Logs:When You Move, Fall Like a Thunderbolt

When You Move, Fall Like a Thunderbolt
Dramatis Personae Ion, Jax, Scott
In Absentia Mystique, Cerebro	2024-11-16 Whatever the hell I said I definitely did not mean that." (followed by check-ins with Cerebro and Mystique.)
Location <XAV> Grounds - Xs Grounds / Guest Suite - Le Bonne Entente
Xavier's School is situated on grounds as luxurious as the mansion itself. The tree-lined drive brings you up to the lush green sweep of front lawn and the wide front porch with its bench swing, often frequented by students studying in pleasant weather. The large oak tree in the front yard is home to a tire swing, installed long ago beneath the sturdy old treehouse. The lawn rolls out all the way down to the thin rocky pier at the edge of the glittering lake. The water stretches huge and wide off into the distance, the boathouse a small blip at its shore. Along its bank, forest stretches dense and shady to one side; to the other cliffs start to rise, high and rocky, providing trails for hiking or climbing, for the adventurous. It's not so late that the dorms or the mansion further up the road have gone quiet yet, let alone dark, but this stretch of the school's long driveway should be all but deserted at this hour. Tonight, though, the unending list of Xavier's Maintenance includes the removal of one of the handsome old trees that line the drive. Perhaps Scott shouldn't be DIYing this one -- diseased or dead trees can be unpredictable and whatever is ailing this tree might be even more capricious, some kind of glowy pinkish-red rot that oozes from the branches and out of the bark, masses in bulbous, sticky clumps along the trunk. Then again, maybe this should be handled in-house, actually. The bright, portable work lights triangulating Scott's work area are sort of washing out the eerie, pulsing glow, though they don't do anything for the unpleasantly gamy smell that emits from the tree's stump and limbs. He's already felled the tree, already removed its limbs; the chainsaw is sitting off to the side for later, protective covering locked back on, as Scott drags the branches, one or two at a time, out of the way into a pile. In the unforgiving floodlight Scott looks pale and wan -- still a little underweight from Mojo, dressed in heavy work clothes and safety orange chainsaw chaps -- but his movements are still doggedly, determinedly swift and efficient, nothing wasted. Has there been a bike coming up the drive? It definitely didn't actually come through the gate -- or, well, the gate didn't properly open. There's a bike here, now, its quiet purr starting from oddly halfway down the driveway already, emerging from a lamppost and vroooming up to pull up beside Scott. The bike's headlight adds to the illumination, shining bright at Scott and leaving its rider mostly in darkness. Not that it's any secret who it is, given the readily identifiable ride and the faint shiver of electricity still rippling along Ion's arms as he kills the engine. "Yo, Boy Scout --" He's vaulting right over his bike handlebars, loping towards Scott as he deposits his latest haul of branches. It's just a heartbeat after this that his fist comes up hard towards Scott's gut, together with a brief but intense kick of energy. "The fuck you done, huh?" Scott pauses at the sound, eyebrows pressing down over the wraparound glasses, head tilting inquisitively, "-- Ion?" he says, as soon he's clocked who his visitor is, then a wordless grunt of pain and surprise. He drops his tree branch; the jolt more than the punch has him stumbling back into the pile, where the other branches are leaving weird glowy meat-tree goop on his clothes, but he plants his feet enough not to fall into it, one arm briefly clutching at his stomach before they both dart up, hands open but poised to fend off another attack. His mouth opens and closes a few times, like a fish, before -- "What the hell?" he wheezes. Ion's stepped in close again, but though his hand is balled up toight he doesn't swing again -- there's sparks crackling over his arms, down his hook, lending a fervid brightness to his eyes. "Jax. The fuck, man? That boy give everything to everyone how the fuck you do him like that?" Scott doesn't back away, little though he probably likes this proximity to the sparking; his pained expression is lapsing into a vague, frustrated confusion -- "Do him like --" he echoes, in very faint approximation of Ion's tone, though this does not seem to help him ascribe any meaning to it. "He -- look -- whatever I did, whatever I