ArchivedLogs:Scolding the She-Hulk

Scolding the She-Hulk
I'm Mark, the shapeshifter.
Dramatis Personae Jennifer, Jackson	2013-04-23 Jackson visits Jennifer's room to talk to her about the Danger Room. As it turns out, Jennifer's kind of difficult to reprimand.
Location <XS> Jennifer's Room - FL3
For someone who is usually impulsive and spontaneous, this room is surprisingly neat and orderly. Not only because it looks pristine and because there is nary an object or item amiss, but also because one of the bright white walls actually has a large map of the United States. While it may appear cluttered, the level of organisation and planning is awe-inspiring - a wide variety of tacks, post-its, photographs and strings decorate the masssive map, detailing a wide variety of recent events. In terms of furniture, it looks like She-Hulk favours mahogany and simplicity. There is one fancy-looking dresser, a mahogany-framed seven feet tall mirror, a desk and a large king-sized bed with dark green sheets. The carpeting is royal purple; it is thick, soft and a blessing for bare feet. Overall, this room looks incredibly cosy and tidy. There are two additional exits at the opposite end of the room, one of which is leading to the similarly pristine bathroom, while another leads to an empty room that houses a bunch of boxes where most of the mess is hidden. Most of them are shut, albeit some of them are open. Finally, the latter room also has a multi-purpose weight machine and a stationary bicycle. Although it may be lunch time for most, for Jennifer it is a much longer break - no classes await her until physical education. The formal suit that she usually wears to class is neatly tucked away in a drawer and the redhead has opted for something far more casual and far more comfortable - tight dark purple sports shorts, hidden beneath an over-sized white T-shirt with a quote from a song. The heavily stylised words read, 'Danger, Danger, HIGH VOLTAGE!' Jen is seated at the desk, leisurely browsing the Internet on the laptop. It is time to check her e-mail, and that's when she sneers at the blanket memo issued to all faculty members. Even though it is clear as day for whom it is meant. A vacant hand lifts up a mug filled with hot chocolate, lazily bringing it up to her slightly parted lips. And then the firm knock arrives. Thoughtlessly, she exclaims, "Come /in/, ye who fear not the absence of pants." There's actually a hesitation after this. Maybe her visitor /does/ fear the absence of pants. But Jackson comes in anyway, quiet, /dressed/ quiet, too. At least for him: black jeans, faintly striped with silver pinstripes, red short-sleeved button down shirt, just a hint of shimmery makeup, thick black cuffs at his wrists. He closes the door behind himself, lingering near it. One hand rests down on his messenger bag, the other crosses behind his back to clasp his opposite bicep. "Hi. We gotta talk." His tone is -- well, not really as /sunny/ as it usually is. Quiet. Hot chocolate is eagerly sipped while Jennifer guides her emerald gaze towards the door. For a brief moment, the owner of the room actually feels delighted to accept guests. Upon noticing who the guest is, however, Jennifer almost chokes. The drink is sputtered back into the mug, which lands harshly back onto the table. "Uhh, M-Mister Jackson", she stammers, darting up to her feet not unlike a rocket. Wildly gesturing with her hands, the adorably dressed teacher leads her bare feet towards Jackson, although elegance is a trait that her stride lacks at the moment. "Sorry, I'm-- Mark, the shapeshifter? I, ah, wanted to play a prank on Walters, but didn't know you two were, y'know. I'll just leave, she should be back /any/ moment now." Jennifer may not believe Jackson will fall for such a ludicrous lie, but one can secretly hope, right? Jen has the audacity to even try and saunter past Jackson. Jackson does move from his post by the door, stepping aside so-very-helpfully! But less helpful is the faint shimmer of light that blossoms right in front of the door, making it rather difficult to actually /open/ it. Or leave. Now his arms cross in front of his chest instead of behind his back. "For real?" He seems a little /baffled/, one hand lifting to scrub at his face. "Ain't you supposed to be older than me? I /am/ on the right floor, yeah? /Not/ the one populated by teenagers?" The momentary glimmer of escape actually confuses Jennifer. As Jackson steps aside, she looks him over curiously, hesitant to actually leave. Foolishly accepting this open path, however, the redhead actually zooms to the door, grabbing for the-- Like a cat, her nails scratch against the wall of light that obscures the knob. Truly like a teenager, Jennifer turns around to face Jackson with a sneer. Crossing her arms, she huffs, granting her colleague a challening gaze that seems to read 'congratulations, you got me'. "If I told you you got the wrong one, would you actually believe me?" "Of course I wouldn't believe you, I pretty much grew up at this school. I know every floorboard on the kids' floor. Plus their rooms ain't half so nice." Jackson's arms uncross. One hand lifts to scuff through his hair. "What were you thinking?" he eventually says, flat. "They /cheated/. On /homework/. What part of that necessitates getting /shot at/?" All Jennifer can do is throw her hands up with another sigh. Those hands ultimately land on her hips. "None of it", she answers bluntly and quickly. