20123/Snow Day

Snow Day
Date of Scene:	23 February 2025
Location:	Balcony Sweet (Open)
Synopsis:	It's been a long day for Maddie Pryor. After barely escaping the MLF with Cable, Kurt finds her shivering near the frozen lake on the grounds of Xavier's.
Cast of Characters:	Madelyne Pryor, Kurt Wagner

---

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
The security door tucked inside Xavier's stables slides closed behind her, and with a click of the locks, Madelyne Pryor once again finds herself alone.

Mostly.

As alone as one can be, standing on the grounds of one of the most infamous yet secretive schools in the world.

It's the dead of winter, and though it's cold out, at least there's no blizzard to contend with. Not today, anyway. Even as the red-haired woman approaches the stable door and peers out, a layer of white seems to blanket everything -- the grass, the walkways, the trees, the buildings. Certainly the mansion itself.

Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.

She hasn't stepped foot on these grounds for five years, and she didn't leave on the absolute best of terms. Nothing too dramatic. She didn't try to burn it down or anything. But five years ago, she had no idea why she was even here. She was scared, confused, and in some ways, even angrier than she is now.

Maybe some would understand.

Stepping into the shoes of Ms. Perfect -- Jean Grey -- is a tall order on the best of days. For a woman with no control of her power, no idea why she exists, no recollection of what event even activated her power... it was like being the Prom Queen's dorky twin sister. How were they not supposed to compare them?

And, at that point, how was she supposed to shut them out?

She could hear so many of them, especially the students. How they gawked and wondered and whispered. Rumors spread like... well... high school. Where did she come from? Was she related to Jean? Is she as powerful as Jean? Why is she only showing up now? Did something happen to her? Is she dangerous?

Even in a school full of mutants, she felt like the freak.

It's the last thing in the world she needed. So she left. She struck back out on her own. She kept trying to get a handle on her power, using what few tips she'd been given, and she tried to make a life for herself...

...a life that has, apparently, carried her right back here again.

She's not dressed for the winter. Nathan had pointed out as much before she left his.. um.. man cave. But she couldn't stay there. As much as she wanted to know more about him, she needed time away from him to process everything that happened. Stryfe's people were trying to kidnap her. And she has a son.

Or, at least, some version of her in some reality has a son. And though it doesn't exactly sound like things went well for them -- shocker -- she has an opportunity to get to know the man that her child might have grown up to be. That's... a lot to get your mind around. And while it might not make her a mother, it does make her feel... something. Some protective instinct she can't yet place.

So, she tucks her hands into the pockets of her light leather jacket. Underneath, she's only wearing a light blouse, slacks that have a hole burned in the outer thigh on one side to expose the raw and mostly healed skin underneath, and ankle boots with low heels. It's stylish without looking fancy or rich, but it's also what someone might wear to stave off a brisk ocean breeze, not the bitter, merciless bite of full-on winter.
It doesn't stop her from venturing out into it, though.

She was grateful for Nathan's offer to let her stay, and she may find herself wandering back there at some point, but she's never depended on anyone in her life -- not even in her fake memories. She is fiercely independent, and she was being honest about needing some space to think.

She's a bit of an odd sight, though, as she makes her way towards one of the paths to the lake, coming across a couple of students who are dressed much more warmly than she is.

<< '...It's so cold, I can't wait to get a cup of cocoa...' >>

Their surface thoughts reach her even before the sound of their footfalls crunching through the snow.

"Ms. Grey?" one of the girls asks, obviously concerned about... well... the whole picture. After all, her hair is off, her style is off, there's a hole in one pants leg, and she must be cold...

<< 'Is she okay? Sho

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
<< 'Is she okay? Should I ask her what's wrong?' >>

"I'm fine," she says instead of explaining anything at all, a small smile curving her lips. "You two should get inside where it's warm. I hear there's hot chocolate in the kitchen."

"That's where we're going!" the other girl responds brightly, tugging her friend along.

She doesn't let the weight of it fall, sinking into her chest and threatening to drag her under like a stone to the bottom of the frozen lake ahead of her, until they're well behind her.

Ms. Grey.

Except, she's not Ms. Grey.

She doesn't belong here any more than she belongs on Asteroid M. Less so, perhaps. At least there she isn't mistaken for Jean -- at least, not nearly as often.

It's quiet when her pace finally slows. She wasn't sure where her feet were going to carry her, but they've taken her almost to the edge of the lake. Her arms are folded across herself, closing the thin leather jacket against the frigid air as a light breeze whips at her hair.

Not a human. Not a mutant. Not a daughter. ...Not a mother.

A soft, slow sigh blows past her lips, deflating her shoulders and her chest as her head bows against the cold. Her breath turns to icy fog in front of her.

She's spent years discovering all the things she's not.

But in all that time, the only thing she's been able to say with certainty that she is, is an inferior copy.

Kurt Wagner has posed:
There is always something going on at the Xavier Institute it seems.

Which stands to reason if one stops and thinks about it. Cram a few hundred kids into a school-like environment and a certain amount of chaos is all but guaranteed. Cram a couple of hundred hormonal teenagers with superpowers into the same space and that chaos multiples exponentially.

That there is a chill in the air, that the ample lawns of the Institute are covered in snow certainly encourages a good part of the student body to stick to the dorm rooms or the main building, hurrying back and forth for the most part. Though there are still a dozen or so youngish faces out and about, undeterred by the weather.

A couple of those eager youths are of course the pair of young woman who spot Maddie out and about, who understandably mistake her for Jean Grey - a logical assumption given where they are. And even among mutants it isn't every day that one runs into a nearly exact duplicate of one of your teachers.

The woman might be put off by the familiar figure's suggestion that they hurry along, that they seek out the kitchen and something warm to drink, perhaps eager to get away from the strange spectacle of the usually put together teacher looking a little out of sorts. Looking a little less then her normal sort.

So as Maddie turns, crossing the open, snow-swept lawns that sprawl out towards the nearly frozen over Breakstone Lake, the pair of young woman head into the Mansion proper, into the kitchen, still chatting, their earlier discussion forgotten as they instead focus on murmuring back and forth, speculating on exactly what happened to Ms. Grey, why she's wandering around the grounds not at all dressed for the weather and with a hole in her pants.

Their curiosity is understandable. Something that would be shared by almost anyone that encountered the same. Or heard the pair murmuring back and forth.

Which is where a certain fuzzy blue elf happens to enter the picture. It isn't just students that are drawn to the warmth and comfort of the Mansion's kitchen and while there might be a couple of hours to go until the evening meal, there are plenty of individuals slipping in and out, grabbing snacks before making their way else where in the mansion, or back to their dorm rooms.

One of those present in the kitchen is Kurt Wagner. The deep, indigo fur that covers his form is further set off and contrasted by the bright red sweater that he wears, another layer of cozy comfort on the chilly day.

Strictly speaking there doesn't need to be a teacher present in the kitchen with the students out and about, but it isn't uncommon for one to be present. More then one as often as not, with the room serving as one of the social centers of the Mansion.

