13061/Treehouse tea time

Treehouse tea time
Date of Scene:	13 October 2022
Location:	Betsy's Treehouse
Synopsis:	Ororo and Betsy catch up.
Cast of Characters:	Betsy Braddock, Ororo Munroe

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Betsy Braddock has posed:
Betsy's treehouse is a deceptively comfortable little abode. It's just a short walk to Xavier's, far enough away to insulate against noise but close enough that an emergency can bring Betsy flying over in moments.

There is a proper little bell hanging from a curved piece of iron driven into a fencepost. Once rung, Betsy lets down the stairs that allow guests entrance. While Ororo walks up, Betsy stands at the entrance to her apartment with her hands interlaced neatly above her navel. A smile tugs the corner of her lips when Ororo nears and she offers the woman a squeeze of fingers and a kiss on the cheek. "Glad you could make it, Ororo. Come in, please," she invites. It's cool enough in New England that Betsy's wearing ocean-blue jeans and a long-sleeve shirt in maroon. It fits like it was tailored to her (probably was). Once inside there's plenty of warmth to be had, and little cushions are set out at the plain but well-made chabudai in what would be a 'living room'. "I've the kettle on-- would you care for some tea?" she inquires. A hand invites Ororo to find a comfortable place to kneel or sit; there is a little ritualism about the task of teatime that appeals to Betsy's Japanese heritage and her British propriety alike.

Ororo Munroe has posed:
There could be no better 'building' on the Estate than Betsy's treehouse. Spacious and cozy, it is so very comfortable for one such as herself; it has the warmth and //feel// that soothes the claustrophobia that Ororo feels when indoors. This is nothing like that. The life around her is vibrant and pulsing with energy.

Ororo is dressed for the season, though it's an affectation rather than a requirement. She wears form-fitting pants, her top is layered; one short sleeved beneath another in Autumn colors that is just a little looser, but not by much. White hair is down around her shoulders, and earrings hang, modeled of burnt orange clay fired into beads. In hand?

"I come bearing scones. I can't say I made them myself, however. I had help." After a fashion, anyway. "If they're not good," and the words are most definitely in quotes, "I apologize in advance."

As she enters, the kiss on the cheek is given in return, complete with a warm, gentle squeeze of hands. "I would love some tea, thank you."

There is comfort in simplicity and in ritual, regardless of whose it may be. The tray is placed nearby but not as a center of attraction, and she kneels, her backside resting upon her calves. Her shoes are set off and in a corner.

Betsy Braddock has posed:
Betsy moves back to her little kitchentte and turns the heat back up on the kettle. There's a companionable silence as she tends to the minor task. Her treehouse has an aesthetic that is hard to place; the decor is minimalist but not spartan, and a little blend of British tastes and Japanese sensibility. Two bonsai trees are under a framed photo of King Charles; a set of three gansai watercolor prints adorn the wall opposite. In fact the only real sop to materialism is well-stocked bookcases.

Well, and Betsy's shoe collection, but it's safely stowed in a dedicated wardrobe.

It doesn't take long to set the service up and Betsy walks the tray over to the table. She kneels smoothly, back straight, and sets it out in front of Ororo. A selection of loose-leaf teas are safely secured in tiny, hand-carved chests. The teacups are set in place and the scones brought over as well.

"I found some new oolong, if you like," Betsy offers Ororo. She sets the teakettle on a hot stone to keep the water warm. "Or I could offer a little jasmine if you'd prefer something lighter?" she suggests. "You brought the scones, so I'll take your reccommendation for what to pair them with."

Ororo Munroe has posed:
Ororo is resting on her heels, her manner calm and easily in the 'zen' mode. The air around her is warmed, a perfect temperature. It is comfortable silence; steeping tea is, in itself, a relaxing action that allows for centering. Ororo is very aware of the calming and healing effect of such a thing!

