| what's the complication, it's only conversation |
[04 Feb 2008|12:25pm] |
It was Monday. Warren was at work, busy with his many and varied Important Things To Do, which involved at the moment signing off on the absorption of a new shipping business in the northwest while simultaneously keeping an eye on the CNN marquee (and the local news via screen-in-screen). The TV was mounted on the wall of his office, far enough away that he wasn't tempted to change the channel - which was probably all to the good, since Warren had no particular desire for his office staff to find out that he was strangely fascinated by HGTV or that he didn't have the slightest idea of what the multitude of unlabeled buttons lining the bottom edge of the TV frame did.
"The pro-MRA group Friends of Humanity has announced their intention to hold a peaceful demonstration protesting the recent change to a Connecticut school's charter, which would allow mutants to attend the school without prior registration or notification..."
His mouth thinned, but he didn't glance up from his computer for another few moments. When he did, it was to reach for his phone - speed dial three for the mansion - then cradle the handset between shoulder and ear as he leaned back in his chair. He hadn't called Westchester in a few days; it was probably overdue by now anyway.
Ring. Ring.
[ alex! ]
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[04 Feb 2008|06:35pm] |
Monet had never aspired to be more than an art critic. She had never aspired to be an art critic for that matter. The beauty of her life was that she'd never had to aspire to be anything, especially not once her trust had come into her possession at the age of twenty-one. Aspiration was a concept forced upon her by Charles Xavier. She didn't resent it, but she did find that it had her investing time into things that she shouldn't have had but a passing interest in. She didn't have to go and get a PHD, but she was considering it. Why not? After all, she had the money.
She tapped her fingers against the floor while her other hand ran over the keypad on her computer. Her position, sprawled across the floor in the front foyer in front of the stairs, perhaps wasn't the safest, but she didn't feel particularly like moving. She was waiting for a delivery and didn't want to miss the UPS man when he arrived. There was a good chance that her fascination with furthering her education would ebb off once she had a new computer to play around with. She didn't particularly need it, but it would be nice to have something lighter when it came to lugging it around with her as she dashed to and from different art shows around the city.
The waiting killed her. She hated sitting still like this, even if it was in such a lounging manner. She simply didn't have anything else to be doing. Her danger room session was for much later in the afternoon and for her, work didn't begin until the evenings.
With thoughts of work she turned back to her computer screen. She flipped over onto her back and laid the computer on her stomach. A bit of a yank and a tug on her skirt did wonders and she was able to settle back in for another period of waiting.
[Open- Xavier's]
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| Stocking up |
[04 Feb 2008|06:47pm] |
Getting four cases of beer onto his motorcycle had been no easy task. Some cleverly placed bungee cords worked wonders. Remy LeBeau had made it back to the Brotherhood house with no casualties. There was going to be some big celebrating tomorrow - even if he was the only one. He was perfectly content to sit on the rooftop by himself, finishing off his stash.
Tomorrow was Mardi Gras, after all.
Carrying the beer inside was another matter. With two cases in each hand, and a case tucked under each hand, Remy couldn't get his keys from his pocket. The back door was going to be a problem. Walking up to the screen door, Remy kicked it with the toe of his boot. If anyone was in there, maybe they'd hear it.
Remy shook his head. Nope. No one would get it. They'd probably walk right past the door with him outside, struggling to keep from dropping his precious cargo. The beer was too much for him to take into his shadow form to slip under the door. He'd try it, but he doubted it would work.
He faded into a dark shape, the outlines of his beer cases still visible, but he couldn't hold it for long. He faded back into his visible form, panting slightly as though he had been holding his breath.
"Hey! Anybody in there wanna get the door? I got my hands full," he hollered at the back door.
Maybe that would get someone's attention.
[Open - Brotherhood house]
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[04 Feb 2008|07:15pm] |
Jamie held a double degree in Linguistic Anthropology and Computer Science. He very well could have majored in Spanish, French, Russian, German, and Japanese as well, but the administrative offices at the University of Arizona had put an end to that plan rather quickly. He'd stuck with linguistics given the chance to incorporate his skills into one all encompassing skills, and then computers simply because he understood them, just in the way he understood languages and patterns. Best to stay within your field of expertise, even if that expertise was mutantly enhanced.