Which is why the fuzzy blue elf happens to be present, crouched on one of the high stools, casually sipping a mug filled with steaming hot chocolate, keeping a casual eye out, making sure no one gets up to an excessive amount of mischief.

Somehow Kurt never quite pictured his life turning out like this. Not when he war travelling Europe with his circus, with his adopted family. This feels like it is a world away - and it undeniably is. It's funny how this place has managed to become his home, against all odds. That he would be fortunate enough to find a second adopted family in his life.

For the most part he doesn't pay too much attention to the student gossip. Some of it is amusing true, and some of it is cruel unfortunately. Occasionally it is even enlightening but that's not really why he's here.

Still, it is all but impossible to miss those murmured comments about 'Ms. Grey' and her strange behavior. It is odd enough that Kurt finds himself glancing towards those double doors leading out onto the back patio, to the snow covered lawns and dusted paths.

Kurt Wagner has posed:
He could seek out one of the others, maybe one of those a little closer to Jean, but instead the fuzzy blue elf pauses only long enough to fill a thermos full of that hot chocolate before slipping outside, flashing a grin back into the kitchen as his opening of the door and the gust of cold air that encompasses his exit draws hoot of protest and cat-calls.

Then the door is closed and he is stepping lightly across the ground, no boots on his irregularly shaped feet though neither the snow nor the cold actually seems to hinder him or bother him, making his way along the paths with a certain surprising grace.

It does take him a little looking, even with the pair of young women mentioning that 'Ms. Grey' was headed down in the direction of the Lake, but soon enough Kurt spots a figure standing there, that hair in particular standing out against the pristine snow.

It is only when he nears that he hesitates, that some sense makes him wonder for a moment. Those golden eyes flicker over the woman, and despite all the similarities, despite the logical conclusion that Jean is out here in the cold and snow, a hint of doubt plays through Kurt's mind.

But then he has a better reason then most to make a guess at the truth. Afterall, he has had a far more recent encounter with his teammate's doppelganger.

"Red?" he says as he approaches, calling out not the obvious, put instead taking a stab at the more unlikely.

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
That... voice.

It's bad enough to be stumbled upon out here. It was still late afternoon. The worst of the cold hadn't yet set in, but she still hadn't expected anyone else to follow in the wake of the two girls that were leaving the lake behind.

She thought she'd be alone.

Alone with her thoughts. With her fear. With her anger.

She probably should have expected they'd send someone, though. No one in this fucking school could mind their own business. Not that she had any room to talk, the way she casually skimmed the minds of everyone she passed. But that was different. She didn't then inject herself needlessly into their lives. She didn't meddle. She wasn't some do-gooding busy-body that --

She draws in a breath and blows it out, reaching up to smear her fingers across the soft curves of her cheeks under her eyes.

It was too late to hide it now. The best she could do was smother it, push it back down inside, and move past it.

It was bad enough to be stumbled upon, but it's so much worse to be recognized.

By him.

Composure regained, she turns.

Her face is ghostly pale, all hints of her natural flush of color erased by the cold that bites through her layers. It makes her hair that much more striking, her emerald green eyes that much more vibrant. Like her skin, her lips are pale, but one can almost imagine a blood red lipstick and dark eyeshadow making the sight of her tragically beautiful.

The bitter wind has colored just the very tops of her cheeks and the tip of her nose pink. Or perhaps that has more to do with the glassiness of her eyes, the pale red that creeps in at the corners.

She smiles when her eyes land on the...

...what had he called himself? Elf?

"Zorro..."

Her gaze flickers down briefly and back up, deliberately taking the measure of him.

"No sword, today?" She tsks softly. "That's a pity. I liked the sword."

She hasn't uncrossed her arms. Her slender fingers, also devoid of color with nails painted red to match her hair, lightly clasp her biceps, holding in what little warmth remains.

She doesn't shiver, though she looks like she should, and the tension in her voice certainly suggests she's trying not to. There's something else about her, though, that seems to like the cold -- or perhaps she just likes the challenge of enduring it without giving into it. She is, after all, a woman who refuses to be tamed, even by the winter.

Of course, it had been the zombie horde she'd refused to let tame her last time. And it was from within Kurt that she'd found the spark -- literally and figuratively -- needed to keep pushing them back. That kiss had been...

... well, it had been everything she'd hoped it would be.

In true Madelyne fashion, however, she'd spent the rest of the trip back largely keeping her distance.

Why?

Pure coincidence, of course. She'd gone out to give the boat a telekinetic shove off of the dock to keep the zombies that made it around the fire from overrunning their gang plank. Then she'd gone to attend to the needs of the civilians they'd rescued. Through some twist of fate, nothing else she'd done had brought her back to him again, and at some point, she was simply... gone.

Thank the gods the Brotherhood keeps teleporters on standby.

She'd never intended for things to get 'messy' after that kiss. Oh, she liked him. She found him charming despite her best efforts not to, but frankly, she'd never expected to see Kurt again. Somehow, even the sight of him makes something warm kindle in her chest -- a spark that carries all the way up to soften the pain in her eyes.

Kurt Wagner has posed:
While it is true that Kurt can mind his business when he feels that it is necessary - for instance, in not spending an overabundance of time listening to the teenaged gossip that can spread through the school like a wildfire - he also isn't above interjecting himself when he thinks it is appropriate either.

Or simply when he is curious. There is no real denying that the fuzzy blue elf most definitely has a curious streak.

The sort of streak that would make him venture out into this cold and blustery day. The sort of streak that would make him consider the possibility that the woman standing out there by the frozen shoreline might not actually be Jean at all, but the fiery woman that he met on that mission to Greenland.

It was, frankly, an unlikely meeting. To run into someone who looked so much like one of his teammates. Someone who strangely even seems to boast the same - or at least similar - abilities to Jean Grey. And yet clear is not her.

Of course, there was a lot strange about that particular little mission. All in all, he is unlikely to recommend anyone take on a horde of zombies unless they really have no other choice. Definitely an overrated experience in Kurt's mind.

Though it wasn't all an entirely negative experience of course.

In particular that kiss certainly comes to mind.

Certainly it was a charged sort of circumstances. A desperate fight, the fact that they were very nearly overwhelmed and their last alternative - at least if she hadn't found that spark in time - would have been to run. To try and get that boat unmoored from the dock before the zombies could swarm over them, could swarm over all the people that they had gone to such lengths to save.

All in all, Kurt would have to say that it worked out just about as good as they could have possibly hoped. And as unlikely a series of events as the entire mission might have been, if he was asked, the fuzzy blue elf might - might - just admit that the kiss might have been the high point.

Still, he plainly wasn't expecting to see her again either, not so soon. Certainly not after she all but disappeared from a boat full of refugees without so much as being seen. He most definitely did not expect to run into her again quite so soon. And yet here she is.

It is possible that about a million questions play through his head, ready to tumble out. To ask her what brings her here or all places. To ask her where and how she disappeared last time. Why she disappeared. To try and find out what has brought her out to the shoreline of this frozen lake in what could hardly be considered solid winter attire.

