It was definitely nice meeting you. See you around the school, Mariot!" Stepping past her colleague, the redhead wanders off.