ArchivedLogs:Danger Room Therapy

Danger Room Therapy
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Xiao-shan	2013-08-28 It's a metaphor.
Location <XS> Danger Room
The room is large and circular, a geodesic hemisphere of hexagonal ceramic panels. It is the Danger Room, and is thus often full of danger, but is presently not in use and is thus remarkably danger-free. Safest room in the school, probably. Jackson is not a frequent presence at the school when classes are not in session, but he can be found here and there. Down at the stables with the horses (or equestrian-fully minded students), but more often in the pool or the gym or the Danger Room, training. Wednesday morning finds him in the latter. Some days, Jax’s simulations are full of phantasms, obstacles and opponents lifted not from the real world but from various works of fiction or simply the vivid imagination of an artist whose thoughts run /slightly/ towards the crazy-surreal. Today, though, his scenario is not much of a /scenario/ at all, currently focused not on creativity or tactics or -- Well, anything much; his room is pitch black, so really it’s hard to /tell/. The only light in it comes from him, at the moment, and even that is barely enough to be called /light/ at all, a dim shimmer that curves up and around him in a translucent dome so faintly illuminated as to be almost a figment of imagination itself. /Something/ is thudding against it, though, in heavy booming /crashes/ that grow steadily more room-shaking. Thud. THUD. /THUD/. The DR has numerous safety protocols to protect both the people inside of it and everyone /out/. One of those protocols can prevent people from entering the DR outside of emergency situations without the consent of those /in/ it. Maybe this is the reason Xiao-shan goes to the control room first -- or maybe it’s just because she’s trying to be polite. “Professor Holland?” she asks, her voice tentative -- crackling across the intercom as she peers into the darkened room, watching the curving beams of light as they lash out at unseen targets. “This is Jin Xiao-shan. May I come in?” Xiao-shan is answered first by another louder /thud/. Then another. The darkness gets no less dark, but Jax’s voice when he finally speaks is remarkably easy to identify; gentle, warm, /thick/ Southern drawl. A little strained. “Professorwha -- oh. Me. Ohright. Yes’m, sure, just --” /Thud/. “Jus’ try to not get -- eaten.” “Eaten?” There’s an edge of amusement in Xiao-shan’s voice at that possibility -- and then there’s another thump. And another. This time, not coming from inside the chamber, but /outside/; when the door opens with a hiss -- casting a sharp wedge of light into the room -- all 7 feet (and change) of Xiao-shan is at the ready. Dressed in a white collared shirt with black business jacket -- dress slacks, and black sandals (shoes that fit her are /really/ hard to find) -- she cuts an unusual, sharp figure… more so when she walks. Her gait is very slow -- but not out of caution. Each step she takes is accompanied by a solid /whump/ on the floor, as if she were carrying even /more/ weight than her frame implied. “I wanted to talk to you about -- ah, some of the students here.” Thud. Thud. But then there is a break in the thudding, a small hitch accompanied by a slight shifting sound; a quiet rustling, a quiet clicking. Something scrapes closer, in the darkness, but then stops. Further movement does not come from whatever source /that/ is; instead, from overhead there is a rush of air immediately preceding a solid heavy /thud/ that is aimed somewhere around Xiao-shan’s shoulder; something thick and clublike though it hits with more the force of a .50 caliber round. And doesn’t withdraw, either; what felt initially solid-surfaced splits into something sharp and /toothy/ and trying to chomp. Chomp. /Chomp/. “Uh -- the students.” Jackson sounds faintly concerned: “/Now/? Is there a -- is something -- wrong oh gosh nobody’s kidnapped again are they?” Xiao-shan is clearly taken aback by the amount of /force/ behind that blow -- she grimaces with a ‘tssk’, her feet shifting underneath her as her shoulder snaps back -- but other than the initial impact, she seems to suffer nothing more than a bruise. When it splits into what feels like jaws