"Jasmine would be wonderful," comes the response. "I think that should be fine. I'd considered apple butter to pair, or some lemon curd, but they felt light enough that perhaps just a little butter would be fine." Not to overpower the light fragrance of the tea.

"Let me know if I can be of any help."

Betsy Braddock has posed:
Betsy flickers a look at Ororo at the offer of help, a purple-hued brow lifting at her. The subtle uptick at the corner of her mouth belies the flat stare, and she shakes her head once, straightened tresses shimmering against her shoulders. "You've brought scones, and I daresay I'll likely indulge today," she tells Ororo. "I'll pay for it in the gym tomorrow. I might even drag you with me as retribution."

Betsy puts the back of her fingers to the kettle to gauge the temperature and transfers some into a smaller steeping pot. A thermometer is inserted under the lid with the marker helpfully informing Ororo when the water is *just* the right temperature.

"Cream and sugar?" Betsy offers politely. Because that's the British way to do it. For herself, it's a cup of Earl Grey to go with the delicious home-baked goods, and she sets it steeping as well.

Ororo Munroe has posed:
"If it's leg day, I'll never forgive you," Storm returns with a smile, blue eyes upraised to watch her friend work her magic at the art of teamaking. "Battle lines are drawn."

The thought of battle over gym-day does gain a soft, throaty chuckle, and at the question, she waves her hand, "Nothing for the jasmine. It's lovely plain." Which may be sacrilege, but to put anything in to disturb the delicate balance would be criminal.

"It's so nice to step away from the October celebrations," is given with a wry smile, "I still need to make the corn maze for the students. It shouldn't take too long, but I just need to //start// it."

Betsy Braddock has posed:
Betsy flashes a grin at Ororo. A brief glimpse of the sunshine behind that calmly placid face of hers, but for those who know, it's quite a statement. The sort of openness Betsy allows *very* few people. "Hate me now, you'll love me next summer when it's swimsuit weather," she chivvies Ororo.

Betsy highly approves of the jasmine tea being taken plain, and when the temperature is low enough she offers to steep Ororo's tea for her. Betsy puts the earl grey into the hotter carafe and lets it start soaking up the hot water.

"It's not like we have a shortage of willing labor here, Ororo," Betsy says in her cultured accent. "I'm quite certain I could locate a couple of our local malcontents and slap them with detention. Free labor," she says with a wickedly amused look. Betsy picks one of the scones and sets it on her plate, then lifts plate and scone up to take a few careful bites and catch her crumbs.

Chew, chew-- and Betsy's eyes roll skywards in pleasure. "Bloody hell," she mumbles, and takes another large bite.

Ororo Munroe has posed:
Warm tea into a pre-warmed cup. This is serious tea creation here! It's a cross-cultural common ritual; the breaking of bread, the drinking of tea. Each has its place and each its own order. At the end of it all, however, the result is the same: a moment of calm and sharing. And in the tree house, unless someone sends a psychic shout, the regular noise of the world doesn't intrude within these branches.

It is lovely.

"Oh no, I'll most definitely hate you forever," Ororo teases; there's absolutely nothing serious in her mien. Her head is slightly canted, her lips are formed in that ghost of a smile. Here is genuine Ororo, and she most definitely cherishes those flashes of smile from her friend. "Unless someone //extremely// attractive crosses my path and makes mention of my legs." Which is unlikely, without prodding of course.

A laugh escapes the weather goddess, and she shakes her head ruefully, "You and Scott. Poor children may never see the light of day, unless they're working off their demerits." She's a touch more lenient, perhaps? "But," reaching for her small pastry plate, Ororo takes one of the scones and sets it there. Rather than slicing it, small pieces are pulled from the yeast bread and popped into her mouth. Chewing slowy, her head rolls back slightly, "Oh this is better than I'd expected..."

Betsy Braddock has posed:
"Adversity builds character," Betsy says, with a face so solemn it speaks of her uniquely dry wit. "Besides, /I'm/ not getting into gardening. This manicure wasn't cheap." She tosses her head back imperiously, making her violet mane dramatically whip around in a show of pure vanity. When she comes to a halt, she looks at Ororo again with an impish expression, and then laughs once at herself. Short, abbreviated, but again-- deeply sincere.