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Jackson, but I'm not gonna argue. I know what I did was stupid. It was impulsive and reckless." Throwing but one hand upwards this time, she murmurs in a quieter tone of voice, looking away. "You can run the scenario again yourself, you'll see the henchman holds a water pistol. I changed it last minute." The last words are practically forced through gritted teeth. "Disappoint me?" Here Jackson is puzzled. His thumbs tuck into his beltloops and his eye narrows on her, a confused frown on his face. His cheeks puff out, and he exhales slowly. "I don't know who exactly you think I /am/. I ain't here to berate you, I just don't want it to happen /again/. 'least if you /know/ it was stupid then hopefully that means it won't." Although Jennifer warns Jackson that she might disappoint him, in the end it is the other way around. The lack of a more severe scolding causes Jen to furrow her brows and wrinkle her nose. "Oh, so you think just because I'm a woman, I'm a fragile butterfly? You don't /have/ to pretend I'm going to collapse just because you lay pressure on me, Jax." Pointing an accusatory thumb at her chest, Jennifer steps forward. "I know what I did was /inexcusable/ and that I would have kicked myself out five times over if it were up to me! No need to sugar-coat it! The /hell/ it's gonna happen again!" Perhaps what they say about redheads is true after all. Jackson lifts a hand, pressing forefinger and thumb at the bridge of his nose. He squeeeeezes at the shiny crystal piercing that sits there. Wigglewiggle. "I think," he says, slow and quiet, "you /really/ got some kinda wrong idea about me." His hand drops. "Would it help? To yell at you? Tell you you're dumb and incompetent and shouldn't be allowed near none of the kids again? Wonder how you got the job teachin' power and responsibility when you clearly ain't figured out the balance yet yourself?" He's not yelling. Still quiet. Considering Jennifer thoughtfully. "Cuz I ain't really never found that flying off the handle makes any situation /better/." If anything was going to calm Jennifer, it was going to be the comment about the very subject she is supposed to teach. Another huff passes her sneer. Her jaw dips down, lifts up. Her lips part and then seal. A variety of unspoken consonants and vowels are practiced. Ultimately, she throws both hands up in the air in defeat, passing by Jackson and moving towards her desk. "I /do/ feel dumb and incompetent. I feel like what I did is not just going to leave a big ink-colored blotch on my face, but that it's going to leave one on Shelby's and Ivan's lives. I feel like a kid who wanted to decorate around the house for Christmas and knocked over grandmother Annie's urn or something." "Good," Jackson says, brows raising. "I mean, not /good/ not -- good that you feel terrible but good that you get that this is important. But, OK, feeling terrible's kinda useless unless you do something with it, y'know? Learn from it. I know we're the teachers and all but that don't mean we got nothing left to learn." His hand falls back to his messenger bag, jiggling restlessly at its zipper. "I mean, everyone screws up. What're you gonna do to fix it?" The mug is lifted once again. Jennifer doesn't seem to mind she spat some of it back in-- The teacher takes a sizeable swig of the drink. All the while, her eyes are set on Jackson. "No idea. Apologize to them? I hate apologies. They're so meaningless." Lowering the mug onto a palm that hovers at the level of her waist, Jenny sighs softly. "Maybe turn my screw up into a lesson on ethics in my class. I almost want to say I'd offer another session to the two, but I get nauseous just thinking about it. They would, too, probably." "What do you think I should do?" "They're only meaningless if you don't mean 'em. Only meaningless if you don't change what you're apologizing for." Jackson tips his head back, studying the ceiling. "I just teach art. Not no ethics. I ain't hardly a barometer of good behavior." His smile is a little wry as he turns it back to Jennifer. "But if it was me I'd start with an apology. A class lesson about it might