Plumbing was not exactly in his expertise, but he did what he could. Jamie figured he owed it to Erik, and playing handyman was really the least he could do given that they couldn't call in a real plumber. The house was stolen, as much as one could steal a house, and having someone from the outside come in would have lead to more problems than a collective group of wanted mutants could handle. He'd come up for the day anyway, figuring that the latest news from the CNN ticker in Times Square would be something Erik would want to discuss with the collective group. Jamie knew he couldn't do much overall, but he liked to think that he at least tried to stay involved and to his credit, he did have a decent mind for planning.
Since he'd come up to Connecticut early he'd gone around the house simply looking for things that needed to be done while he waited for the others to either wake up, return home, or come out of the dark corners they were sulking in –that seemed to be a habit. He'd found nothing until going for a glass of water and finding that the sink was giving a nasty brown sludge, bad for even a house they were squatting in. It had taken awhile to find a wrench, bucket, and towel, but once he had he'd slid underneath the sink and gotten to work.
[Open, BH]
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| I'm the next evolution of the revolution [narrative] |
[04 Feb 2008|07:58pm] |
It was a cold morning in Greenwich, Connecticut. The sort of cold that got into your bones and stayed for the winter, especially when your bones had already seen their fair share of winters and wished nothing more for the warm weather to return. Erik Lensherr was not a physically imposing man, by anyone's standards. He was lean, though he hadn't always been, and skin that had once stretched over healthy flesh and bones now sagged a little in places, and where it didn't, it had wrinkled and creased in well-marked lines that could all tell countless stories.
Erik wrapped his dressing robe tighter around his waist and tied it securely with the belt. It was quite early, much before anyone else in the house rose for the day, but it was the way that Erik preferred things. It gave him a bit of time alone with his thoughts, which always brewed better when he had a strong cup of Earl Grey to stew them in, and time to read the paper, before someone strolled in wanting to read the comic section or the sports page. He flicked the kettle on and fetched a cup and teabag from the cupboard. He looked out the window. It was still dark out, though the cloud cover that blanketed the sky was illuminated in such a way that it wasn't completely pitch dark. It would probably rain, later on in the day.
Erik set the cup down on the counter and strolled through the kitchen wall, out into the garden. He strolled ever so lightly through the garden, the tips of his slippers skimming lightly through the grass until he reached the letter box. A chill ran through Erik's spine. Phasing helped a little against the cold, though it was no miracle cure.
He picked up the newspaper and peeled the plastic away, stowing it away in his pocket to be appropriately disposed of later, while he scanned the front page for newsworthy news. The Giants had won the Super Bowl, said the main headline, but Erik was not at all interested. His attention was drawn to an article in the bottom corner. "PUBLIC SCHOOL ACCEPTS MUTANT ENROLMENTS". He read the article as he walked back inside the house not bothering with locks or doorknobs as he went, as he was too old to stand outside in the cold for hours. The article was the same ridiculous drivel that all the papers printed these days, expressing caution and thinly-veiled scepticism at the appropriateness of the decision on the behalf of the school-board. The article directed him to turn to page four to read more, so he spread the newspaper out on the kitchen table and read the rest of the article.
A Friends of Humanity Spokesperson confirmed that the organisation will hold a peaceful demonstration in Connecticut next week. Melissa Beatbaker announced in a press conference that the pro-humanity group plans to march in protest to Cromwell High School's decision to accept mutant enrolments.
The kettle whistled and Erik stood to pour himself his tea. It was such a massive step forward for the mutant community to have a public school open enrolment, only to have this organisation seek to reverse the breakthrough. Such intolerance was not to be born. Education was a basic human right, and every child, no matter their race, sex, class or religion was entitled to it, why should they make an exception based on the make-up of one child's genes? Erik tossed the used teabag into the trash and took a tentative sip of the Earl Grey. He would call a meeting of his Brotherhood to discuss this new development. In the meantime, he would solve the crossword.
( ooc )
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