didn't do -- have you seen him, have you talked to him? I need to talk to him." Ion gives his hand a small irritable shake, flicking sparks off to disippate into the air. They're easing off as he lets out a sharp annoyed hiss. "Yeah I seen him, he fucking upset." His other hand, outflung, casts its complement of sparks vaguely in the direction of Up The Drive and the distant mansion. "He thinked this place his damn home, he thinked you his familia." His forefinger jabs at Scott's chest -- the jolt this time is considerably smaller, a brief twinge. "I thinked you got more damn compassion under that stone face, shit." "That's what I thought, too," Scott is replying, a little testy in how fast this response comes, if not in tone. He doesn't wince much at the second shock, though one foot scoots back, plants itself more firmly. "Ion, I know this last -- detainment was hard on him. I was trying to give him some space. Obviously I should have done more, I didn't know he would do this. I need to talk to him." "You --" This is testy in how sharp the response is, but after this, Ion is dropping his hand. Frowning, as a sudden confusion puts a blip in his ire. His fingers work open and closed at his side, and though his tone is still certainly accusatory he's taking a step back, letting his fist unclench. "-- Already you talk to him, huh? That why he quit, he said -- you said -- shit, you hurt him re bad yesterday." "Yesterday?" says Scott, now also visibly taken aback; he tries, in vain, to rack his mind for something he might have said yesterday to prompt this. "When did I -- I barely saw him yesterday, I was running errands and then I went to --" he's digging his phone out of his pocket with a deep frown, to open his calendar. "He upset, man, I didn't ask what time." Ion's hook is starting to clack together. The lights around them waver, briefly fluctuating with his agitation. "Said you go telling him this place safer, he go." Scott winces a little visibly at this threat to his floodlights, lifts his frown from his calendar back up to Ion. "Huh. Whatever the hell I said I definitely did not mean that," he says, and shakes his head. "I need to talk to him." Maybe third time will be the charm. "Shit." Ion's frown is deepening. "-- you fuck him up again we gonna have problems." His hand claps to Scott's arm and the world jolts out of existence -- -- for a bright and painful instant, snapping abruptly back into place around them in the quiet elegance of a L'Entente hallway. Ion raps sharply on the door. "Yo Sunshine, we back." "Hey I was gonna --" There's a thump behind the door, and then it pulls open. An ancient one-eyed beagle is snuffling out into the hallway, bumping up against Ion's boots and then wagging lazily. Behind Obie, Jax has changed from Gallavanting Clothes into pajamas, soft fleecey pants covered with a print of many Care Bears playing up in the clouds and a cozy rainbow color-blocked sweatshirt over an ancient tee that reads 'be nice to sex workers 😄' on the chest. "-- put a movie on, um, hi, sorry, sir, I didn't expect -- um." He shifts a little awkwardly from one foot to the other. "... did you need. Somethin'?" Scott lifts one hand, like he means to clap Jax on the shoulder, then awkwardly settles it against the doorframe instead; his eyebrows are drawn together over the glasses. "I wanted to talk," he says. "What -- why are you leaving? Why did you leave," he corrects himself, like he's unable to let an incorrect tense lie. Ion stoops to scruff Obie's head, and then hoists the beagle up into his arms. He's bumping his shoulder against Jax's as he heads past into the suite, turning the dog around and aiming him towards a safely empty stretch of floor. "-- you got that new robot movie up in here I hear it great." He's snagging a couple dog treats and plopping himself down on a couch -- still in earshot of the door, though. "Um --" Jax is glancing back over his shoulder towards the couch, but leaves Ion to sort out the television on his own. His shoulders are tense, toes scrunching against the floor. He shakes his head slowly, just looking up at Scott with an uncertain confusion. "I -- I don't -- sorry, what do you mean?" "Jax, I -- whatever I said to you, yesterday, I didn't mean you should leave. I don't want you to leave. I've never wanted you to leave." This is very steady, almost at a plodding pace; Scott isn't moving at all, like he's been rooted to the floor. "I know that thing have been rough, lately, but -- you know you can talk to me, right?" There's an extraordinarily rare