12008/Butterflies and Wood Axes

Butterflies and Wood Axes
Date of Scene:	14 July 2022
Location:	Back Yard
Synopsis:	Two adrenaline junkies meet by chance, and do non-adrenaline junkie stuff.
Cast of Characters:	Jimmy Hudson, Betsy Braddock

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Jimmy Hudson has posed:
    Summer can be a blissful time. The days are long and warm. The weather is usually mild. And it has that feeling each day of portent and potential, as if anything was possible. For the younger students of Xavier's School for the Gifted it's definitely a wild time, spent running around the mansion and indulging in day time activities sponsored by the faculty. Though main thing it means for a good number of them? Shenanigans.
    For the staff though it's a little more busy. A little more focused. Considering it's the time for upkeep and keeping everything firing on all cylinders, that makes it a time for someone like Jimmy Hudson to pick up a bit of the slack. To be a little handy around the mansion since he's a man of a handful of talents. And being handy is one of them.
    But then when it comes to Shenanigans, well that's when the young and the old often overlap.
    "Alright Murph, someone here gonna tell me what happened to the wood pile?" Jimmy's drawl was a casual thing, making him sound almost sleepy at times even though he was looking at the two usual suspects.
    Murph, the youngest of the mutant warband that had been running around all Summer getting into trouble, he lifted his head and pooched his lower lip out. "Nobody was usin' it! I just blew up a few of em!"
    "Yeah? And you Jenny Tan? You helped him a lil by sneakin' the wood out with your brain powers din't ya?"
    Which had little Jenny Tan lowering her head and shuffling her feet. "He said we wouldn't get in trouble."
    Jimmy, a good sight taller than the dangerous duo before him has his hands the hips of his blue jeans. He looks a little ragged after a day of working around the place since his black t-shirt has a good bit of dirt and grime on it. Not to mention the smudges on his face.
    "Well looks like Murph was wrong, wasn't he?"
    "Yes, sir." The both said together.
    "So what're we gonna do when Winter rolls around and we start ta get cold?"
    "Turn up the thermostat?" Snaps out Murph.
    "That costs money, you got money on you Murph? Not enough I reckon." Then he gestures, "So what yer gonna do for the next two hours is go out and find me two dead trees. Better be good ones, I'll get my axe and then you'll see what it takes ta get a good piece of lumber settled. Alright? Get now."
    And with that they took off running.

Betsy Braddock has posed:
"Goodness, luv. All you needed was a little shuffle in your step and you'd be the spitting image of a young Logan." The voice is unmistakable, what with that British lilt and the wicked amusement. The source? One Elizabeth 'Betsy' Braddock, in a pair of work out pants and a sports bra, purple hair caught up in a fishtail braid. "Although personally I believe he was born a grumpy old man."

The psi-ninja is apparently finishing up her morning exercise with a little cool-down in the backyard, given the sweat on her skin and the bottle of water held in one well-manicured hand. Purple eyes glance towards the direction the two ran off, and she chuckles throatily. "I remember the trouble I got into during the summer holiday... My guardian nearly sent me to a year-round boarding school after the third time I was caught skinny dipping." She turns back to Jimmy, taking a few light steps to close the distance and offering him the water bottle after wrinkling her nose slightly. "Can't say I ever blew anything up, but I dare say not for lack of trying, mmm?"

Jimmy Hudson has posed:
    Takes a rare one to sneak up a bit so easily on a man with Jimmy's senses. Or someone smart enough to do it from upwind. Then again maybe he was just distracted with the dressing down. There was no hint, no scuff of foot, no scent of perfume that had heralded her approach. Then the voice he didn't recognize as he turned and saw Elizabeth Braddock.
    Tthen he remembered her, because few people forgot Betsy even when seeing her from afar. A half-smile settled at the corner of his mouth as he exhaled a light scoff at the first of her words.
    "I imagine there might be a reason for it." His resemblance to Logan. Though he's a bit taller than the other Canadian mutant, he's got that family look to him with the wild hair and the firm build.
    Then she's rolling on up and he smiles a little at the words she offers even as he follows the path of the running kids with his eyes, making sure they didn't get swooped up by Sauron or shot at by giant robots. Sidelong he murmurs to her, "I was a fair bit of a hellion too myself, but can't go tellin' them that. Now can I?"
    He turns those blue eyes to her and smiles as he glances at her, then the bottle, then back to her. "Thank ya."
    A quick sip is taken, tthen he hands it back and offers her his hand. "James Hudson. Jimmy if ya like. Logan's..." A look toward the mansion, then he smiles a little more. "Is my pop."

