Jean Grey is (anatombomb) wrote in thedisplaced, @ 2017-08-20 23:01:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log/thread, emma frost (616), jean grey (616) |
WHO: Emma Frost and Jean Grey
WHERE: The X-Mansion
WHEN: Saturday 8/19/17
WHAT: Girly bonding
WARNINGS: Minor warning for brief mention of nightmares
STATUS: Closed/Complete
Waking up Saturday for Jean had been a totally surreal experience. She wasn’t in her room, and everything just sort of felt different. For six years, she’d lived in the mansion and while this was a lot like there...it was weirdly off, too. Barely awake, she shuffled down to the kitchen about an hour before lunchtime, barefoot and in her borrowed pj’s, more than a little hungover from the party the night before, and still vaguely feeling the effects of the pot she’d smoked with the others. After digging around in the fridge, she pulled out what looked like the leftovers of a pie, grabbed a fork, and went back up to her room. She ate the pie perched on the end of her bed, then sat the plate and fork to one side before finally stretching and heading for the bathroom with her toothbrush, toothpaste, and brush. By the time she was actually in front of a mirror, Jean was struggling with her hair and trying to smooth it down with her telekinesis, but was failing miserably. Finally she let out a frustrated sigh, then went off looking for Emma’s room. After all, the woman had said she could ask her about this kind of stuff, though it was weird to have a woman to go asking about it at all. When she reached the door, Jean raised her fist and knocked softly, absently tapping the brush against her thigh as she waited. Emma was in her room, perfecting lesson plans for a class when she heard the knock. Her face fell as she felt out who was on the other side. “Of course,” she breathed quietly to herself, setting the paperwork aside and getting to her feet. Her room was often tidy and now wasn’t any different and not for the first time, Emma felt appreciative of the fact that she was anal about her space. The last thing she wanted was Jean Grey flitting about her room, memorizing piles of dirty clothes or other incriminating evidence. She paused before a mirror for half a second, practicing a quick, fake smile. Then she walked over and opened the door, flashing it at Jean. “Hello, darling,” she said. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” Jean’s shoulders sagged with relief, glad that Emma was still in her room, and smiled in return. “Morning!” She said brightly, though after a moment her smile took on a sort of desperate edge and she raised a hand to her hair. “Um - I know it’s probably a lot to ask and I normally wouldn’t but since I don’t have any of my hair stuff here and you offered tips yesterday, I was just wondering if maybe you could possibly help with my hair a little? If you don’t want to, or you’re too busy, I get it.” After all that, she paused to take a breath and waited, hopefully, for the blonde woman’s answer. Emma blinked. “Someone’s had their coffee,” she said, somehow managing to keep the sarcasm out of her tone. For a moment, she looked Jeannie up and down and tried to remember that, more or less, she’d liked this girl when they’d been together last. This girl wasn’t the same woman with whom she held a stupid rivalry. When that didn’t make her feel any more charitable, Emma reminded herself that the older Jean would probably hate the concept of getting hair tips from Emma. As usual, petty won over mild annoyance. “Sure,” she said, holding the door open for Jean to come in. Emma’s room was spartan in design, lacking a lot of touches that one might have had if she’d been there for any extended period of time. Most surfaces were white. There was a large bed, a desk where her paperwork was sitting, dressers, and a vanity, which is where she led Jean to. “I just had some pie for breakfast,” she admitted, and relief took over when Emma agreed to help. Her smile brightened in gratitude as she walked in, blinking a little at the lack of personal items, because of course she looked around it curiously. Following her to the vanity, Jean absently passed the brush from one hand to the other and back once she stopped in front of the mirror. Immediately, she was struck by the differences between her and Emma - the older woman was gorgeous - cool and classy - and Jean saw herself as just a mess, especially considering she was still in pajamas with her feet bare, and her long red hair was just this side of a bird’s nest. “Thanks so much - I really appreciate it!” “It’s fine. Sit.” Emma left Jean for the moment to go to her bathroom and fetch some hair products and tools. Jean was left in a comfortable chair that sat in front of an impressive vanity - the large mirror was surrounded by lights that weren’t on at the moment. There was a cup of makeup brushes, a number of Emma’s favorite lipsticks and eyeshadows on one side, foundations, concealers, and contouring items on the other. It was a girly-girl’s paradise. Emma returned with her arms full. “I can lend you some products and a flat iron.” Of course Emma Frost owned more than one flat iron. She set out some of the products nearby. “What do you want me to do with all of this?” she asked, looking Jean over and considering. The teenager sat and after a brief moment of indecision, she set her brush carefully on the corner of the vanity - then leaned in to check it out. She had just reached out a hand to flick through the lipsticks curiously when the woman returned, and Jean guiltily jerked her hand back and shifted her attention to what she had brought. “Um, I guess just - I usually do like these feathery layers, like Jean Shrimpton? Sometimes I do a couple of braids though, which might be better in this climate. Or if you have a scarf I can borrow, maybe I should just do a flip hairdo? What do you think?” “Feathered will make you look