17577/Butterflies and Firebirds

Butterflies and Firebirds
Date of Scene:	05 April 2024
Location:	Sion - Nightclub
Synopsis:	Betsy and Rachel share the moment, memories, and much more.
Cast of Characters:	Betsy Braddock, Rachel Summers

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Betsy Braddock has posed:
Given that Betsy Braddock has been spending more and more time up at the School lately, getting used to the idea of being more involved with the X-Men and teaching in general... well, she hasn't had a lot of time to spend at the nightclub she purchased. But, she's been making sure the manager can handle things with her no longer being around, and well... it's nice to have a place to work from when she's in New York.

The music is thumping and the lights swirling in their classic blues and purples, and Betsy is dressed to the nines in a purple silk blouse, the fabric flowing over her as she wears black slacks to go with it. Her hair is hanging loose for a change, as she sips from a drink, looking around the bar as she has a bit of a quiet moment to herself to contemplate her next steps.

Rachel Summers has posed:
Leisure time. It was a foreign concept to Rachel Summers when she first arrived in this time, in this universe -- the idea that people could actually AFFORD to simply spend time to themselves, for themselves... well. In the beginning, she had no idea what to do, or how to do it.

Since then, she's figured out the basics, and she's decided: she likes leisure time.

Clubs, dancing. They're things that she's never had opportunity to experience before. So now -- now she just throws herself into it. She's here today at this nightclub for similar reasons: completely oblivious to who actually -owns- the place (property ownership: also a very alien concept to her), Rachel has spent the better part of the last half hour just dancing her heart out on the brightly-lit dance floor, hues of warm violets and cool blues igniting her form as she sways back and forth in wild rhythm to the pounding bass.

People can only spend -so long- dancing though; eventually, Rachel finds her way out past the crowds, droplets of sweat clinging to fair skin and matting short red hair and a big grin dancing on dark red lips. Dressed a little less impressively than Betsy, a white bandeau top wraps snugly around her chest, a pair of black leather pants completing the simple ensemble; she wears it like she was born to it though, stalking her way to the bar before turning and slumping back against the bartop. Flagging down the bartender, she only pauses as she notices a vaguely familiar, purple sight. She blinks. Her head tilts.

She doesn't know Betsy -that- well, but she greets her with recognition all the same, offering the slightest upnod as she projects over the din of the music: "Hey. Nice place, huh?"

She really just has -no- idea.

Betsy Braddock has posed:
Betsy glances over at the redhead, then blinks in surprise. "Rachel? I didn't think I'd see you here." She smiles, looking genuinely pleased to see a fellow mutant and telepath here at the club. She tilts her head, using telepathy to respond to Rachel since, well, the music /is/ pretty loud, so she projects back.

"But yeah, I know the owner, so..." She sounds a bit amused at that, then flags down the bartender, speaking to her, "Hey, whatever she wants, it's on my tab." Because, well, she knows Rachel isn't exactly liquid in this timeline. With that, she glances back to Rachel.

"So, what brings you in, besides the dancing?" Her lips curl into a slight smile, tilting her head towards Rachel as she sounds genuinely curious.

Rachel Summers has posed:
Telepathy: familiar -and- useful. A smile lingers on dark lips as Rachel 'listens' to Betsy's words echoing in her thoughts. The mind is a comfortable place for Rachel to be -- it sets her at ease soon enough and -clear- enough in the way she slumps more bodily against the counter top, relaxing gradually as she catches her breath.

A dark, red brow quirks in curiosity at Betsy's answer. She leans forward as if to whisper something, but her voice is entirely in the other woman's mind as she offers, teasingly,

"Oh, yeah? Lucky you."

What follows, though -- that earns a blink of surprise. Rachel offers a glance as if to say, 'Really?'; but she's not one to look a gift horse and/or drink in the mouth. Smile becoming a dazzling, toothy grin, she turns around to face the bar, abdomen pressing to the countertop and elbows propping on the surface as she lets out a low "hummmmm" of consideration.