Maybe there is something in her posture, in her tone. Something that suggests that she is not so eager to be interrogated, even by someone she knows - at least in passing. And as she verbally spars with him, the fuzzy blue elf smiles and bends at the waist, giving her an elaborate bow, sweeping one arm up across his chest as he does so.

"For you, Red, I would happily teleport back to my room and fetch one of my swords," just for you," he offers up lightly, padding over towards her, leaving shallow footfalls in the snowy field.

"I'm glad to see you made it off the ship alright. When we were finally away and no one could find you I worried, just a little," he admits wryly. "Even though I was fairly certain that you could take care of yourself," he acknowledges.

Of course, just because she can, doesn't mean that she should be left to do so with no support at all.

Then Kurt clucks his tongue, gives a shake of his head and rather casually reaches up. "Where are my manners?" he asks rhetorically before sweeping that virulent red sweater over his head, holding it out to her. "I know first hand just how hot you can run," he says lightly, maybe a teasing note to his words. "But you look like you need this more then I do right this moment.

Yeah. He's giving her the literal shirt off his back.

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
It was certainly the high point for her.

Then again, she didn't exactly make a habit of going around and kissing random men -- especially fuzzy blue ones, not that she seemed to be bothered at all then or now. In fact, she's not entirely sure what came over her except a... desire?

No. A need.

So much of her power seems fueled by her emotions -- or vice-versa -- that she'd been utterly drained, barely able to go on. And when Kurt had appeared so close beside her, surrounded by the scent of brimstone, and looped that arm around her waist... well... she just did what felt natural.

He'd said he needed a spark. So she gave him one.

And with every step closer, she could feel that spark tingling from her lips, through the small of her back where his hand had been, and all the way down into her toes. And by the time he was standing right in front of her again, she didn't feel nearly so cold anymore.

"That seems like a lot of extra effort when you could just take me to the sword."

There's more than a bit of a playful purr to her words, but there's something in the lingering tightness of her smile that betrays how hollow they are -- like she's just keeping up the banter without actual intent.

A professional seductress she isn't, but she seems to especially enjoy bantering with Kurt. She has since the moment they met.

The concern, however, gets a slight tilt of her head and a broadening of her smile.

"Being my White Knight once wasn't enough for you?"

The question is barely past her lips before he's removing his sweatshirt, however. She's perplexed at first, eyebrows raised as if expecting him to make some sort of macho demonstration for her.

Instead, he hands it to her, and the smirk she was wearing is wiped clean from her face.

It's not that no one has ever helped her before.

Lorna was there after she killed those two men last year, to whisk her away to Genosha.

Magneto compared her DNA to that of Jean Grey and revealed a facet of her life that had previously been kept secret from her.

Fabian volunteered to use his powers to sense hers and divulged what he found -- that she had no active x-gene, but rather a fragment of something called the Phoenix that she still didn't completely understand.

Emma Frost, of all people, was volunteering her time -- and her friendship -- to help her better control her telepathic abilities, to show her how to stretch out against the limits of her capabilities.

Robin -- one of them, at least -- saved her from being taken captive in one of the mutant trafficking rings in Gotham that she was sticking her nose into, trying to figure out where she came from.

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
And Cable... she was still processing everything Nathan had done for her. He kept her from being taken by Stryfe's minions at a minimum and healed the wound she'd gotten, but there was more there. He'd given her something much, much more that he never intended to. Hope. Fleeting hope. He told her that some version of her had a son, and she hadn't realized until that moment how much that would mean to her.

Still, no one has ever given her the shirt off of their back before, and for a moment, she seems to freeze in utter disbelief. Here he is, being her White Knight.... again.

Three... maybe five seconds pass before she reaches out to take it from him, those emerald eyes dipping between it and him for another second or two, as if waiting for a 'cost' associated with the gesture to be announced. When one doesn't seem to be forthcoming, she looks down at it again, turns it around in her hands, and then pulls it over her head.

She looks ridiculous.

It bulges from the jacket underneath, and though Kurt isn't so large that it swallows her, it's such a stark contrast to her 'style' that, against the snow, it almost seems like she's trying to pull off a hand-me-down 'ugly Christmas sweater.'

She lifts her hands to pull her hair out of the neckline, but the warmth still lingering inside the sweater is already spreading through her, wrapping her up like a cocoon that smells...

...that smells like... Kurt.

She takes just another moment to inhale -- trying to be discreet about it, though more heat rises up into her cheeks, adding color where there was none before.

"Thank you," she says finally, once more wrapping her arms around herself to trap in the warmth. There's the briefest note of concern in them as she looks him over, but she seems to think better of asking the question on the tip of her tongue -- are you sure? She's already put it on, and if he wasn't, he wouldn't have given it to her.

So, instead, she asks a different question.

"You think I'm hot?"

She asks with a playful, teasing lilt to match his own, as if he hadn't kissed her back that night just as fervently as she'd kissed him. Still, to the most astute observer, there's a flicker of insecurity behind that bravado.

To those with superhuman levels of observation skills or those who know a bit more about her history, there's more than a flicker, of course. Madelyne Pryor, the broken clone who should not exist, is swimming in it. But she keeps it carefully tucked away so it can't be used against her.

Kurt Wagner has posed:
From someone else, literally sweeping his sweater off in the middle of a frigid February day might feel just a little too much. Too much of a gesture, too much a show of male pride perhaps.

But admittedly for Kurt it manages to be a little less so.

There is no bravado in his eyes, no seeking of approval. Those golden orbs merely regard her with a degree of compassion.

It does potentially help as well that he clearly is better prepared to deal with the cool weather due to that fine indigo fur that seems to cover him, likely offering a degree of warmth as well.

He might very well still feel the cool air, but he seems better able to deal with it then most and he gives not so much as a shiver as he presses that bright red sweater on her.

There too is the fact that she has experienced that faint brimstone scent that hangs around him after he has teleported if only for moments, that scent of burning sulphur that speaks to an unnatural heat that somehow seems to be very much a part of the fuzzy blue elf. Entirely fitting for that faintly demonic appearance about his facial features, though clearly at odds with his demeanor.

He almost certainly has to be curious about what sorts of little twists of fate could bring her here of all places. He did not know if they would cross paths again to be sure, not after her abrupt exit from their shared arctic adventure. Not after her abrupt exit after their shared kiss.

But it seems like a safe bet that he didn't imagine any future meeting was likely to take place here, on the grounds of the Xavier Institute.

On the one hand, it seems fitting of course. It is difficult to imagine that she does not have some sort of connection to Jean Grey. The resemblance in some respects is uncanny, even if the demeanor, if they way that she carries herself is distinctly her own.

So the fact that he should happen to find her standing here, standing down by the windswept, frozen lake on one hand feels entirely natural. Almost like she belongs.

But on the other hand there seems to be a certain air of... discomfort that she holds herself with at being in this place. That she doesn't quite fit. That she is not at all sure that she wants to be here.

It certainly would explain why she's standing here in the cold on her own. It would explain why she sent those two girls on their way, letting them assume that she was the teacher that they're familiar with instead of a stranger to the school. Why she hasn't sought anyone out, hasn't stopped in at the Mansion proper.