at least show 'em /you've/ learned from it. I'd -- mmmnh. I'm takin' Ivan back for a DR session later this week but I don't know if Shelby'll be real /keen/ any time soon. S'pose you could ask. Create somethin' that don't traumatize her." With a sigh that is particularly drawn out, Jennifer slumps back unto the office chair. The mug, of course, is placed on the desk, first. A single digit is traversing the porcelain brim. "Shelby is going to shoot down any apology that comes from me, but I suppose I can try it anyway", she notes. Looking up at Jackson with an uneasy gaze. "I sparred with Rasa yesterday. I got lectured by a student, Jax. She's pretty smart for her age. Wish she wasn't." "Probably she is," Jackson agrees. "But that's on her." For a moment he smiles, quick and wry. "Oh, good, Rasa took care'a the lecturing for me? Yeah. Ze's pretty smart. A lot of the kids are, under the bravado and, uh, angst." His nose wrinkles slightly. "Guess that just means we gotta be on our toes to be even /better/. Can't really hold 'em to a higher standard than we hold /ourselves/." "Yeah, I guess you're right." It may gut her to accept that someone else is right, but when they actually are, what are you going to do? "So, should I consider myself reprimanded?" "Although I think it would be pretty funny if it turned out I actually was Mark", she adds, not quite letting that one go. A faint smirk dares to show itself. "Sure. You been reprimanded. You traumatize my kids again, though, /your/ next reprimand might come in the DR," Jackson says with a twinkle in his eye that for a brief glimmering moment is a /literal/ one. Just a slight flicker of light, there and then gone. "I know every kid in this school," he says, lightly, "I don't know any who'd still introduce themselves to me with their name an' their /power/. Maybe if there was more'n a couple dozen kids per grade there'd be a chance I didn't already know." His smirk, then, is wider and broader than Jennifer's as he turns for the door. Which is now conveniently /un/forcefielded. "-- 'sides, I'm pretty sure aaaaalmost everyone in the student body knows me enough they wouldn't make insinuations 'bout me and you." Upon being mildly threatened by her next scolding session taking place in the Danger Room, Jennifer does not let this opportunity slip. "I am pretty sure hitting on your colleagues is against the rules, Jax." But when the /next/ remark hits home, it's hard to read Jennifer's expression. It's clear she was not aware of this fact. Miraculously so, but there it is. There is a touch of disappointment, a pinch of surprise and a dash of unreasonable frustration. Problem is, though, she takes it completely the wrong way. "Wait, /what/? Are you saying I'm not /good/ enough? Did you just-- Do you want to exit the room through the wall?" "I'd like to see you try," Jackson says with a decided hint of amusement, shaking his head. "I'm /gay/, Jen. Queer, fag, fairy, fudgepacker, cocksucker, fruit, queen, pansy, and let me /tell/ you, the kids can and will think of a million others ways to say it. None of them really pleasant. But it does mean ain't many of 'em likely to imply I'm hooking up with a woman 'stead'a make a snide comment 'bout whether I was looking for Professor Summers's room intead. You know, once in a while you might try a reaction that /ain't/ jumping first to being angry. Probably good for your --" His lips twitch. "-- blood pressure." The redhead freezes. "You're-- I'm sorry, I--" Furrowing her brows, she slumps in the chair. The lengthy list of terms that could be used to describe Jackson unsettle Jennifer quite a bit, that much is plain. The fact she tried to make it about herself only pinch her conscience more. Jax is eyed with a new sort of gaze, as though she was meeting the man the first time. It's not hard to spot an idea being constructed in her head. Springing up from the chair again, Jennifer reaches down for the hem of her shirt. Her hands clutch at it and-- Nothing. She lets go. Squinting her eyes and continuing to glare at Jackson, Jen grunts. Those hands are firmly planted on her waist. "Unbelievable. Tsh." "I'll apologise to the kids this week, Jax. Now, out you go. Out, out." Not that she sounds angry; if anything, amusement has mostly overtaken the small measure of annoyance that remains to linger. "S'aright, you didn't know." Jackson's smile spreads, brighter and warmer, now, a return to his usual default cheer. "I don't think I'd /actually/ like to see you try, I ain't real fond of being put through walls." He lifts his hand, tipping -- a hat that was not there a moment before, a broad-brimmed silvery Stetson that vanishes as soon as he puts it back on his head. "See y'round." And then he is gone. With a small glittering trail of fairy dust glimmering and vanishing behind him.