Betsy Braddock has posed:
No surprise that Betsy got the drop on him; despite being as British as bangers and mash, she did spend some time trapped in the body of one of the Hand's greatest ninja assassins. And while she may not be consciously trying to sneak up on him... Old habits die hard. Besides, as decadent as her reputation is, not even she wears perfume to work out in! She accepts the bottle back, taking a quick swig herself with practiced ease.

When he reveals his parentage, her eyebrows sweep up and she gives him another once-over, assessing his appearance beyond the signs of hard work. "Well. Fancy that." She says with wry amusement, shifting her weight onto one hip. "If you're anything like your father, I dare say you still have your fair share of mischief."

Beat.

"I'm Betsy, by the by. Betsy Braddock." She then offers, remembering her manners, "Don't think we've officially met."

Jimmy Hudson has posed:
    "I got into more than my share of scrapes, Miss Braddock." At that he looks sidelong meeting her gaze with that smile.
    "Think we were mebbe at gathering here or there," His brow rises as he keeps an eye on the kids until they disappear into the forest. Then once they're out of view he turns back to her and smiles a little, "Think there was that cookout last year. Though we didn't actually speak. Think you were a mite bit busy."
    So he had seen her. And remembered.
    "Didn't know you were back here." Since there had been rumors around. That she was in Manhattan, that she owned a club, that she was in Europe, that she was bringing down a cadre of assassins. The usual fare. A brief glance down at her attire, though no comment of it.
    "Going to be staying around?"

Betsy Braddock has posed:
"What can I say," And Betsy's grin is pure mischief, even as she spreads her hands helplessly, "I like to keep busy." She chuckles, and then adds, "I've a club in Manhattan, but that isn't exactly far away. As far as assassins in Europe..." She doesn't answer, just smiles oh-so-slightly like a cat in the cream.

She then perks up, and nods, "Now that you've mentioned it, I think we did get introduced by Gabby some years back... James, wasn't it? Into racing cars?" Her smile is apologetic. "I usually try not to forget when I'm introduced to handsome men, but it can be hard sometimes."

When he asks if she's staying, she's silent for a few moments, eyes glancing away from him and around the backyard. "I'm planning on staying for a while, yes. Probably see which of our teams needs a telepath and volunteer. I haven't had any field action in a while, makes me a bit itchy." Spoken like a true adrenaline junkie.

Jimmy Hudson has posed:
    "Yes ma'am," He answers her mentioning the meeting with Gabby even as he's turning a little and starting to walk. She can likely read the sentiment in his body language, trained as she is in the arts of an assassin, perhaps even hearing the hint of it in his surface thoughts. Though his first step carries him toward the shed behind the garage, he pauses to see if she's inclined to walk with him. Because if not it wouldn't be polite to just mosey on away.
    "I've been known to drive a bit," Those bright blue eyes drift toward the garage, then back to her as he lifts a rough hand to rub at the back of his neck. "Less so these days. Been focusing on teaching as I can. Seems like most of my time is spent trying to make sure things keep going smoothly as they can."
    "If you're lashin' around for somethin' ta do, I got a full day aheada me and could use a hand." Then he looks at her current ensemble and adds with a hint of humor, "That is if you don't mind gettin' yer hands dirty."

Betsy Braddock has posed:
Betsy follows after Jimmy, doing him the courtesy of making her step a little heavier, a little easier for him to hear. As amusing as it would be to simply stay in place and see if he walks back, she isn't a total bitch despite what her agent would claim.

"I imagine so." She murmurs when he talks about not enough time, "I admit, it's not quite the thrill that taking on Hand assassins with nothing but my mind and my katana is, but I do love a good street race."

When he mentions getting her hands dirty, she lets out a laugh, before grinning broadly. "Oh, luv, don't let the posh accent and thousand dollar manicure fool you. I use to fly charter planes and still do most of my own maintenance on my cars." She shrugs one shoulder, "Hard to find people willing to work on imports without it being bloody expensive."

