She laughed for a moment at the image then stopped herself; without meaning to be harsh, it seemed to her like she'd always found powers like Artie's a little...laughable? Perhaps that was the wrong thing to say, but it was nevertheless true that she placed far less importance on powers that weren't useful in a fight. She didn't know why that was -- after all, she was still a gentlewoman, and violence didn't become her. But Betsy, after all was said and done, wasn't a proper lady and she knew it: she was the closest thing this school had to a ninja, for goodness sakes. She was a warrior, an Amazon, and the upshot of that was that people like Artie got the short shrift where valuing x-gene abilities was concerned.
But she watched him closely, his illusions changing in what was obviously an attempt (and, if the laugh and continuing tug at the corners of her mouth were any indication, a successful attempt) to make her laugh.
"How nice it must be to have that kind of ability," she said aloud, eschewing her telepathy for the time being. "Something nice, something kind...something where you can do some gentle good. All I can do is kill people, it feels like."
It wasn't true, but that didn't make her feel better. Betsy had learnt languages, taught them to others, saved lives and brought criminals to justice with her telepowers. But she wasn't in a logical mood, and Artie's offer to do the laundry sent her over the edge. Slumping down into the bath again, she burst into tears. She seemed to be saying something but, through the racking sobs, it was difficult to tell what.