trying to /chew/, she growls -- and the floor beneath her /creaks/. Her hand reaches forward, then, attempting to grip whatever passes as the back of its head -- and begin to /squeeze/, fingers like the teeth of a bulldozer’s shovel. The squeeze is accompanied by a quick snap of her other hand, darting out to deliver an open-palm blow to whatever is /under/ the set of jaws -- enough force to shatter a cinderblock of concrete, head-on. “--no,” she says, jaw tense, concentrating as she attempts to -- pull it off and /throw/ it. “No, just about -- therapy. You’re an advisor for Ivan. Also, the twins…” “-- Now?” Jackson repeats, still perhaps slightly puzzled. Or /concerned/, given his next (/slightly/ dismayed:) “-- Ivan and -- oh. Oh no what’ve they done.” The thing trying to latch on to Xiao-shan doesn’t have much discernible differentiation between its mouth and the rest of it, thick and eel-like, a faintly leathery feel to it when she grips; it writhes in her grip with an immense amount of strength before that blow comes. Then the toothy grip goes slack, the writhing goes limp; it’s a simple matter after that to toss the thing aside. It’s almost immediately followed by another -- slightly /heavier/ -- blow, aimed this time at her back and splitting similarly afterwards into hungrily chomping /teeth/. “-- Sorry,” Jackson sounds faintly breathless, in between his own thuds, “D’you -- want. Light. I could --” /THUD/. This one elicits a soft grunt from the photokinetic. “Grrhf--” Xiao-shan manages as she feels it hit her from /behind/; she steps forward, one foot *WHUMPING* in front of her, bending at the knee -- she snaps her head back, /hard/, then twists and swings her elbow around as if it were an incoming sword tip -- attempting to slam into the thing from the side, nudging it far enough to reach with her /opposite/ arm -- at which point she would brutally smash it into the ground. And /stomp/ on it as she rises to stand again. “--yes. Light. Can’t see,” she hisses, uncomfortably, before: “--no, nothing wrong, just -- you’re very hard. To track down.” This one, too, crumples under the heavy blow, twitching once it is on the ground but lying still after it is stomped. “Track -- oh, gosh, but --” Jackson’s breath hisses, briefly. His words drop off into quiet. Heavy breathing, punctuated by another shuddering crack. It takes a moment, but the space around Xiao-shan blossoms, slowly, with light. Not overly bright, gleaming from myriad flickering points above her head -- small bubble-shaped lanterns, floating there and lit from within with -- fireflies? From a distance it is hard to tell clearly, save that they are small and fluttering and blinking in and out with their own soft luminescence that casts a pale glow down towards Xiao-shan. The darkness around that glow is writhing, still, a huge teeming mass of shadowy black tentacles trailing back towards something still out of sight in the darkness. Another one of them is uncoiling from the knot to launch itself towards Xiao-shan, lamprey-mouth opening and closing (it is /breathing/ shadow, too, much as a dragon might flame; though /this/ at least just washes harmlessly against Xiao-shan) in the moments before it is upon her. Much as last time, its force has again increased for the successive blow. Nearby, Jax’s small dome of light shimmers like a soap bubble, rainbowy-prismatic against the cracking thuds of the shadow-tentacles. He is inside it, presumably; at least that is where his voice is coming from, though at the moment the dome looks simply empty. “-- I mean. Y’got my -- everyone’s got my email. And my phone --” /His/ dome of light flickers, under the breaths of shadow, wavering and then resolidifying. THUD. “Sorry, um -- yes’m, what -- did you. Want to talk about?” “Yeah, I--” Whatever Xiao-shan is about to say next is interrupted by the sudden flutter of incandescent fireflies -- and the looming darkness with tentacles that swells throughout the rest of the room. Her eyebrows /zoom/ up, just as a tentacle /zooms/ forward for her -- this time, rather than be struck, she steps aside and meets the jaw-like mouth -- with her fist, against its flank. “--prefer face-to-face, and I guess I should have emailed you to set up a meeting, I just… you’re fighting a Lovecraft