dated. I’d say unless you’re going to dress like you’re from your time period, go with something a little more modern. Would you prefer an updo or would you rather keep it down?” Emma asked, stepping behind Jean and running her fingers through the girl’s hair. It was a bit tangled and messy, but it was easy enough to work through. Not for the first time, Emma wondered how the world could possibly be so strange. “Up would probably make it easier to manage, I guess?” Absently, it crossed her mind to wonder which Scott might like - but then that thought was followed by ’he wouldn’t even notice’, so she dismissed it as quickly as it came. She lifted her eyes to watch Emma in the mirror and gave a shrug. “I don’t know what the modern styles are, really. But we can try it, right?” Emma completely ignored Jean’s idle thoughts, huffing a little sigh and pulling her hair into a high ponytail before letting it all fall down around her shoulders. “Ask one of the kids about Instagram sometime and you’ll learn.” She reached for Jean’s brush and started to brush it out. “I think we’ll go with a braid,” Emma said after a moment. She almost considered something edgy, but wasn’t sure Jeannie would especially love that. It certainly wouldn’t be in character for her. “So tell me something about yourself right now. I’m only used to you as my contemporary.” Emma wanted to fill the silence before it got awkward and it didn’t hurt to let Jean ramble. Maybe the girl would let something juicy slip by without realizing. “Instagram, okay,” she said with a nod, then made herself sit still as Emma started to brush her hair. “A braid works,” she agreed after thinking about it briefly, shifting in the chair so she was sitting back a little more comfortably. Her eyes drifted over the various cosmetics as Emma asked her question. “You probably know pretty much whatever about me, I guess,” she said with a shrug, but then went on. “I live in the mansion and I’m an X-Man...which is still weird to say, because I’m not a guy, but I get overruled on that. I think I want to be an actress one day. Or maybe a doctor. I don’t know. I like science a lot, but Hank usually does all these experiments and I don’t always get them. I’m pretty good at math, but not English or History, but I like them anyway. Does that make sense? My spelling is awful.” She rolled her eyes with that, giving an exasperated sigh. “Professor Xavier says I’ll get better, I just wish that would hurry up and happen.” It was difficult to hold any sort of resentment for a girl, even one whose life seemed rather enchanted. “We met later in life,” Emma said as she squirted some product into her palm and worked it through Jean’s hair. “I know you in your thirties.” Emma actually knew a good deal about Jean; she’d picked up plenty of information from the recesses of Scott’s mind over the years. But this was a different experience. “You’re extra… spirited,” she said with a little smile on her face. “My thirties...huh. That’s hard to imagine,” she idly picked up a lipstick to study the color and the brand, then put it back carefully before picking up an eyeshadow. “It’s funny, the professor says that too - usually when Bobby or Warren get me in trouble,” she said, then gave a faint laugh and another shrug. “So what do people do now, in this time? What’s it like around here?” Emma wasn't typically one to lie, but she knew it was important to hide some of the more difficult details. As mean as she could be, Emma wasn't going to let a girl know about her impending deaths, rough relationship with her father-figure, and uncomfortable marriage. “Busy,” Emma said. “We have a large team and a school and people come and go all the time. I was working on some lessons when you came knocking.” “What do you teach? Do I teach anything? Older me, I mean?” The thought of being a teacher was strange to consider, actually, because it meant she never really left the mansion. But despite that, she still wanted to know whether or not that was a possibility. “Does Warren?” “Most of us teach or have taught at some point, but Warren doesn't here. We might be able to talk him into it in the future. I’m teaching Sex Ed. You teach my favorite subject, Ethics, because you're a thief. Possibly to spite me.” Emma actually said that with a smile on her face, not feeling quite so resentful of this girl. She started to part Jean’s hair on the side and divide it into pieces that she could braid together. Jean put down the eyeshadow and glanced up to watch Emma’s fingers curiously, and smiled at what she said about Angel. “He’s not really the teacher type,” she said with a laugh, and blinked at what Emma said was her topic. That, though, was a subject that Jean really didn’t feel like broaching with, well, anyone. Ever. At what Emma said about her own class though, she tilted her head a little. “Huh. Ethics? I guess I learned that from the professor. He teaches us about it all. The. Time,” Jean said, rolling her eyes a little. “But it’s weird because he uses his powers on people all the time.” Emma breathed out a quiet laugh because Jean really had no idea. “Telepaths cheat. We can't help ourselves.” She shrugged because it wasn't so big a deal to Emma that she used her powers more than she should. “We’re best at teaching Ethics because we understand people. It's a byproduct of what we see and hear all day.” She was making a braid down the side of Jean’s face. “That makes sense. I...used to be a telepath. But I’m not - I mean, he’s blocked those powers, so,” Jean shrugged again. “I just move things with my mind now.” And maybe she was showing off just a little when one of Emma’s mascaras floated neatly into her hand so she could check it out, this time. “Um. Is it weird, teaching sex ed? I didn’t know that could even be a class.” She wrinkled her nose a little. “The professor really lets you teach it?” Okay, so maybe she was a little comfortable