edge of feeling in this, though the rest of Scott's voice is so affectless that it's hard to discern what. Jax curls one arm around his chest, clutching there tightly. "I don't -- understand what else you coulda meant, I --" He shakes his head again, a little harder. "I did talk to you?" He's sounding a little off-balance, here, studying Scott with a deep knitted frown. "Do you not -- are you okay, sir?" "What -- did I say?" says Scott; the weird chord of emotion in his voice is drifting toward distress. "I know I can put my foot in my mouth sometimes, but -- not usually with you. Not like this. Ion said --" valiantly his voice is striving for normal, business-as-usual, "we talked yesterday?" "After school?" Jax runs his fingers through his hair, then curls his arm back around his chest. His toes press hard to the ground again. "I mean, it weren't -- all that long, I was -- there was a lot to do but you seemed. I thought it was pretty --" He swallows hard. "Clear. And I don't," he's hastening to add, "think you wrong, I -- am dangerous, I should never have let things get so -- it was different when it was all secret, I didn't want to put the kids in danger an' I don't know if this is ever gonna end, I don't want to imagine what happens if the cops they send next time are even more of bigots, or spook easier, or --" His cheeks flush dark. "Sorry, I'm rambling, I just. I understand why you'd think that, my life's kinda a mess." Scott shifts, partway through this, so that he is resting his forearm against the doorframe, which frees up his hand to slowly flex open and closed, his face twisting first with confusion, then with distress. "I was out running errands all afternoon. Jean and I had plans last night, I wanted to get ahead of my --" his phone is still in his other hand, forgotten, but when he hastily tries to produce his calendar again it doesn't even power on. He lets out a short, clenched-teeth huff and sticks it back in his pocket. "Jackson, if this never ends, I would have your back. The school is better with you. The team is better with you. The school -- we can handle danger. Danger is most of what we do." "No, but you... came to talk to me in the -- stables. Before that, maybe? We..." Jax's fingers are squeezing down hard at his arm. He trails off, drawing in an unsteady breath. His eye had been slowly dipping to the floor but he lifts it back to Scott now, brighter and wetter. "Oh -- I --" He rubs the back of his hand against his eye hard. "Sorry, I'm sorry, it's been. It's just, it's been a really weird -- time and --" He wipes the tears from his knuckles against his sweatshirt. "... I'on get what you meaned, then, what's -- the right thing to do here?" Scott's arm shifts on the doorframe so he can tap his fingertips against something solid. "I wasn't at the stables yesterday," he says slowly -- there is a deliberateness in his words now, not uncharacteristic at all but still somewhat uncomfortable. "I don't know what -- hey." He lets go of the doorframe at last, reaches out to clasp Jax's shoulder, pulls him into a quick but tight one-armed hug; behind the glasses, the little glow of his eyes blinks out for a second before he pulls back away. "I don't think -- you talked to me yesterday. Got a phone in here? I want to call Cerebro. Figure out what the hell's going on. And then --" he settles himself slowly against the doorframe again; his frown hasn't ever really vanished but it is deepening once again. "Figure out -- the rest." Ion has switched on Powerpuff Girls in the meantime, but the volume's down low, and somewhere around here he's shooting a narrow-eyed glance to the other men. He cautiously taps pause before getting to his feet. "{Sorry about the --}" He's miming a small jab of punch in Scott's direction. "Don't start no movie without me." There's a small crackle, a whiff of ozone, and he is gone. Jax's eye flutters open wide when Scott pulls him in, and it's a brief moment of delay before he squeezes back, steps back. His breathing has steadied, and when he blinks again no fresh tears are falling. He gestures Scott in so that he can finally close the door. "But then -- oh, gosh. Yeah -- yeah. There's a phone --" He's gesturing to the sitting area of the suite, looking over at it with a faintly dazed blink. Maybe he's only just remembered Ion there, and he's kind of frowning at the spot in the air Ion was just punching. He's looking from the empty spot in the room to Scott as if this will smooth over the confusion. It probably doesn't. "... an' maybe there'll be a movie."