monster,” she notes, shifting into a familiar stance, eyebrows knotted. Then: “I’m working with Ivan -- the apiary you’re helping him maintain? I thought it might be good to use it for our therapy sessions. I wanted your opinion -- on that, and whether or not it might be helpful for him to explore losing himself to the bees, a little. In the DR, under telepathic surveillance.” “No, s’alright, ma’am, this is. Alright.” This time, the single blow /doesn’t/ crumple the tentacle; they are very definitively getting stronger, not just in impact but in durability. It shudders, withdraws just enough to lunge again. Jackson does not seem to be attacking any of his tentacles. They slam against the shield, recover and attack again; occasionally one will perhaps thud itself too hard, drop to the ground of its own accord, but there are always more to replace it. “I ain’t -- fighting nothing,” Jax corrects slightly distractedly, “I think it’s kinda fighting itself.” At the next blow it isn’t his shield that flickers but /him/, briefly shifting into visibility where he is at the moment just -- lying. On the ground inside his dome of shield, balanced in what would be push-up position except his elbows are propped on the ground, fingers laced together. He looks almost peaceful, except for the tight clench of his jaw; the only movement from him comes from his forefinger and thumb, very slowly turning a ring on his finger in a circle -- a slim band of dark metal, studded with small evenly-spaced dots and one engraved cross among them. “-- He loses himself t’the bees all the time. I mean, that’s sort of his default around them. Been --” Another /crack/, a brief pause as his breath hisses in; his straight plank position does not waver, and a moment later he vanishes again. “-- working with him on /not/ losin’ himself, mmh. But that’s -- powers things. Do you. Think losin’ himself might have. Therapeutic benefit? He kinda /already/ lost himself pretty -- much /totally/ at the -- end of. Last term.” Xiao-shan utters something in Chinese; it sounds like it /might/ be a mild curse. The retracting tentacle gets her full attention, now; she steps back as it pulls away -- when it lunges to strike again, she meets it -- with a block. Jagged teeth scrape against her wrists and forearm, attempting to dig into flesh -- managing to saw their way through her clothes and push sharp, furrowing lines into her skin -- but somehow unable to dig deep into the muscle. She reaches to seize hold of the tentacle and /pull/ -- lurching back with her full weight, her steps staggered, the floor groaning beneath her sudden burst of strength and mass. “--I don’t know,” she admits, jaw tense, hissing as she pulls, throwing her full mass into it. “I just know he’s terrified of losing control and hurting someone. And it might help him to -- nnngh -- lose control in an environment where he /won’t/ hurt someone. To understand it, better. I wanted to check with you, because you have…” HEAVE. “...more experience with his power than anyone, I think.” “-- still might hurt /himself/,” Jackson’s voice comes soft and thoughtful, almost eclipsed in its very final moment by another crash. Xiao-shan’s tentacle tears away from the mass of them, when she pulls, resisting at first and then slowly ripping apart with a final thrashing. It has not yet finished twitching when another one slams towards her, launching itself this time with nearer the impact of a small truck. “S’a part’a him that’s -- always -- little bit lost.” Jackson’s words are growing choppier, his voice somewhat quieter in its teeth-gritted strain; unfortunate, with the intermittent thudding eating into his words here and there. “It’d hafta be -- /real/ -- controlled. S’a pretty -- real chance that. Might not. /Find/ him again.” “--fffft,” Xiao-shan manages, too distracted to even /try/ to deal with the next tentacle as she rips the first one away -- this one hits, right in the chest, and she’s sent reeling backward -- even her increased mass can’t stop /this/ blow from smacking her against the wall. When she hits it, it’s with a loud, resounding /CLANG/ -- her body leaves a dent. She drops, falling into a crouch, clutching at her chest -- even as she reaches out to try and seize hold of this new tentacle, the old one