Yes, Kurt has no shortage of reasons to be curious about just what brings her here. Why she is standing out here on her own. No shortage of reasons to be curious about the how's and why's of her abrupt departure from Greenland or the circumstances that should bring her back around in his path today.

But he suspects, right at the moment, she doesn't have any great desire to answer any of those questions. And never let it be said that Kurt is any less of a gentleman, unwilling to press her on that.

Besides, the truth of the matter is that no matter just what might have brought her to his own familiar stomping grounds, he is rather pleased to see her.

Part of that is surely the result of the sort of comradery that can only come about when you've faced death with someone of course. It's the sort of thing that he has built up with a large number of his fellow X-Men.

But, if Kurt were to be entirely honest, he would probably have to admit to the fact that it might - might - just have a little something to do with that kiss that they shared. He asked her for a spark and she more then delivered.

So he flashes that grin at her, those golden eyes practically dancing. "I would be most pleased to show you my sword collection. And I would highly recommend it as well, given that it would be much warmer then standing out here by the frozen lake," the fuzzy blue elf asserts.

Kurt Wagner has posed:
For just a moment his gaze slips past her, slips over to that frozen lake. It is pretty enough of course, covered in that layer of frozen glass. Even the snow-topped beach house on the shores offering a nice little contrast to the starkness.

But it is wide open and flat and with only a few trees to so much as break the wind, it is definitely a little chilly.

"Don't get me wrong. You've picked a picturesque sort of spot to be sure. But it is much more pleasant in the summer. Or even the spring and autumn," Kurt muses before his grinning visage turns her way once more.

That question draws a low, rich laugh from him, the corners of his mouth quirking upward. "When it comes to heat, Red, you are most definitely smoldering," he counters lightly, brows arching ever so slightly as he leans forward in a conspiratorial fashion. "But I think I know just what could truly help ignite you..."

It's such an obvious opening, but trust Kurt not to go for the entire obvious. Instead those playful eyes dance as that thermos emerges from behind his back, tail coiled around it, holding it aloft as easily as any of his hands. "May I suggest some hot chocolate? Guaranteed to heat even the most fiery of souls."

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
Discomfort is a good way to put it.

Madelyne is a woman trapped between worlds, and that is never more physically apparent than it is in this moment. Unwilling to go inside. Unable to stay outside much longer. Unsure if she should call a cab and make her way elsewhere. Unsure if it's safe enough to leave. Unsure if she should go back to Nathan's stable-bunker...

She's trapped her, frozen -- almost literally -- in indecision.

"You know, I'd never really had an interest in swords until I saw you with one. I've always thought of them as... archaic." A quiet, mirthless laugh escapes. "Who fights with swords in this day and age? ... But you ... you make it look ... graceful. Like a dance. It was impressive to watch..."

But then he's leaning in.

But I think I know just what could truly help ignite you...

Heat radiates through her limbs from her rapidly tightening chest as her breath catches, but despite the forwardness -- which she could hardly blame him for, given how she'd acted during their last meeting -- she makes no sign of backing away from what was coming.

It was one thing to kiss him in the heat of the moment, an impulsive decision that she'd given herself no time to consider the consequences of. It's another to be this close to him, gazing up at him, alone by this frozen lake, engulfed in a cloud of his scent that wafts up from the warmth of his sweater...

She says nothing. Doesn't breathe. Moves not one single muscle except for her eyes, which seem to shift around his face, unable to decide whether to focus on his gaze or his lips...

May I suggest some hot chocolate?

...What?

It's not disappointment so much as confusion that replaces the expectation on her features, her gaze finally shifting to the hovering -- no, not hovering -- thermos. She blinks once, that tail and the obvious ploy causing a bubble of rich, warm laughter to spill past her lips.

Heat darkens her cheeks as she raises a hand to cover her mouth, to hide away the sound and the smile, though the joy is clear in her eyes as they move back to his face.

It takes her a moment to regain her composure, and when she does, it's not clear at all that any of the earlier discomfort still lingers in her mind. The worries about the students, about Jean, about not belonging seem... gone. All that remains in the smile that lingers is a woman wrapped in a warm red sweatshirt, gazing up at a fuzzy blue man.

"I... would love some hot chocolate."

There's a beat, though, as her gaze flickers towards his chest and a wry little grin twists one side of her lips a little higher than the other.

"Would you... prefer to go inside?"

As soon as the question is out of her mouth, she turns to look back towards the mansion, however, and a flicker of that hesitation returns just to the corner of her eyes.

"Maybe... somewhere without many students."

It seems that, for all that earlier playfulness, she didn't actually take the offer to see his sword collection as a sincere one. Though when her eyes sweep back to him, it's quite clear it might be the best one.

Kurt Wagner has posed:
While the cold might not bother him as much as some, that doesn't mean that he wouldn't prefer to be somewhere a little warmer. And while there is indeed a certain stark beauty in the frozen landscape around them, in the relatively quiet solitude that certainly comes at a premium given that they are otherwise surrounded by over a dozen different teachers and hundreds of students on the sprawling campus of the Xavier institute, they both might be willing to trade a little solitude for some added warmth.

Or they don't necessarily need to make that decision.

Clearly Kurt doesn't mind subverting expectations now and then. Some of that is clearly inherent to who and what he is. HIs appearance can be startling, even fear-inducing to some. Certainly some of that passes over time, as people get to know him. But it is a little rare for strangers to immediately take to him given his not exactly human appearance.

Just as he clearly doesn't mind exactly teasing Maddie with one thing, that he might just return that fiery kiss that they shared on those frigid arctic docks while surrounded by a horde of advancing zombies. And instead offer a thermos-full of hot chocolate instead.

Given the way those bright golden eyes flicker over her, that they dart towards her lips for just a moment, it certainly seems like the fuzzy blue elf perhaps did consider another means of generating a little heat between them.

But in this instant at least, it seems like it is possible that a hot beverage and a friendly shoulder might be a little more required then his attentions, no matter how well intended.

He doesn't know what has brought Maddie here, doesn't know exactly what is troubling her. But Kurt is a fairly good student of the sorts of things that can plague one's thoughts, and clearly something is troubling the lovely redhead.

And while he might not be in any position to fix it, perhaps not even to make it better, he can at the very least offer a sort of refuge from her problems. A momentary respite. A chance to put them aside, at least for a little while. Or, should she choose, a friendly, non-judgmental set of ears.

Either way as he waggles that container of hot chocolate playfully there between them, as he watches as some of that tension seems to visibly flow out of her, the fuzzy blue elf flashes that sincere smile once more.

"That sounds like an excellent idea," he agrees immediately. "Because as lovely as a setting as you've chosen, this afternoon breeze is -cold-," Kurt asserts, giving a mock shiver, a full body shudder before winking at her and stepping close once more. "Though perhaps I shall get the chance to show it off to you again when the weather warms."