with Emma. “You'll get it back eventually. And be fairly powerful.” Emma sounded a little distracted as the braid turned into a fishtail. She watched the makeup move into the girl’s hand. It took a lot more than that to impress Emma. “No,” Emma said. This would be her first time teaching it officially, but she wasn't even slightly concerned. “I have to follow some silly state guidelines about encouraging absence, but I'll counterbalance that with actual information. Otherwise, it'll be fine. The girls don't intimidate me and the boys will more likely than not be skittish of me. It's a dynamic I enjoy.” She laughed. “And Charles doesn't tell me what to do, darling, don't be silly.” “Oh,” Jean said quietly, fiddling with the mascara absently. She honestly was a little scared of getting that power back. She still remembered nightly how it had revealed itself, and she could also remember how painfully overwhelming it had been until the professor had showed up and locked that part of her powers away. She didn’t think she wanted to have it back, really. When Emma answer the question, Jean put the mascara back and returned her attention to the conversation. “But he tells everyone what to do. At least for us, I guess. Scott’s his favorite.” “He won't forever,” Emma said sagely. “He tells you what to do now because you're teenagers. In this world you're adults.” She smiled a little. “Scott’s his favorite? I always thought you were the favorite.” “I hope not.” Jean gave a small roll of her eyes, careful not to move as she watched in fascination while Emma finished off the braid. “Yeah - he’s a better student than me. Always turns in his assignments on time, always does way more than the minimum, always gets the best grades. He’s better on missions, too, though the professor says I’m getting stronger.” Emma put her hands on Jean’s shoulders to make sure she was sitting straight and inspected her work. It was good, though she wondered how long the braid would last with Jean at this energy level. She imagined the girl bounced everywhere she went. “You’re spoiled,” she said, not altogether unfriendly, releasing her. “Scott has to work hard because he feels he has to prove himself. You don’t have that sort of pressure burdening you.” She sighed. “Still, in time, you’ll be a very powerful mutant.” “No way - the guys tease me all the time, and I’m always getting more homework than anyone. Angel’s the only one who can talk him down from most of it,” she said. “Scott just does his and I end up having to do more most of the time.” She absently chewed on her thumb nail for a moment as she too studied the braid, then lowered her hand and beamed at Emma. “That looks so great! Thank you so much for doing this, Emma, really.” “You’re welcome,” Emma said, waving a hand as though it was nothing. It really wasn’t a big deal. The only thing that bothered Emma about this interaction is that Jean might make something of it later on. The fewer feelings talks were forced upon her, the better. “And you are,” she added quickly. “Spoiled.” She crossed over to inspect some of the items she’d brought over from her bathroom and laid out two bottles and a flat iron onto the vanity in front of Jean. “If I remember correctly, at your age, I was just about to leave home permanently and fight my way up through nothing. If the worst you have to say about your life is that the boys are mean, you’re privileged. I’m honestly slightly envious.” Jean looked down at the things that were put in front of her, brow furrowing a little, then looked up at Emma. “You’re saying I’m spoiled...but aren’t you spoiling me by loaning me this stuff?” She nearly said something about that not being the worst of what she’d gone through - the nightmares were the worst, and losing Annie - and though for a moment that grief threatened to overwhelm her, she used one of the mental exercises the professor had taught her to push it back, focusing on now. “But anyway - thank you again,” she said a little more formally, looking away and standing to pick the things up carefully, having inadvertently pushed aside most of her emotions instead of just her grief and pain. Emma frowned slightly, telepathically listening in on the way Jean pushed her thoughts down. It was no wonder she could be a powderkeg when Xavier taught her such feeble coping mechanisms. “You’re welcome,” she said, brow raised slightly as she almost looked through the girl. “If your powers act up on you while you’re here, come see me. I can help.” Without Charles actively blocking her telepathy, Emma wondered if she’d start having episodes. And Emma thought it might be an interesting experiment to root around in Jeannie’s mind. The chances of her going to Emma first and not Charles were slim, but it was worth throwing out a line to see if she bit at it later. “I...they don’t, really. I mean - yesterday I started to freak out about all of this and I made a bike float for a minute by accident, but that’s it so I think I’m okay,” she said. She gave another shrug, picking up the bottles and the iron. “I guess I should go get dressed. This was really sweet of you, Emma,” she said, then flashed a smile, though it didn’t have quite the same brightness as before. Still, at one point one of Emma’s lipsticks shot into her hand as the other was picking up her brush, leaning just so in a manner that would hopefully block the woman’s view in the mirror. After balancing everything, she turned to head for the door. “I’ll see you later?” “Certainly,” Emma said, well aware of the fact that Jeannie had swiped one of her lipsticks. “Ask next time,” she said, as she started to gather the things she wasn’t sharing with Jean to put back in her bathroom. At that, Jean had the decency to blush a little and after Emma turned her back, the lipstick returned to where it was. “Bye Emma,” she said, and just barely kept herself from running out of the room. |