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John Grey of York (serphoenix) wrote in payline, @ 2014-03-14 11:01:00

Who: John Grey and Logan
When: March 14th
Where: Mandalay Bay 1011
Rating: Fine
Warnings: None
Summary: AGE-UP PLOT. John looks a little more familiar
Status: Closed. In Progress.



There were many advantages to the modern age, but one of the ones John had grown most used to the most rapidly was bathing. It was cleansing and private and warm as he remembered the ocean to have been during his long slumber. If he kept the lights off, it was easy to pretend he was back in that womb of ages. In the dark, and in the water, John Grey did not have to hide who he was, releasing the curves he kept tightly bound beneath his robes and blossoming beneath the hot jet of water. His mind soared then, not limited by this body or this pocket cosmos or even time, though his heart ached for the faces he missed, one chief among them.

John stepped out of the tub, not bothering with his robe and reached over to clear the steam from the mirror. His hand swept with a trail of steam unwittingly clearing the path of outspread wings as he wiped the glass to see him. It was dark, but he was his own light. Today he felt different. Looking at his body, the unbridled swells and valleys, He reached to his side and turned on the light to better consider himself. He was thinner, frailer, like a starling just returned from winter and wasted from its journey. John was exhausted, but like a starling back to spawn, so full of the changing springtime that it scarcely registered.

He let his fingers linger in the drying red hair that now fell down to the feminine curve of his back and brush against the cheekbones. This was what other mutants saw when they thought of Jean Grey. And this was the form that spiked love and fear in the back of their eyes. It was rather charming. The truth was, as much as John had wished to embrace it, John had always feared his feminine nature: as weak, as exploitable, or as downright dangerous. Only Scotius had ever really explored it, and he was as inexperienced as John with what it all meant. But to the phoenix that had grown with John seemingly overnight, a body was the same. And this one felt strong and natural.

John stepped over his clothes, donning instead the other robe from the back of the door. He left the bathroom, mindless of the other man in the hotel room and sat on the bed, combing his fingers through his long hair. He would have to dress this body better.