"The scones are wonderful, darling, you've outdone yourself," she congratulates Ororo. Betsy's clearly trying to fight temptation, but it's a losing battle; she's nibbling steadily at her own share of the pastries.

"We might have to go back to tea time in your rooms, though. I think I've had my fun with the treehouse, but I find myself longing for some more amenities. Like a sturdier floor," she remarks, wryly. "I've asked Charles if I can take over one of the upstairs rooms in the west wing, and he agreed. But that means I'm a much shorter walk away," she tells Ororo with another momentary but luminous grin.

Ororo Munroe has posed:
"I just might see your lack of desire to garden as a challenge," Ororo returns slowly and deliberately, that ghosted smile still tingeing her lips, "Accepted." It's no secret to anyone that it's one of her particular passions. Her attic 'room' is filled with green, vibrant, living plants that seem to thrive under her careful care. It's peaceful up there.

A laugh bursts from Ororo at the preening of her friend, and she rocks back slightly onto her heels, the teacup cradled in hand. "I'm sure you can afford another one. Besides, how could you say 'no' to another hand massage?" Decadence!

Ororo is nibbling, taking a sip of her floral scented tea to soak the lightly sweetened bread. "I don't think I'll be able to replicate it. In this case, lightning may only strike once."

A few moments in silence are taken to enjoy the tea, the scones and the companionship, the smile lingering. "I would be more than happy to play hostess. I know Kurt may enjoy it; perhaps we can invite him next?" As a matter of fact, perhaps making this as regular as possible given their busy lives might be an idea! "But, it will be a shame to let the treehouse go. It is so peaceful up here, and you get the added benefit of a good vantage point." And, of course, away from the kids. "But, I look forward to your being closer. Under one roof."

Betsy Braddock has posed:
"It was good when I was still... adjusting," Betsy hedges, delicately. "I needed some space to figure out who I was. Away from everyone. Nothing personal, darling," she reassures Ororo and rests her fingertips apologetically on Ororo's hand. "You were there for me and I'm grateful for it. And I think I'm ready to start living life on more familiar terms again."

She sips her tea and glances down at the table. "Napkins," she says, and presses her plum-painted lips into a thin line. "I knew I forgot something." She rises with a leggy grace and retrieves a pair of proper cloth napkins from her tiny kitchentte, offering one to Ororo before taking the other for herself. "I enjoy our private teatime, Ororo," she says bluntly. "Perhaps we could offer high tea once or twice a week? I ... could do more to be social," she admits. "And it would add a certain touch of class to things. It need not be a formal /chado/ affair at every turn." One wrist rolls over and she gestures at the low table between them.

Ororo Munroe has posed:
Ororo looks around the peaceful bit of nature around her. She can feel the warmth and the energy of creation within it, drawing up in the lines. It's soothing, and she nods ever so slightly to an inside voice. "It is a perfect place for it," she agrees, and her words are soft. "I'm glad you reclaimed your balance." Blue eyes rise to her friend's again, and there is that warm smile. "I'll always be here for you." She means it.

And there, from relaxed and zen to 'ZOMG, I forgot something!' in nothing flat. While it's not too disturbing, it does have Ororo shaking her head. "It's fine. And yes, I do too. I value the moments I can share with you. They are something that I hold dear and look forward to." It's true, and her words follow Betsy into the tiny kitchenette, only to have them greet her on the way back. She nods slowly, and a chuckle exits her throat, "It'd give the little miscreants a lesson in culture," she jokes. "We could really lay it on thick and include the pinky finger in its upraised position." She wouldn't give up the low table for the world, however, and she lays a gentle hand upon the top, near where her plate resides. "This," she begins, "this is special. I think only the ones who truly seem to draw the significance of the traditions should experience it."