earth_367 | A Reunion

What's Up?

It's been a month since Professor Charles Xavier fell into an enigmatic coma, leaving his institute and his protégés to continue on without him.

It's been three days since the mark that had appeared on Xavier also appeared on his first eight students, the original X-Men. While none of them have followed their mentor's lead into oblivion, word of this strange shared circumstance reached them all quickly and they've agreed to gather and discuss the situation.

For better or worse, it seems that they're in this together.

It's dark, cold, and snowing outside when they gather in one of the mansion's parlors, a large room with double doors (which they close behind them) and a lit fireplace. The flames inside crackle and dismiss the worst of the night's chill as they arrive one by one, taking positions on two couches and three chairs scattered around a low table. The antique furniture and built-in bookshelves make the space reminiscent of Charles Xavier's office and the man's presence seems to hang over the gathering.

...But at least the bar cart is well-stocked.

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Scott Summers had the foresight to prepare a snack for the group before they met up. Or maybe they just needed a distraction. Regardless, they arrive armed with enough deviled eggs for everyone!

During the discussion, Kitty Pryde says something about themselves or their life that is just...not true. They don't know why they said it or where the thought even came from. How strange.

Near the end of the discussion, Kurt Wagner's mark begins to glow, bright enough to be visible through or around anything that might be obscuring it. One by one, the others' marks follow suit, ending with Emma Frost. The glow of their mark persist for several long moments after the others go dull and seems to pulse within their skin...before they suddenly collapse back with a gasp and fall unconscious.

When Emma wakes, only minutes later, their friends are around them and they recall nothing but a blinding light.

ARRIVALS ⮾ DURING THE TALK ⮾ AFTER THE TALK ⮾ OOC

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Scott lives in the mansion, in the same room he was granted when he was fifteen, so he had time to take over the kitchen before the meeting. For hours. Making four dozen deviled eggs that look so perfect you'd expect them to have come out of a magazine.

Anyone who observed Scott in the kitchen today will know that he immediately put aside any flawed creations, which means he actually made way, way more than 48 deviled eggs. And in case you ask, he's fine. He's completely fine. If you don't want eggs, he also brought veggies and dip. All of the veggies are cut to exactly the same length.

As usual, he doesn't show much emotion during all the reunions, but he's quietly happy that they're together again.

Kurt admires the spread of alarmingly perfect deviled eggs with bewilderment. He was wondering where Scott was all day, and now he has his answer. They're uniform down to the amount of paprika topping each little yolky swirl.

"You have been busy," he observes, picking up one between his fingers. It almost feels criminal to destroy one piece of the set, but it's not as though they're going to run out. "Have you ever considered becoming a caterer?"

Edited Date: 2025-01-14 12:33 am (UTC)

"I only know how to cook five things." This morning it was four things, until Scott set himself the task of making snacks and looked up "best appetizer for a small gathering." He continues piping eggs as he speaks, having made enough now that he has a feel for the exact motion and pressure for optimal results. "And I'm not sure I have the temperament for it."

Kurt crouches so he's eye-to-eye with the platter, noting that all of the toppings are also more or less the precise same height. Between practice and a little spatial awareness, these are the things Scott can accomplish. Usually it's not cooking related, but there's a time and a place for everything.

"Unglaublich. Maybe this is not your calling, but the results are undeniable," Kurt insists, lightly tapping Scott's leg with his tail. He's still gingerly holding the one he took. "Can I eat it? Or are we waiting?"

They're waiting, but Scott quickly calculates the materials he has left, and nods. "Go ahead." He'll make another deviled egg to cover the gap, and it makes him happy to indulge Kurt in such a small way.

"Thank you. Don't worry, you're not about to lose me to culinary school." He finishes three and carefully moves them onto the serving platter. "Are you nervous?"

Kurt doesn't hesitate and pops the entire deviled egg in his mouth. "Mmm!" It's exactly what he expected, copied down to the finest granular detail from an excellent online recipe. It is, of course, lovely. Scott's right that he's not a good fit for culinary school, but that doesn't mean he isn't an expert at the five dishes he knows.

"It's hard not to be," he admits, standing back up, heels planted on the ground again. "But I don't know what it is I'm nervous about."

"I know. We deal with this all the time. Not this exactly, but..." Scott watches Kurt instead of working on eggs again. He can't help worrying about their leader. He knows it's unnecessary, but he can never stop himself from finding things to worry about. "It's hard. Not having him around."

"I have so many questions for him. I don't know if I'm ready to do this alone." Kurt rolls his neck, hearing the bones pop. He needs to stretch more, he thinks. He's been too preoccupied, too stressed. His muscles are unusually stiff. "But I have you. If I didn't have you with me, I think I would have lost my mind."

The old guilt hits again, that Scott was in Genosha for so long instead of here, supporting Kurt. He'd returned only a day before the start of the new school year. Xavier had words for him about it, but not Kurt.