"What's those, uh, tequila cocktails, the ones with the salt on the rim? -- Margarita! I'd -love- a margarita. Thanks!" Order made, she eases her way into her seat and, chin propped on her hands, she turns her head back Betsy's way to mouth a cheeky little 'thank you' and a wink. What brings her here, though? She could offer a glib answer. It'd be her kneejerk response, to avoid any vulnerable moments. But she considers, and then...

"Honestly? Mostly the dancing," she answers sincerely. "I never really got a lot of... 'me time' back in my world. So, now I'm trying to decide what 'me time' looks like. It's... It's an ongoing process."

Rachel clears her throat awkwardly. And then she glances back to Betsy, brows raised. "Okay. Your turn: what're you doing here? Waiting for your fancy owner friend?"

Betsy Braddock has posed:
Betsy grows a bit more somber when Rachel describes the dancing and the drink as something she's not used to having, though when she mentions the owner again, Betsy smiles, unable to help herself, "Well, the owner is me, actually... though 'Berto has been making sounds about wanting to buy the place. Which, honestly, would suit me fine, as this is a bit distracting from work at the school." She makes sure that Rachel's margarita has the /quality/ liquor too, nothing cheap or watered down for her.

She then adds, "I was actually getting some things arranged so the manager would be ready to handle things if I wasn't around all the time. But that's pretty much done, so I have free time." A matching margarita comes over to Betsy, as well as the one for Rachel, and she picks up her drink, offering to clink it to Rachel's, "And you'd be a delightful person to spend some time with tonight. If you don't mind, anyway. Cheers!"

Rachel Summers has posed:
Return question fired, Rachel stretches her arms up, uuuup languidly over her head -- and pauses when she gets her answer. Green eyes blink, and then widen, in rapid succession.

"No shit?" she blurts out, because Rachel Summers has heard of social graces, and they're not for her. A second passes by. And then,

"Pffff," the redhead begins, breaking into a brief but rich laugh as she plants a palm to her forehead. "'Know the owner,' huh? You're cheeky, Betsy Braddock."

Still -- it's the rest of what Betsy has to say that draws Rachel's attention. She blinks once again, and looks around her, absorbing the decor as she considers the prospect of selling it. "Seriously, though? This is a real nice place. You'd just give it all away?" Her expression takes on a teasing note as she arches a brow. "The place where I had my first margarita and everything?"

And, as if on cue, those twinned margaritas come hither; telekinesis helps guide the drink into her hand where, soon enough, one salt-rimed rim is clinking against Betsy's own. "If this place is changing hands, I might as well cozy up with the owner while I'm able," she jokes. "I'd love to keep you company, Bets. Cheers to that." And here, she takes a sip of her drink, smacks her lips, and considers. "--Damn. This is good!"

Betsy Braddock has posed:
Betsy grins and sips the drink after Rachel does the clink, "Well, I wouldn't /give/ it away. Roberto would give me a pretty good amount of cash for it, but... well, I don't know if I could sell the first place you had a margarita, in good conscience." She doesn't seem to mind the lack of social graces, even though she has them to spare. Or maybe because of that she doesn't mind, since it's pretty refreshing for her from her surface thoughts.

Then again, surface thoughts seem to indicate Rachel herself is somewhat refreshing.

Betsy grins, "I made sure you got the really /good/ stuff, since well, I have the pull." She laughs a little bit, "So... did you wear yourself out, or would you be up for another dance? I'm feeling a little restless."

Rachel Summers has posed:
"So sweet," Rachel coos. Over the sentiment regarding selling the club, or the margarita? Well...

"Knew there was a reason why I had a good feeling about you." Why not both?

Refreshing. It's a sentiment echoed by Rachel's surface in turn. For someone who's just known the most terrible things about human nature most of her life, this is all refreshing.

-Betsy- is refreshing.

So when that question comes, Rachel makes a good faith attempt to look like she's giving it proper thought. She taps her cheek, drains her margarita, peels the salt off her lower lip with her tongue, looks back towards the dance floor, and says: "-Hm-."