dropped to the ground. “-- You /sure/,” Jackson doesn’t sound like he is /mocking/, here, when Xiao-shan goes reeling, just quietly genuinely questioning, “you’re alright havin’ this talk here? It helps --” The fluttering lanterns above Xiao-shan grow slightly brighter, sinking downwards a little closer towards her (at closer range, it’s apparent they are filled not with fireflies but with tiny -- fairies? Small dragonfly-winged /people/ trailing tiny bits of light where they flutter.) “-- t’remember t’stay focused, yourself.” “S’fine, I--” Xiao-shan’s teeth are clenched hard, air hissing out from between her teeth as she grabs that next tentacle, shifting her stance and beginning to pull, even as her eyes search the mass for the next one it might try to sling in at her. “--kinda got used to -- I fight -- cave trolls,” she admits, and the flush of color that hits her cheeks isn’t /entirely/ from the exertion she’s throwing into this next pull. “--and yeah,” she says, straining, “that’s -- it might be risky. /He/ wants to do it. Ivan. When I asked him, he got -- almost excited. But you’d need a telepath -- Professor Xavier, maybe? -- watching. Like a hawk. Shut it down the moment it looks -- bad. I like your fairies.” YANK. “Then do it.” Jackson gives this answer simply and directly, when Xiao-shan says that Ivan wants to do it. “D’you fight them. While -- havin’ -- important discussions.” The tentacle that Xiao-shan pulls at pulls back, this time, bucking strongly and tugging in a steady solid weight against her mass. Another one is snaking its way outward; they don’t seem to be overly interested in stealth, it /hovers/ high overhead for a moment before divebombing towards her side with still more force than the previous. “-- But definitely. Do it with -- the Professor. There. After what happened -- this spring --” Jackson draws in a slow breath. At the next crack his shield dissolves entirely; he only barely manages to reform it, smaller than before, before the next pair of tentacle-mouths dash themselves against it. “Zzzzh,” Xiao-shan responds to the tentacle that bucks within her grip; not enough strength to pull her off the floor, apparently, but enough to force her arms to /bulge/ with muscle, her back tensed hard as her knees bend. This time, when the next one dive-bombs, she sees it coming -- and twists, using the one she’s got in both her massive, trunk-like arms to deflect the blow, /swinging/ it like a club even as she pulls back with yet another mighty YANK. “--yeah,” Xiao-shan says, although it’s not immediately clear what she’s saying yeah /to/; the bit about cave trolls? Or the bit about doing it with the Professor? Probably both. “Also --” She pants, dragging the tentacle out of the mass with a final, twisting pull, dropping it and lifting her arms for the next one, “--about your kids. Do you think -- I could help them? I’m a little intimidated,” she admits, “from what I’ve seen them going through.” “Hhhhh.” It almost sounds like a laugh, lost somewhere ragged-exhausted amid another pair of blows. For a moment, the second tentacle tries to chew its way into the first, when Xiao-shan uses it to block, but it soon realizes its error, charging again as she lifts her arms. There’s another coming from behind, barreling in like an angry lamprey-mouthed semi. “-- if you’re intimidated by -- what y’/seen/ them -- goin’ through, ma’am, I don’t --” At the next thud the room briefly goes dark, once more; it takes a few heartbeats before his lanterns flicker back into place -- less intricately-designed than before, now just soft glowing balls of light. “-- know what -- that’ll mean. When y’gotta deal with -- everything y’/ain’t/ seen. This has been the -- easy part. Of their lives.” “--was what I was afraid--” WHUMP. She catches the one in front of her, but the one behind her hits against her spine; she snaps forward with a wheezing, surprised gasp -- lurching a good three or four feet forward, with the tentacle in her arms… but suddenly, she’s growling, /shoving/ the tentacle aside instead of tearing it out -- and /charging/ forward, toward the mass of darkness. When she jumps, it’s a hell of a thing -- despite being 7 feet tall -- despite weighing probably in excess of 300 pounds -- for one instant, it’s like she’s