"Anything you need. Just ask." He looks down at the bowl in front of him, full of hardboiled eggs, peeled but not yet sliced. "I don't have to do another dozen."

Kurt also looks at the bowl of eggs. "You don't have to do another dozen eggs," he echoes and claps a hand on Scott's shoulder. "Let's put them in the fridge. We can make egg salad sandwiches for everyone tomorrow."

"I was going to mash those up for egg salad," Scott admits, indicating the nearby plate of rejects (edible but insufficiently identical deviled eggs). Normally, he's conscientious about food waste, but his anxiety may have gotten the better of him today.

He presses a finger to the bridge of his glasses, one of the quiet signs that Scott is reining in a headache and/or nervous breakdown. The solid weight of Kurt's three-fingered hand on his shoulder grounds him. "No. You're right," Scott says a moment later. "That's a tomorrow problem. Let's get this in the fridge."

ARRIVALS: Scott & Kurt

blauerdamon kurt wagner ⚔️ nightcrawler - Date: 2025-01-17 06:40 am (UTC) - Expand

(Scott's flawed creations disappear throughout the day.)

At first Scott thinks he's losing his mind when he realizes the egg count is off, but soon puts together that these miscounts correlate with Bobby's appearances in the kitchen. Scott starts putting the plate of reject eggs in different places to make theft more challenging, as a training exercise. (Hi Lockheed. Would you willing to guard these appetizers?)

(Lockheed will. Lockheed even liberates some for some other mysterious third party but don't pay attention to that.)

One time, the reject plate's encased in an ice dome. Another, the eggs are lifted away on a platter of ice. Another another, they're frozen themselves and pelted out of the room.

"Hi," Jean says from somewhere about five feet behind Scott's left elbow as he's setting out his magazine-worthy snack spread. She's not above continuing to ignore Scott in group conversations when she's in one of her moods, but to be perfectly honest she doesn't remember why she started avoiding him in the first place anyway. Sometimes it's just easier for her, when things get too dire.

No need to make things awkward for everyone else, though. Her body posture is not particularly friendly, with her arms crossed tightly across her chest. It's not even entirely clear she's speaking to Scott, except for the fact that nobody else is nearby them.

Attuned to the various moods of Jean Grey, Scott drops all egg-related obsessions when he takes in Jean and her somewhat frazzled air. (He's so distracted he forgets to correctly align this latest platter in a straight line with all the others.) He hasn't been avoiding Jean, but he hasn't sought her out either. With a school this size, it's too easy for them to get through the day without speaking to each other.

"Hi," he echoes. He spends several seconds struggling not to ask her if she's alright, and finally says, "You look nice."

"Thanks," Jean says. She's never been prickly about accepting compliments from Scott, even when in the deepest throes of her teenage fixation with pulling his pigtails, but they do seem to roll off her like water off a duck's back. "I wasn't sure what kind of occasion to dress for."

"I didn't think about that." Having spent most of the day in a messy kitchen, Scott is only in a plain tee and jeans. Underdressed, and probably stained with paprika. He has time to run back to his room and change, but that would mean quitting this conversation with Jean.

He glances at the others, and then back to her. "It's the old team. There's no one to impress."

"It'd feel like a funeral if you were wearing a suit," Jean agrees.

"Depends on the color of it." A bold suggestion, when they both know that the only time Scott wears a bright color is when he's in uniform. He'd like to keep doing small talk, but the mention of a funeral tips his mood back to brooding. "Do you think this is a bad idea?"

It was not a totally random remark from Jean, who had spent the better part of the morning spectating various versions of Charles Xavier's funeral in her mind. In one universe, where Jean had been sporting a particularly ridiculous perm of fluffy scarlet curls, it rained so hard and so abruptly that everyone had been huddled under a handful of garish yellow umbrellas, property of the Institute. That Scott and Jean had been long separated but hadn't spared a second thought about sharing an umbrella. It's not always so bad, she wants to tell him. The funeral. Life after it.

"What?" Jean asks, mind clearly far away. Then she shakes her head. The Professor isn't dead. Not here. Not now. "Talking to our friends?"

Scott smiles slightly. He's accustomed to Jean being elsewhere while talking to him. Understandable, with her powers, and it makes him want to move closer. To watch out for her, while her mind is traveling.

(It's the biggest difference between her and Madelyne, who always gives him her full attention, and insists on getting it back.)

"Talking is fine. I mean, all of us being here. Whoever marked the eight of us guaranteed that we'd have to come together." It's a thought he hasn't voiced to anyone else yet.

"Not a very good evil plan," Jean says after seriously contemplating this for a second. She's always insouciant about threats to their personal safety, though. "I'd want to pick us off one at a time."

She has a point. Scott folds his arms in unconscious mimicry of her. "Who would you take out first?"

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seeingred - ARRIVALS: Scott Summers

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An X-Men GPSL (IC)

A Reunion

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