ArchivedLogs:Keeping Updated

Keeping Updated
Dramatis Personae Jennifer, Jackson	2013-05-22 Jackson informs Jennifer of the situation with the missing kids, she repays with basketball lessons.
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. Ever since her suspension came into effect, Jennifer Walters has kept a low profile. Her disappearance from classrooms was largely a quiet affair and not greatly elaborated upon by her colleagues, even if suspension was among the rumours that rippled across the student body. In the morning, the gym is a quiet and empty place, devoid of students and usually even faculty members. All clouds have silver linings, and for Jennifer it currently is claiming this spacious hall all for herself, free from the rush to instruct, teach and discipline. At least, that's what she is telling herself. Dressed in the usual attire reserved for physical exercise, the redhead is clad in her white-and-purple outfit, matching running shoes and purple fingerless gloves. For once, however, her hair is not done up in a ponytail in the gym. Ptok goes the ball against the board, shortly afterwards dropping to the ground and bouncing off elsewhere. 'Twas a miss. But there's a whole mountain of basketballs right beside Jennifer, who stands at the three point line. The next ball is firmly gripped and then leisurely spinned between both of her gloved palms, the woman's green eyes set on the target, even if it's not the basket that's on her mind. Jennifer does not have the gym to herself for long. Jackson’s morning routine tends to include a /hefty/ chunk of time in the pool and, as he emerges from the locker room, it’s clear enough that’s where he’s been -- the scent of chlorine still sharp on his skin, a damp towel draped over his arm and a Xavier’s-logo’d gym bag in his hand. He’s plainly dressed, especially for him; a dark blue t-shirt and a lightweight pair of black cargo pants. He stops, a short way from the locker room door, just watching Jennifer for a moment. His fingers tighten around the strap of his gym bag. There’s a stretch of silence before, eventually: “Mornin’.” It’s pretty subdued. He stays where he is, watching. Just as her knees bend, just as she crouches ever so slightly to prepare for the throw, she hears the greeting from behind. Fingers clasp more firmly around the basketball, and Jennifer straightens up. When she looks over her shoulder to Jackson, it's clear she has recognised the voice. Her expression is initially one of annoyance, although the thought process that churns inside her mind eventually curves a corner of her lips into a smirk. Ultimately, her features soften, even if they are not quite fully welcoming yet. "Morning, Jax. You're one early and busy bird." Again, Jennifer assumes the appropriate position and then commits the basketball to flight. The arc in which it flies seems like it will hit its mark, but instead it ricochets off the red brim and flies off elsewhere. A mildly annoyed tisk comes from the woman. Still, she already prepares for her next try; the mountain of basketballs beside her just lost another ball. "I've actually been meaning to catch you-- Ask you about the whole missing kids fiasco." Tipping her head slightly to the side, the redhead rolls her eyes; only the former gesture would be apparent to Jackson. "But I've been /pretty/ busy lately. Tasing CEOs, sharing a cup of coffee with Charles, meeting old friends," she recounts, amusement decorating her soft tone of voice. “M’always up early,” Jackson answers, and through annoyance and smirk and softening his expression is just the same steady-calm mask it usually is. Usually, at least, in the company of people with whom he wears illusion more comfortably than his own expressions. The breath he exhales edges nearer a laugh, though it’s short. His head tips downward, black hair spilling down over his eye. “Yeah, I’d heard -- some’a that, anyway.” He lifts his hand, scuffing through his hair; its very tips are damp where they did not quite stay in the confines of his swimcap. “Guess everyone’s been pretty busy.” There’s an uncomfortable hesitation, his teeth dragging at his lip. “We -- found them,” he eventually delivers, quiet and a good deal less /pleased/ than this kind of announcement should be. Just sort of heavy and tired. Fortunately for someone as direct as Jennifer, the core of the matter is visited immediately. Yet the nature of the news is something she is less satisfied with. Abandoning what she was doing, the redhead presses the basketball against her hip with a wrist and starts taking slow steps towards Jackson. "Well, I'm not seeing any confetti or Peter and the twins busting out of a cake," she remarks the obvious sternly, no matter the comedic value the words themselves might hold. "/Where/--" And then she stops; her gait and her sudden assertiveness both cease. The woman averts her gaze and frees a sharply exhaled sigh. "I'm doing that thing again." It's unclear whether she aims that at the colleague or herself. With her gaze back on Jackson, Jenn's vacant hand rises up casually, gesturing at some unknown point before limply dropping to her side, all while speaking in a marginally softer tone, "Can I know where they are? Or what's happening, for that matter?" Jackson’s fingers scruff through his hair again, this time staying there. Squeezing his black hair into a fist. “It’s, um.” He swallows, and even his usual even composure is not -- all that composed; a tremor of light around him, a more noticeable shake to his /voice/. “You might could want to sit, it’s not. Good, they.” His eye scrunches up tight. “There was a ring of. People. Kidnapping mutants. To make them fight. Keep ‘em in cages like --” His lips press together for a brief moment, thin, “-- animals. Set ‘em on each other. They’re -- there.” Screw sitting. Jennifer Walters stands rigidly tense, lips thinned and keen eyes set on the man before her like sunlight through a fine lens. To her credit, she actually remains silent as Jackson explains the dire situation. Her