a ping-pong ball getting fired out of a /railgun/. She’s airborne -- soaring a good 10 yards up and across -- even as she tucks herself into a tightly wound ball. Head down, arms around her knees, rolling… in mid-air, as her arc descends toward the tentacled mass, she turns the mass back on. All of it. One and a half tons of sheer concussive force descend at break-neck speed for the shadow horror’s center-of-mass. As she hits, she growls, her voice loud and piercing: “--Of.” “Oh -- oh gosh, ma’am. I don’t -- think that’s -- a great --” Jackson’s voice is caught somewhere between tired and bemused. One of the soft balls of light follows after Xiao-shan, slowly drifting in her wake like /it/ is curious. The mass roils further, as Xiao-shan approaches, tentacles twisting and untwisting, eventually uncurling themselves enough to reveal another mouth in the center of the mass, larger and toothier and opening into a gaping maw of darkness as Xiao-shan falls towards it. The wisps of darker shadow that trickle out of it make it look rather like it is salivating. CHOMP. When the ring of teeth snap shut again, it is with a shuddering boom that puts the others to shame; for a moment, nothing but darkness and thousands of clamping teeth crash down around Xiao-shan, interrupted very abruptly by a quiet: “Computer, end simulation.” The light afterwards is abruptly /bright/, not inherently but certainly by comparison to the darkness that preceded it. Jackson slumps down, first flopped onto his belly before he rolls onto his back. “Ma’am, why did -- that thing was --” But he stops there, a very faint almost-smile twitching onto his (flushed and sweating) face, one arm moving to flop over his eyes. His expression soon settles back though into just exhaustion. “Sorry, I didn’t really -- design her with uh --” But he just quiets, here. “-- Y’aright?” There is a brief flash of /agonizing/ pain as those teeth clamp down on -- something. Flesh is rended; muscle torn -- bone /cracks/. There’s a harsh, anguished /yelp/… and then a crashing BOOM as Xiao-shan hits the floor. CRUNK. When the simulation ends… she’s fine. Physically. Her clothes, previously torn, show none of the signs of injury from before -- she’s on her back, head peering up at the ceiling, having just unfurled from her ball. Grimacing, an arm descending to her waist. “Nngh, /aagh/. Oh, wow. Oh, wow, that hurts like -- zzzhhnn…” She closes her eyes, steadying her breath. For a good while -- at least five seconds! -- she doesn’t reply to Jackson’s question. “...yeah,” she tells him, finally. “Not the first time I’ve gotten… in here.” One eye pops open. “--sorry. Just figured, couldn’t beat it with my fists, so…” The left side of her face twitches. Briefly. Before: “Do /you/ see a therapist? Uh,” she soon adds, a little flustered at her own boldness, “I mean, sorry if that’s a little… forward of me.” “Wasn’t designed t’be beaten, exactly. That ain’t why I --” Jackson lapses back into quiet again, his grey Xavier’s tee clinging to his chest, rather damp with sweat. Light is starting to coalesce around him, the rest of the room growing just a touch dimmer as a soft glow builds up against his skin. “Hfff.” His lips twitch slightly, again. “I come here.” Xiao-shan’s response is immediate, head swiveling to /peer/ back at Jackson through the pain: “...instead of therapy, you fight a monster that isn’t capable of being beaten.” She pauses, for just an /instant/, before adding: “--izzat some sort of -- metaphor?” This time, the small twitch /does/ resolve into a smile, Jax’s teeth flashing towards the ceiling as he breathes out a laugh. “-- Theoretically,” he answers, “it’d eventually wear itself t’death. If I could outlast it. Though it’d take weatherin’ --” He stops, scrubs his palm against his good eye before letting his hand flop down against his chest. “-- a way bigger storm than I can handle. Y’know, I didn’t /intend/ it as one but I s’pose…” His words fade away as his smile does. “--Holland -- Jackson? Jax?” Xiao-shan tries, as if experimenting with this name for the first time. “Is it okay if I call you--” she starts, before cutting herself off and just blundering into it: “--you /have/ seen a therapist at some point, right? I mean, somewhere between dealing with the government