Slipping in against her side, that arm slides around her like it did back in Greenland, dancing yellow eyes sweeping her way once more. "Forgive my presumption, but I can pretty much assure you that you will not be observed this way," he murmurs.

Then they are simply gone, a rapidly dissipating cloud of inky black mist left in their wake, fading away in the middle of that icy lawn...

...while they reappear in what appears to be a comfortable sort of apartment, the furnishings oversized and padded, unpretentious. Bookshelves are interspersed between the sofa and chairs, books heaped in no particular order while various movie posters and other memorabilia seems to cover the walls and most available surfaces.

"As promised... and not a single student to gawk at you," he adds lightly as he motions about his quarters.

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
Can Maddie read Kurt's mind?

She doesn't know.

She could communicate with him telepathically through that link while they were fighting off the zombie horde together, but here, now, it's almost like keeping her eyes closed. Ever since their first exchange, he's surprised her with his cleverness, and there's something in the added suspense of not knowing, even if she could, what he was about to say or do.

She can't remember the last person she felt that way about. She almost always wants to know everything she can about someone as quickly as possible.

But on several occasions -- notably Fabian and Nathan, most recently -- she's made a conscious effort to stay out once she realized they didn't want her poking around. With Kurt, though, she's never even gone so far as to try.

It's ridiculous. It feels childish, and it's probably foolish. But some part of her thoroughly enjoys not being able to predict what he'll do next.

...to show it off to you again when the weather warms.

That shouldn't make her smile, but it does. It's just a playful flirtation. The chances of them still being in contact several months from now, once spring has had a chance to set in, are miniscule. The chances that she'll be willing to get anywhere near Xavier's are even smaller.

But even so, the thought has her mind wandering even further from her troubles, to green grass and blooming flowers and ripping water and...

Kurt steps closer, and the way she settles into the arm that sweeps around her is almost too fluid. There's no hesitation, just an expectant gaze up at him -- waiting.

It hadn't even been hours since she'd traveled half-way around the world using Cable's bodyslide technology -- the disorienting effects of which had her bracing herself on his sofa once they finally settled.

And now? More teleportation.

At this rate, it might be enough to make a woman ask if she'll have to walk anywhere ever again. But unlike the bodyslide, which seemed to upset her equilibrium jump after jump, the bamf through Kurt's inter-dimensional shortcut seems not to phase her at all.

In fact, if anything, she seems to find the lingering scent of brimstone... pleasing. She tilts her nose up ever so slightly at their arrival, a little smile curling her lips.

He's right. There's not one student. In fact, just like being beside the lake, there's no one here except them. There is, however, a glorious feeling of warmth that caresses her face, her neck, her hands.

"One day, I wouldn't mind knowing how that works..."

One day.

Maybe the idea of their.. friendship.. lasting more than a few hours isn't entirely off the table in her mind, either.

It takes her a moment to realize she hadn't actually stepped away from him when they'd arrived. She hadn't exactly needed to remain huddled there against his side, but she had as she first looked around, taking it all in.

"This is... yours?"

It seems like an obvious question. After all, would he have taken her to someone else's apartment? But they say the only dumb questions are the ones you don't ask, and it tumbles past her lips even as she takes the first step out of his arm. Her own arms return to fold under her chest. Not to brace against the cold anymore. Now it just seems... protective. Closed off. A woman for whom, as a general rule, the word vulnerability simply doesn't exist.

The bookshelves draw her first, a few slow steps carrying her towards them as her eyes sweep over the spines of those books set around -- the mix of fantasy and historical texts bringing one hand up, though she stops short of actually touching anything.

Kurt Wagner has posed:
It seems... likely that as he is around telepaths nearly every day, that as he trains with some of the very best around that Kurt has been given some training into how to shield his thoughts. Certainly he doesn't seem to practically broadcast them, scream them out into the void as some people are prone to do.

And yet there doesn't appear to be very much about the fuzzy blue elf that is closed off. Everyone has a private side so it stands to reason that Kurt is no different, but he certainly doesn't seem shy about putting himself forward to the world, unabashed and unashamed.

Clearly he knows that she has some psychic gifts after their little mission to the north. But it is just as clear that he doesn't seem to feel the slightest hesitation in being around her either. Maybe it is just a certain familiarity with telepaths in general. Maybe it is the fact that they have worked together now, fought side by side and gained a measure of trust as a result.

Or maybe it is a matter that he rather likes this woman and doesn't exactly object to the idea of her knowing just what he's thinking.

Either way, he doesn't seem to be in a huge hurry to disentangle himself from her either, lingering close as she sweeps her gaze over his comfortable quarters though as she steps away, drawn towards those bookshelves, he lets her go without hesitation and instead turns towards a nearby cart pressed up against the corner, right near a tiny kitchenette.

"Welcome to my home!" he says, sweeping a hand around the comfortable confines of the room in an encompassing gesture. "Mine in terms that it is where I stay while here on campus at least," he says with a grin.

The chambers somehow suit him. They are comfortable, homey, but certainly not neat given a certain amount of clutter present. The furniture lends itself again, to comfort over style - though most would say the fuzzy blue elf carries himself with a signature style - and the windows remain bare for the moment, letting the stark grey light of the wintery afternoon pour in, brightening the day while leaving all the various movie posters and little knick knacks brightly lit.

"It is perhaps not much, but it suits me well enough. Please, make yourself at home as well," he says with a grin as he plucks a pair of mugs out from that cart, that clever tail bringing the thermos forth once more as he unscrews the top and begins to pour out a measure of that hot, dark liquid into both of the cups, collecting them before turning back her way, joining her by the bookshelf and casually offering her one of those same cups.

The isolation of his quarters isn't quite as stark as the field by the lake. She can undoubtedly feel the presence of others -- quite a few of them -- much more closely, though the solid construction of the mansion seems to mute any sort of noise or intrusion and the windows that look out over the grounds remains mostly devoid of any movement or distractions, few choosing to be out and about in the cold when they can crowd the rec room or other facilities while they wait for dinner.

"My teleportation?" he asks casually. "You're not the only one. It is something of a mystery even to myself," he admits with a smile. "Not to everyone's taste, admittedly. The brimstone scent alarms some people I think. And while most people can travel with me for one hop without much issue, I have found that most others find it... uncomfortable to do a second or more in short succession."

Indeed, he has found it a good way to incapacitate some of his foes from time to time.

"I must say, I didn't expect to run into you again quite so soon. And certainly not here of all places," the fuzzy blue elf admits before that grin quirks into existence once more. "But I am most pleased that I have."

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
Where he stays while here on campus...

So he stays other places? Did she just happen to luck upon him? Or rather, did he just happen to luck upon her? Where else does he stay? What does he do here? Why does he stay here?

She's brimming with questions, all of them adding a certain buzz of tension to her as she politely keeps them all inside and manages -- still -- to resist the temptation to go fishing for answers herself.

That attempt to minimize his home brings up a soft, mirthless chuckle. "It's more than I -- "

No. She seems to realize how that sounds before the words are even fully out in the world. "It's very nice," she says instead.

But then he's by her side again, and she turns enough to take the cup from his hand with both of hers and a small smile lingering on her lips.