And then, slowly... the short-haired redhead pushes herself out of her seat with the press of palms, speaking as she does,

"Well... seems like I owe you big time, since you got me the -good- stuff and all, right?" She pushes fingers through her short mane of hair, pulling scarlet bangs from those bright green eyes before they turn towards Betsy. A smile tugs on dark lips.

And Rachel offers her free hand, brow arched. "You're lucky I've more than enough got stamina to spare, for you. Let's dance, Bets."

Betsy Braddock has posed:
Betsy grins, "You don't owe me anything, Rachel... but I'll take the dance." She grins and takes Rachel's hand, meeting her gaze, and then they hit the dance floor. And she dances with Rachel to the dance music, the beat heavy as Betsy moves like she's a trained dancer or acrobat, which... considering she's got that ninja training grafted into her, is probably not far from the truth.

She does keep Rachel's hands in hers, though, clearly enjoying the contact as she finds Rachel refreshing, just the sheer difference in perspectives and backgrounds as her dark purple eyes lock onto the bright green ones of Rachel. An unspoken invitation there, as she offers to open some of herself to Rachel. An impulse, perhaps, but there's just something about this night that has her thoughts going in that direction.

Rachel Summers has posed:
Rachel Summers... is an alright dancer. The lack of experience with dancing is immediately obvious. But what she lacks in experience, Rachel more than makes up for in fire: passion drives the redhead, and she throws herself into the moment, letting the music move through her every sway and step, every delighted bounce and bump. Her hips swivel, to tap against Betsy's, and her grin shines brilliantly in the pulsating lights strobing the dance floor, pearls of sweat glimmering within the brief flickers of dawn orange and violet that roll through the stage.

Passionate, enthusiastic -- and observant. So when Betsy's eyes lock onto hers, Rachel more than notices -- she sees what lies beyond them. That grin gradually dwindles as she takes in that invitation... but the intensity of that green-eyes stare never abates for a second as her fingers more securely intertwine between Betsy's own.

She says nothing; she just tugs Betsy in a little bit closer as they dance. A little bit closer, a little bit closer... until Rachel's forehead bumps against Betsy's own. Staring deep into that dark purple stare, as Betsy opens up some of herself to Rachel, so too does Rachel for her, letting her feel the crackling warmth of Rachel's thoughts inviting her in as she tilts her head just enough to let dark red lips brush across Betsy's.

Betsy Braddock has posed:
Betsy gives Rachel a few pointers in the dance, swaying closer to her as she feels the depth of the bond. Unexpected pain and sorrow, joy and happiness, shared in the link as it slowly grows between them. She seems to bask in that warm fire of Rachel's thoughts, almost like a butterfly absorbing and reflecting that fire, reacting to what she has.

As she comes close enough for their lips to brush, her own purple lips grazing against Rachel's, she smiles a little wider, and embraces the moment, and Rachel, giving her a warm kiss as she says mentally in the link, "Wow."

Okay, so she's not exactly the most eloquent right now, as she mentally laughs a little at herself at that response. "Wasn't expecting this Rachel... but I'm assuredly not complaining. At all." The nice thing about talking telepathically is you don't have to break the kiss.

Rachel Summers has posed:
The joys of telepathy. There doesn't have to be a single moment where Rachel has to even think of breaking that blooming kiss as Betsy's self-effacing laughter fills her thoughts.

That means Betsy gets to feel the way Rachel smiles against her lips in response, and -also- feel the way Rachel teasingly, telepathically clucks her tongue as she dives back into that kiss, deepening it slowly as her free arm wraps around Betsy to hold her close and secure.

"Hopefully not too shocking," Rachel laughs richly in Betsy's mind. Her hand climbs Betsy's back until fingers tangle in her hair. The crackle of heat that is Rachel's mental presence envelopes Betsy in turn, letting her feed and soak in the warmth of it all in twining links of flame orange and violet.

Wasn't expecting this. And yet...

"But it felt like the right thing to do. And so far, I think it's proving out..."

Rachel is, if nothing else, a creature of impulse.