Jimmy Hudson has posed:
    When she mentions that last about hard to find folks willing to work on imports and the price some mechanics put on their efforts, she can feel likely with her extra senses the way that connects with him. It's there too as he looks sidelong at her and says quickly, emphatically, "Ain' it?"
    As if she was speaking God's own truth and he was there to give her an amen.
    "Though more and more time goes, more and more you need a CompSci degree to finagle with cars. S'why I usually go for old rides, customs. Somethin' about oil and grease don't mix with silicon."
    That little bit of wisdom imparted he continues the stroll toward the back shed, walking along that small brick path that leads around and away from the garage. He takes his time, matching her gait as he moves, "So if it's not rude ta ask, what is it ya do in main? Since around here that can be a loaded question, feel free to not answer if yer so inclined."

Betsy Braddock has posed:
"You'll love my main ride, then." Betsy laughs, when he mentions his love of old cars and customs. "1960's Aston Martin DB5. Cost a pretty penny, both to purchase and customize, but worth it when I want to make an statement." Statement being her car is better than yours and she's wealthy, but we all have our vanities.

The advantage of being model-tall is that her stride isn't that much shorter than his own, her curious lilac-purple eyes almost level with his as she glances aside to him. "I've considered going for something modern and techy, but I admit I have a soft spot for manual transmissions."

She stretches, hands over head, and then answers his last question, "Mmm. Little loaded, yes, but I'll answer." She smiles ever so slightly, "I model, although I'm getting long in the tooth for it. I do photography here and there, when I can." And her smile widens, almost teasingly, "Bring down cadre of assassins for the thrill of it, sign up to be a secret super hero wearing an X on my chest. Whatever makes the blood flow and helps me feel alive."

She then tilts her head at him, "Tit for tat, luv. What about you? When you aren't terrorizing the student body for harmlessly blowing up fireword." And her grin is teasing, purple eyes dancing with amusement.

Jimmy Hudson has posed:
    "Modern and techy can be nice, but yeah, not the same." Jimmy's nose crinkles a little as his gaze distances as he considers the hoops he had to go through just to tweak a friend's ride semi-recently, then he shakes his head. Clearly wasn't a positive experience.
    But then they're around that corner and he's unlocking the shed door, holding a combination lock in hand and casually pushing it back and forth with the thumb of one hand as his brow knits in mild concentration. Yet he's listening to her answer his oh so loaded question.
    She mentions being a model and she gets that second look that men and women always give her. That second look where she's given a once over as if to say, 'yah I can see it,' but instead he's more open about it as he gives a nod with some emphasis as if to reinforce that indeed, she excels in that field of work.
    Then the lock ca-clicks and he pulls it open, smiling a little as she mentions assassin, the X-peoples, and then... her oh so casual addiction to adrenaline. It makes him exhale a breath that almost would be a laugh, almost.
    "Me?" He asks her sidelong as he pulls open the shed door, and there's that creak of old wood and the rattle of a chain. He steps inside and there's a flicker of motion-triggered light which limns his silhouette in the doorway before he looks back at her. "I. Am a teacher, darlin'."
    Then he disappears into that shed but she'll hear his rough voice as he keeps right on a'talking. "Phys Ed. The kids call me Coach Hudson for the most part, except when I'm subbing in for Ororo and teachin' a bit of World History."
    Then he emerges with an axe that he sets down beside the door of the shed, then dives on back in. "But, I've been helpin' raise some horses lately. Work on fast cars. Like ta go campin' now and again. Been training in some MMA of late down in the Danger Room, also runnin' some team drills. I'm technically an X-Man."
    Then he sets a large saw out beside the door as well, catching her eyes with his as he smiles roughly, even as he fibs a little in a self-deprecating way. "But more the sorta X-Man you need when like, a jar of mayo is too hard ta open. Or mebbe you need a cat rescued out of a tree."

Betsy Braddock has posed:
The look he gives her? She's use to it from men, and some women, usually followed by a brief flicker of imagination and thoughts on what Goggle could turn up. She's gone through it enough that she just takes it for granted and moves on. Price of the job. "I've a brother that drives a Mercedes EQS that he claims is just as good as any of my 'gas guzzlers' but I admit it just isn't the same." She grimaces, "If I pulled up to an illegal street race in one, I'm afraid they'd laugh at me. And while I enjoy a good view from behind, it would be quite bloody embarrassing in a race."