"Thank you."

The words are sweet and warm, not unlike the hot cocoa itself, as Madelyne takes one of the offered cups and lifts it, with the faintest little tilt of a toast, to her lips for a long sip.

Gods.

Her eyes close. Her throat bobs as the liquid warms her from the inside, and a sigh of contentment blows past her nose.

It's the explanation of his brimstone teleportation that has those green orbs opening again, searching his. Specifically, it's the word 'alarm' that gets the brunt of her focus, open amusement twinkling in her eyes.

"I find it hard to believe that anything about you could be alarming," she muses. It's not meant to be an open challenge or any kind of posturing, but there's no hint of anything that looks like concern in her features.

She's not threatened by him. At all.

In fact, she seems to prefer when he's closer rather than farther away, and even as she sips her cocoa, she lingers closer than is absolutely necessary.

...I didn't expect to run into you again quite so soon...

And there it is. The opening provided for her to explain her presence here without the crude attempt to come right out and demand an answer. Though she has no idea what to say, there is some gratitude in the way her eyes dip almost demurely in thought.

It's the last part she wasn't expecting...

But I am most pleased that I have.

That surprise is visible in her eyes when they lift again, as if it was the last thing she expected anyone in the world to say to her.

And just for a moment -- just for the space of a few heartbeats -- she can't help herself. As she stares into his eyes, she reaches out with her mind in search of the answer to one, solitary question.

Does he mean it?

She shouldn't have to. She's in his home, wearing his sweatshirt, holding a mug of hot cocoa he made for her, after he rescued her from god knows how many more hours of just... standing there in the snow, underdressed, enduring the cold as a way to cope with everything she was feeling. All the answer she needs is right there in their proximity, in the grin on his lips.

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
Still, she can't help herself. She can't resist the urge to know if he's lying, if he's putting on some act, if there's some ulterior motive... or if he's genuinely happy to see her.

"I wasn't expecting to see you here, either," she says after a moment, her voice soft and amused. "Especially since I hadn't even made up my mind about coming inside. But..."

There's a pause, like the next words will cost her something -- will expose something she isn't used to showing.

"...I'm very glad you found me."

Those words spoken, however, she dips her eyes back to her cup, taking another sip as she ambles away again like needed to put space between herself and that admission. It doesn't seem to matter where she ambles to next. A corner of the couch, letting her fingers travel over the material, a lamp, the window... anything to give her something else to look at.

"Charles and Jean have no idea I'm here," she says after a moment, though as soon as the words are out, she pauses, a wry grin twisting her lips.

"Actually, that's almost certainly not true. What I mean to say is... I haven't told them. Nath -- " She takes a breath. "Cable brought me here from Genosha. I... needed a place to lie low for a little while. Figure out what to do. But this..." She reaches up to brush her hair behind her ear. "This isn't exactly my favorite place."

She pauses, eyes still cast out the window, and gives her head a little shake.

"The school, I mean," she amends, looking down and to the side as a wry smile touches her lips. "Actually, this might be my favorite room in the whole building."

Kurt Wagner has posed:
It would seem that Kurt is more then content to allow her to explore, to poke about the room as she will without trying to steer her, or point out anything in particular. He doesn't hover, not exactly, but instead remains solicitously close, ready to offer a hand or explanation as required without demanding her attention or trying to push or pull her in any particular direction.

Those large, three-fingered hands remain curled around the mug that looks a little too small amidst them, lifting it to his mouth occasionally to take a small sip of the still steaming liquid, seeming to enjoy that rush of heat, that hint of sweetness. The cold might not have affected him in quite the same way as her, even stripping that sweater off and leaving him in a simply button-down shirt of dark grey -- far more subtle then the bright red sweater but just as striking in it's own way against his indigo fur.

The posters on the walls appear to mostly be of classic movies, swashbuckler films from nearly a century ago though here and there are more modern offerings. The books likewise are an ecclectic mix of all eras of history while the literature trends towards the heroic and adventurous, or else the romantic.

None of it seems to have any clear order that can be determined, frequently piled up, stacked up in a mix of eras and genres as if he simply grabbed what suited him at the time before laying it aside to move onto something else.

The memorabilia and souvenirs are much the same, laid out seemingly at whim, by feel, rather then by any rhyme or reason. A number of photographs line the walls as well, many and varied with most clearly featuring the staff and students here on the grounds of the Xavier Institute though older ones show a younger Kurt, back into his teens and even more youthful, seemingly a part of some circus, frequently featuring cities that would appear to have an old school, European bent.

And of course there are the swords. As promised, there are no shortage of them displayed on the wall, on the mantle over the little fireplace that graces the room. Most appear to be similar to the one he carried that night in Greenland, thinner, lighter blades. Rapiers, foils, epees and sabers predominate though the odd blade with a more eastern flair are also visible in the collection, all of which would seem to suit his more graceful, dancer-like style rather then standing and hacking at another person.

At her compliment, he beams, the expression seemingly genuine, sincerely glad that she appreciates the odd decor that he has thrown together and he gives a quiet laugh and a self-deprecating little shrug. "It suits me well enough. I'm glad it does you as well. You are certainly welcome anytime."

When she finally gives into temptation, when she finally decides to try and peek into his head to see what she'll find there, what hidden agenda may be tucked away, she won't find it that hard to slip past his defenses. That they are there at all despite him demonstrating no psychic powers at all would seem to serve as a testament to the time spent with Charles Xavier, Jean Grey and other telepaths of their like. But they are no unbreachable walls.

And when she slips past? What she finds might be startling indeed.

It would seem that Kurt is truly, genuinely, honestly pleased to see her. To benefit from her company once more. There seems to be no guile or pretense to any of it, though it also won't be that hard to sense that curiosity about what brought her there, how she knows this place, it doesn't seem to be at the forefront of his thoughts. It doesn't seem ready to burst forth, to demand any answer that she might not feel like giving.

Kurt Wagner has posed:
Though in the end it doesn't seem as if she's inclined to deny those answers anyway, quickly confirming that she does indeed know Jean and the Professor. That this is not the first time she has been on these grounds. That seemed likely of course, still it is one curious note satisfied and Kurt nods his head as she explains her presence, that her previous associates are unaware of her being here. That she was brough here by the enigmatic soldier from the future.

"Well, whatever brought you here, consider yourself most welcome," he says with another grin and sweeping gesture.

Then it is his own turn to offer up an explanation, to note just what drew him out into the cold to see her out. That it was not pure chance afterall that brought him to her.

"As you may have guessed, I call the school home as well and number one of it's teachers. History, in point of fact," he says slyly, again gesturing towards the piles of books, many of which seem to touch on that particular subject in all its diversity.

"A pair of young women came into the kitchen and mentioned that they had run into Ms. Grey roaming around in the cold, that she seemed... different. I figured I should check and make sure she was okay. So you can imagine my surprise when I saw you standing down by the lake," he says, that grin making its reappearance.