project that tried to dissect you, having your children kidnapped and tortured by the police, and nearly /dying/ in the sewers at the hand of a mutant-murdering military squad, you /have/ talked to a counselor. Right?” “Jax’s good, ma’am, thanks.” His smile returns faintly as he flexes the fingers of his right hand, thumb moving to brush against the missing stump of pinkie finger. “Vivisect,” he gives in oddly /light/ correction, the glow around him brightening for a moment, “an’ I think they did more’n try.” His hand drops to the ground beside him and, very slowly, a little shakily, he pushes himself up into a sitting position. “Oh, sure, I mean. When I first got yoinked outta the labs -- or /into/ ‘em I guess -- I was still a /student/ here. Kinda messed up my senior year a bit,” he admits with a touch of amusement in his voice, “-- but they put me in therapy twice a week from the time they brung me back t’the time I graduated.” “Mmn,” Xiao-shan responds to the correction, grimacing -- though likely just at the pain. She’s panting, her breath staggered and hard; chest heaving. When she finally straightens, it’s with another grimace, and a tiny cry of anguish -- but then her jaw is clenched, sitting up as she struggles to catch her breath. “--right. And, oh, yeah, you were still--” she begins, before adding: “But that was just /during/ your tenure as a student? You haven’t--” Her teeth clap together; she’s frowning, face flushed with color; a few errant strands of hair cling to her brow, damp with sweat. “--a lot of terrible things have happened since /that/ terrible thing,” she says, cautiously. “I’m just worried that -- you know, I think therapy checkups for /staff/ should maybe be mandatory.” “Jus’ been a little busy since graduation.” Jackson shrugs a shoulder. slowly levering himself back to his feet. He skims a hand against his head, wiping his palm dry against the hem of his shirt afterwards. “Oh,” there’s a small smile on his face again as he moves to offer Xiao-shan a hand back up, “I think therapy for everyone everywhere bein’ done on the regular would be a blessing. -- D’you want some tea? You look like you could use some -- an’ maybe some cookies t’go with.” Xiao-shin reaches up to accept Jax’s hand; it likely looks a bit ridiculous -- her palm alone is massive enough to /enclose/ the entirety of Jax’s. Still, when she grips his forearm and pulls -- the weight she’s exerting is dramatically different than what one would expect. She seems /lighter/, suddenly; it makes it very easy for her to pull herself up to her feet. She grins at the mention of tea -- before replying: “I’ll never turn down a chance to have tea. Or cookies,” she adds, only after a thoughtful pause. “Good. ‘cuz I baked a bunch an’ left some in the lounge.” Jackson’s hand is feverishly hot to the touch, when he grips hers, and with the large differences in size he doesn’t so much even attempt to pull her up as he does just provide a solid-steady post of lean muscle for her to pull herself on. “-- you’ll prob’ly stand a good chance’a seeing the boys whether y’feel intimidated or not, won’t you? S’only two of you an’ I heard this term on, /all/ the kids’ve gotta stop in.” “Pretty much,” Xiao-shan agrees, as she stands on her feet; there’s a frown on her face at the thought. “Fifty-fifty chance. I just -- if I don’t think I can do it on my own, I might ask for backup. A lot of the issues these kids are dealing with -- they don’t,” she adds as she finishes getting to her feet, dusting off her pants with a few quick slaps of her palms, “teach you how to handle situations like this.” “No shame in askin’ for help when you need it. I don’t --” Jackson smiles, a little wryly, rolling out his shoulders in slow stretch before he heads for the door, “think s’much /any/ school /can/ teach you when it comes t’handling situations like -- this.” He grimaces, arms curling for a moment around his chest. “-- ‘spect around here you’ll be gettin’ plenty’a OJT, though.” “That’s what we’ve got the DR for, huh? Maybe,” Xiao-shan says as she steps toward the exit with Jackson, “I can do /therapy/ sims.” Jackson’s eyebrows just quirk upwards at this. “-- I thought that’s what they all /was/.” “Oh, God,” Xiao-shan says, and now she’s laughing, “they’re /all/ metaphors.”