She walks over to the door, leaning against the frame while he goes to fetch the axe. "Coach Hudson, mmm?" She laughs, softly, "Please tell me you wear the shorts and have a whistle! That'd be too rich."

Her expression and eyes both soften when he mentions horses, and her smile is a bit wistful. "I do love horses. One of the best parts about being raised in a country manor was having a stable. Never really gone camping, outside of training exercises and the like."

The mention of MMA makes her chuckle. "I admit, the Danger Room has some lovely programs, even if it isn't the same. Hank, bless his pointy blue head, even whipped up a custom training program for me." She then tilts her head to the side, bouncing off the door frame as he emerges with first the axe and then the saw. "Mayo jars, mmm? So I guess a pickle jar is a little out of your range? Pity. I sometimes have problems at tea time with the pickle jar."

Jimmy Hudson has posed:
    As she chides him about his role in the mansion she'll hear that rumble of a laugh come from him again and when he steps back out with a leather jacket that seems more suitable for protection than looking cool on the back of a bike, he casually tosses something her way.
    And should she catch it, it is indeed a whistle.
    "Take a lap, Braddock." He teases even as he scoops up the gear and slings the jacket in place, slipping his arms through the sleeves. Then he tucks the saw under one arm, while holding the axe in the other. With that he closes up the shed, clicking the lock shut.
    And then she hassles him some more which has him laughing, "I'll try'n work out some so I can help with the pickle jar. What sorta custom program? Mine is just a handful of guys tryin' ta throw me around and choke me out mainly." Likely not quite the equivalent of Hand Ninjas.
    That said he starts to walk along the path moving toward where the children wandered off into the forest as he puts words to action. "Ya know, you'd prolly get along with a friend of mine. They've got a ranch nearby."

Betsy Braddock has posed:
"Well, I usually only go for choking after they buy a fancy dinner." Betsy replies when he talks about the program he uses, voice deadpan but eyes dancing with amusement, "Mine is a little more.. unique. Combination of ninjutsu and kenpo, with some of the more common Hand sorceries. Little light exercise before breakfast."

"Once you master pickle jars, you'll have to move on to even more advanced enemies: jam jars." She teases, and then catches the whistle thrown her way with the ease of a ninja. She looks down at it, then back up at him, and then down again before letting out a bark of laughter.

"Take a lap, eh? If I'm a good girl and do it quick, can I get some play time, Coach?" She asks, following him as he strides into the woods, "I'm tired of warming the bench. Put me in, and I promise to do good sportsball." She then tosses the whistle back at him.

Jimmy Hudson has posed:
    "We'll see if you pass muster, Braddock. I don't play no favorites no matter how pretty." The way he says that it's almost like she was there watching one of those sportsball movies and the grim coach is telling his players what what. If only he wasn't wearing that wry smile as he does so.
    That said it's down that path they stroll, footsteps light and easy as he takes a moment to eye her sidelong, then shakes his head with a small laugh. "Maybe, if I'm feelin' ambitious, I'll take a run at one of your training programs. If that's alright by you."
    But then he murmurs, "You know I was just hasslin' you, you don't have to come on out to the forest and give me a hand. Though I don't begrudge the company."

Betsy Braddock has posed:
"Awww, Coach! You think I'm pretty?" Betsy asks, voice coy as she bats her lashes at him in a completely over-the-top manner that's a complete contrast to his grimdark realistic coach attitude. "Don't worry, I won't tell the Headmistress one of her faculty is getting fresh with me."

She laughs, matching strides with him easily, but her laughter and smile tapers off into a frown when he mentions running her training program. "You're more than welcome to run my training program, it's listed under 'Dance of the Butterfly', but I only hope you've inherited your father's healing factor if you do." She says bluntly, tone serious, "And make sure the safeties are on."

She flushes slightly, then, as if realizing how patronizing that was to someone that might as well be a complete stranger. "I tend to play rough for some people's tastes." She switches back to humor and teasing, offering him a hint of a smirk with her words as if to cover the social faux pas.

She then shakes her head with a grin when he offers her an 'out'. "Oh, no. Best offer I've had since the British government decided to turn me into a spy." She assures him, and boldly hooks her arm through his. "Us non-Americans have to stick together and all, mmm?"

And with that she lets him lead her off into the woods for an exciting afternoon of forestry!