"I can certainly understand their mistake," he concedes. The resemblance, afterall, is fairly uncanny, especially to anyone who didn't know that Maddie was out there. "I, fortunately, tend to remember women that have kissed me. Particularly ones that can practically set my world on fire with such a kiss," he says lightly, those golden orbs of his eyes twinkling a little mischievously as he teases her.

Though in his head those same thoughts hold more then a little ring of truth to them. Playful or not, they would seem every bit sincere as well.

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
You are certainly welcome anytime.

Dangerous words. Or they would be, if she was inclined to spend more time at the school. For an aimless woman with a lot of time on her hands, there are a lot of moments contained within an 'anytime.'

But even more startling than the open-ended invitation is what she finds within his mind. No malice. No ulterior motives. No pretense. Just... interest. Genuine interest. And it makes her heart beat a little harder, her grip on her cup tighten a little more.

Had she been expecting to find something in there to dissuade her from the attraction that had started needling at her from the first moments? Had she hoped to latch on to some excuse? Something to point to? Some reason that this whole thing is just some sick fantasy because he's secretly infatuated with Jean?

Maybe.

...consider yourself most welcome.

Her eyes lift to his again, and in them, there's a kind of bittersweet amusement. He doesn't understand. She can't go throw herself at the mercy of Charles and Jean. Not again. She could go sleep in Cable's... whatever it is. But ultimately, her pride would have her trying her luck at some motel and hoping that Stryfe's people didn't have the resources to find her.

"You're a history teacher. Haven't you learned not to invite evil spirits into your home?"

Her lips twist into that wry, playful smile.

The mention of 'Ms. Grey' darkens her expression just a shade or two. She doesn't like the comparison, but it can hardly be helped, especially as part of the retelling of how she found herself in his presence.

Of course, she should have expected the girls to run right in and start blabbing about seeing Jean. Which would, no doubt, be a surprise to Jean herself at some point.

So you can imagine my surprise...

"How did you -- ?"

She stops herself to listen instead of wondering aloud how he knew the difference so quickly, and when that explanation comes, it steals the breath from her lungs.

Her smile turns warm, just a bit shy, and... hungry. Her eyes dip to his mouth involuntarily, and a subtle movement of her lower lip betrays the way she worries at it with her teeth.

He wasn't the only one that felt the heat that had nothing to do with the fire they'd set.

"I needed..."

Her voice trails off, unsure why she feels the need to try to justify the kiss other than the growing sense of awkwardness. Some part of her knows she has nothing to fear from him, that he isn't hiding anything from her, that everything she feels from him -- and for him -- is absolutely sincere.

And while she might not be afraid of him, she is afraid of that.

But fear, as she's told herself so many times in the past, has never once served her purposes.. never once gotten her closer to anything she's ever wanted.

So after a moment, her eyes lift again to his, and she takes a half step towards him, closing most of the distance between them.

"I wanted," she corrects herself softly, that hungry smile still teasing at the corners of her lips, "to see if I was right."

Right about what? A lot of things, really. Whether a kiss would give her enough to ignite the fuel. Whether his kiss would be particularly effective. And not only had she ignited the fire, but she'd gone on to move a ship away from the dock. Clearly, it had been more than enough to reignite whatever power was dwindling inside her.

So her eyes linger as she hovers in his space, looking up at him. Red hair frames her green eyes, but the color has mostly returned to her cheeks. His sweatshirt hangs over her, still bulging in odd places because of her jacket underneath. Her hands still cup her hot chocolate. But it would take nothing.. barely a movement to close the remaining distance as she tilts her face up towards him.

"I was," she admits after a moment, her voice just barely above a whisper, heat flushing her cheeks as her eyes all but beckon him. "You are an even better kisser than you are a swordsman."

Kurt Wagner has posed:
He doesn't know the circumstances of her earlier visit to the Mansion.

Oh, there well might be a report somewhere, filed away. Then again, it might be something that Charles and Jean considered personal. Kurt doesn't know the circumstances. He doesn't need to know. There might be some curiosity to him, she can sense that much in his mind and it is equally apparent in those intelligent eyes.

But clearly he also doesn't feel the need to intrude on her privacy just because of that curiosity. It is apparently not enough justification all on it's own. He might not seem particularly bothered with keeping secrets about himself, but he just as clearly doesn't seem to feel that everyone should feel the same as he does.

Acceptance, as much as curiosity, as much as attraction seems to radiate from the fuzzy blue elf as he regards her.

He doesn't know the precise circumstances that have brought her here. He can't really. He doesn't even know where she went after vanishing from that ship full of escaping people from that northern port town. He doesn't know that she is fleeing trouble - though the fact that Cable brought her here certainly would suggest something of the sort. The man doesn't seem to do very much at all on a whim. And going to Genosha to do so?

That doesn't seem to be a coincidence.

But none of that seems to be of the foremost importance to Kurt at the moment. Indeed, he seems more then content to play eager host, happy to help her settle herself in, to get comfortable.

Or at least as comfortable as she is capable of being here.

It isn't hard to sense that... reluctance to be here. Not so much in his quarters, or in his company. But here at the school. And with the way she mentioned Charles and Jean, it wasn't exactly difficult to guess at the why of it all.

He might not know her circumstances, might not know of her relation to Jean, of her previous experience with this place. But it isn't exactly difficult to tell that she doesn't look upon it with the greatest of fondness. If there was any doubt the way her expression darkens at the mention of being mistaken for Jean seems to provide all the confirmation that's required.

"Lets just say that I consider it a fair risk," Kurt counters the notion that she is some evil spirit with a smile. "I mean, I've teleported with you now a few times and you certainly feel a great deal more solid then any mere spirit should," he points out reasonably before that impish glint creeps back into those golden eyes as they sweep over her. "Amongst other things."

While he might not want to do anything to add to her discomfort, it at least plays a part in the fact that he doesn't push her for answers, for greater understanding in just why she's here, or her past history with this place. Doesn't push her for just what her ties to Jean might be. But then his gentle teasing doesn't seem to bother her.

There might be a degree of uncertainty there, a faint hint of anxiety, but Kurt is relatively attentive to such things. He has learned to tell when he is making someone uncomfortable, even mildly and that does not seem to be the case with her. Whatever is troubling her, it seems to be coming from elsewhere.

At least judging from the fact that she steps closer.

The compliment makes the corners of his mouth quirk upward once more and while those golden eyes might never leave her own, he does reach out, one hand snagging one of her own slowly, cradling it gently so she can readily slide it away even as he slowly raises it.

"I do enjoy a good sword fight," the fuzzy blue elf concedes, that smile slowly growing. "But somethings are most definitely more enjoyable then a fencing session," he admits.

"Should you feel the need to experiment further, please know that you shall find an enthusiastic volunteer awaiting any future inquiries," he says lightly, bowing his head and lifting that hand to his lips, brushing a kiss across the backs of her knuckles.

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
...you certainly feel a great deal more solid...

Her mouth falls open, and a feminine scoff of righteous indignation escapes as her green eyes flare with melodramatic levels of faux outrage.

...Amongst other things.

And of course he saves it, those eyes narrowing shrewdly even as her gaping expression slips into a sly smile.