jaw sets and then shifts, however, as the picture gradually unravels before her. "Fight? Like animals? They're /there/?" Each echo is firmly delivered shortly after it is spoken by the other party. The formerly loose hand grips the basketball with the ferocity that reaches the peak of her human strength. It leaves her side, gripped as though it were a throat belonging to one of the organisers of the whole ring. Jennifer approaches Jackson closer still. "If I hadn't already pulled a stupid stunt last week, I would sure as hell pull one /now/," she informs Jax, finally arriving to a halt. "They're /kids/. /Teenagers/. Not that I'm saying rounding up adults would have been better, but--!" The free hand cracks at the knuckles as a fist is formed slowly. "But I would sure like to see them try to come at /me/." Jennifer pauses, scowling still, a mixture of disgust and anger tainting her expression. "Do you have a plan? Do you know if the kids are okay?" “Fight. Like. So people can -- can place /bets/ and -- sell tickets and -- make. Money. On them dying.” Jackson’s fingers have clenched /tight/ around the strap of his bag but he drops it abruptly, with a slight hiss; the black synthetic fabric is twisted inwards, melting into a singed plasticky mess that leaves a burning scent in the air. He crosses his arms tightly against his chest. The heat radiating from him is probably noticeable as Jennifer approaches. “The kids are -- alive,” Jackson says. “‘least they were as of last night. OK is -- I don’t know what OK is,” he admits in a sharp exhaled breath of ragged laughter. “But they’re alive, and -- we can work on OK once we get ‘em out. Our plan --” He winces. “I got a wicked terrifying telepath and a lot of prayer,” he says, wryly. “We’re aiming to do this free of blood.” Though here the calm of his expression crumples into something sharp, angry. “-- of any /more/ blood. At least for /now/.” "I think I'm going to be sick," she admits. There seems to be more on her mind, but Jennifer delays any further complaints when she notices the heat and the scent of burnt fabric. A quick glance is shot towards the dropped bag, before the woman lays her eyes back on Jackson. "Wicked terrifying is good. These people--" Slowly, the redhead shakes her head with a growing sneer. Comment withheld. "We've had our disagreements, Jax, but I am pretty sure our interests are for once aligned perfectly. If you need my help with /anything/, you call me, okay? And I don't mean just helping you bust through walls, either. I can't imagine what you're going through, not just as a teacher, but--" The basketball is gripped with both hands now, palms twisting ferociously against the surface. Still, most of her anger's been squeezed into it already, by the looks of it. "I've been speaking with Ivan. He's been immensely helpful with keeping me informed about Peter's case. When you get the kids back, I can help clear his name." Her anger dissipates a smidge further. "Wait, the ring-- Do they only snatch children? I sent a private investigator after Peter, and he just up and vanished. Jim Morgan? If I remember right, you know him, right? Do you know if he's there, too?" “I kind of have been feeling like I /should/ feel sick, you know? But I don’t -- yet. Probably. After they’re home. It’ll all -- but right now it’s just. Just a lot of --” Jax’s gaze drops to his hands. They lace together, then unlace, then re-lace, fidgety. His voice is steady when he speaks again, though it’s rather /deliberately/ so, very determinedly even. “Not only children. Lots of mutants. All ages. Peter’s -- that’ll be good, if the cops -- have him they probably /know/ who --” He exhales sharply through his teeth. Jim,” he acknowledges a little quieter, “is there, too. I know him. He’s -- kind of rough but he’s a good friend. A good -- person, when you need --” His smile curls up at the corners, warming his eye slightly as he looks up at Jennifer. “-- I seem,” he says with a quiet note of amusement, “to collect a lot of people like that.” "Ohhh, /no/, you're not going there," she duly chastises the man, promptly raising an index finger to tut at him. A smirk of her own surfaces as she keeps that finger afloat in a jokingly accusatory manner. "Save it for when I actually redeem myself, or my ego will get all kinds of big and I won't learn a damn thing." Lowering that disciplinary finger, Jennifer finds her smirk waning, as well. "Can't believe I got Jim into this whole mess, too. Maybe I'll rent him an office in return." It's hard to tell if she is being serious. The same hand that had accused Jackson of being overly friendly now rises again, except this time to apply a sideways slap to his shoulder. It is undeniably weighty, but at the same time it's friendly. "Let's give you a better start to the day, huh?" A playful glint in her eyes flashes briefly. "How good are you at basketball?" “Alright,” Jackson agrees, the amusement in his voice growing; the clap to his shoulder finds it uncomfortably hot and it tenses him against the impact, lean but solid-hard. “Oh, gosh,” he says, “I am /so/ terrible at basketball, you got no idea, I don’t know the first thing ‘bout handling balls.” Though this doesn’t seem to /stop/ him from reaching for the basketball. “This,” he declares, quite /cheerfully/, “is gonna be a horrible embarrassment.” The previous topic, however dark, is currently held at bay. Jennifer has shoved it out the door and kicked it shut. The basketball is freely passed onto Jackson. Again, though, the redhead tuts at the man, but this time with a much more languid and flexible manner, parting her lips to seemingly note /something/ once Jackson describes his relationship with this particular sport, yet ultimately chooses against it. "I'm-- I'm just going to let that one go," she notes, momentarily maintaining her maturity. "Anyway, let's hope I teach adults better than I teach kids," she comments cheerfully before walking off towards the basketball board she's been abusing all morning. "Come on. I'll go easy on you."