"Well, that's better," she practically purrs. "I'm not sure which ladies you've been spending time with who enjoy being described as 'solid'..."

But amusement flickers in her eyes, and there's not even a hint of a bite to her words. In fact, the more they banter, the more she seems to relax. The more she seems to relax, the more her gaze seems to... linger. The more her gaze lingers, the closer she seems to drift.

It isn't long before she's closing the remaining distance with that step, tilting her face up at him -- unmistakable in her interest or intent.

But he doesn't seize upon it.

He doesn't claim her lips, even though she all but offered them on a silver platter. And while that might stir just a moment of self doubt, there have been too many signs, too many playful words, for her to believe she's completely misread the situation.

... please know that you shall find an enthusiastic volunteer ...

...Then he lifts her hand.

Her eyes fall to where their fingers meet. She makes no move to pull away, simply watching in speechless fascination as he guides her knuckles to his mouth and bows his head.

And when his lips brush against her skin, it's like her heart flips over in her chest.

It was never supposed to be like this. That kiss was... amazing. It was impulsive. It was like fireworks and warm honey and heat... so much heat. But she hadn't meant to complicate either of their lives with feelings. She'd left, in fact, before that could ever become an issue.

But then he was there beside the lake, giving her his sweater.

And now she can't stop the way her heart races like she's just run a marathon, pounding in her neck, at her wrists, in her own ears so loudly she can barely hear her own thoughts.

"Such a gentleman."

It's supposed to be a tease, a way to downplay just how much that simple gesture means to her, but it comes out too breathless. Too sincere. Too genuinely smitten.

He is a gentleman.

But she's no lady.

She's not... anything.

Some part of her knows she shouldn't be leaning up into him, but she can't stop. She knows she shouldn't be letting her mug of cocoa go and using her telekinetic powers to guide it to the closest nearby table, just so that she can reach up and cradle his cheek with her fingers.

She definitely shouldn't be stretching up through her toes and guiding her mouth back to his, letting a soft breath pass through her nose as she claims a kiss so much gentler than before. And yet, somehow, no less needy. Because while it might start soft, barely more than a brush of lips, that fire seems to catch and begin to blaze out of control in a matter of heartbeats.

And it isn't long before that kiss can barely even be called a kiss.

She clings to him, pulling herself up against him, and within seconds, there seems to be no restraint to the way she devours him.

Kurt Wagner has posed:
To put it simply, Kurt Wagner's day has taken something of an unexpected twist.

Not that he is complaining mind you, not in the slightest. But this certainly wasn't on the agenda when he woke up in the morning. It wasn't even a thought when he ventured out of the mansion, over those snow dusted paths and open field where the winter wind bites hardest. It wasn't even a consideration when he laid eyes on her, when he instinctively knew that it was not his teammate Jean Grey standing there, but the alluring and mysterious woman he met on that unlikely trip to Greenland.

He didn't share his sweater imagining it would lead here, didn't offer up some shared hot chocolate expecting her lips would be glued to his own in short order once more. He didn't even teleport her here, to his rooms with that notion playing anywhere in his head.

And she should know, given the ease with which she is able to infiltrate his thoughts, despite all his training.

More then anything, in that moment, it felt like Red - some part of him might forever more think of her in that way, such can be the impact of first impressions - truly, desperately needed a friend.

And being a friend is something that Kurt Wagner is pretty good at.

For some, religion and belief can quickly become a vessel for intolerance, a set of rules and standards to hold everyone else up against and find them wanting without ever looking at one's self. One's own actions.

Religion has a profound influence on Kurt's life. But he is far more interested in the tolerance piece. In the caring for others. In taking the best parts of his Catholic faith and letting it lift up himself and those around him, instead of looking for ways to force others to conform.

Some of that no doubt has to do with his own experiences. With being rejected by so much of the world at large and yet finding pockets and people who love and accept him for who he is. A willingness to pay it forward in the best sort of ways.

So yes, he opened up his private rooms to serve as a bit of a sanctuary for her, when she was clearly so ill at ease with this place, with whatever has happened to bring her here. He offered a degree of comfort and company without trying to pry into her mysteries, into whatever so clearly is troubling her, giving her the chance and the choice on whether or not to speak about them.

He was, in short, more then happy to play the friend.

But it is pretty hard to ignore that chemistry between them.

It is fair to say that the fuzzy blue elf would much rather be a lover then a fighter. He can be surprisingly effective at the later admittedly. He is fast, elusive, clever and has a sneaky grasp of tactics and how to make the most of any situation. But he has a caring and empathic streak a mile deep.

And as she herself has acknowledged, he is a pretty good kisser.

Of course, it helps when there is that much heat between two people as there is between Kurt and Maddie back on that dock in the north. Just as there is here in this room.

For a brief instant as she pulls herself close, as her lips find his, he considers indulging in a brief kiss, a quick, soft brush of lips. Then perhaps a smile, a playful comment. A little more flirting to set her at ease. To remind her that, whatever she is going through, it isn't the end of the world

But that restraint dies almost at once, that fire infecting him every bit as much. Arms slide around her, hands seeking out perch on her hips, to pull her close, to grip her to him like he might just never let her go.

Questions about what set of circumstances brought her back into his life vanish. Questions about her past. About why she seems so troubled. All of it is set aflame, burned to nothing, not even embers. And Kurt's lips, his mouth, his being devour her in return. Every bit as hungry. Every bit as needful.

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
She needs friends.

Given the sheer amount of power at Madelyne's disposal and her obvious willingness to use it, she probably needs friends to ground her more than most people.

Nothing good can come from the woman, the host of a fragment of the Phoenix Force, that thinks everyone in the world is against her -- who loses all sympathy for the weak, small-minded humans the same as she has whoever made her.

It would take relatively little for a woman who has nothing to live for -- who sees the entire world as a threat -- to simply stop behaving. To set herself on a mission to set all of it ablaze like they had those zombies, and to watch it all burn.

After all, well-behaved women seldom make history.

But she also needs... this. More than she realized.

She doesn't know what it is about Kurt. Not exactly. There's a lot about him to like, from their easy banter to his chivalrous tendencies, but she's not simply charmed by his antics. It's deeper than that. Even when she isn't trying, she finds herself drifting closer. Even when she's given it no thought at all, she finds herself kissing him. And not... chastely.

This kiss, like the one on the docks, is a lover's embrace. A claiming. It's passion and insistence and raw desire, like she's not just searching for something in that connection. It's not tentative. She's not searching. It's as if she's found whatever she was looking for -- she's found him -- and she's trying to hold on to him.

So even as Kurt's hands settle on her hips and pull her against him, her own fingers slip into his hair, curling and drawing herself flush to him.

And that kiss stretches into eternity.

She didn't even seem to notice the way she was lifting them both off the ground, wrapped in an ethereal cocoon of raw telekinetic power no doubt conjured from the weightless feeling inside her. Just a few inches. Enough to rotate slowly in place, like a dance to music only she can hear.

It shouldn't be this easy or this powerful. Some part of her, deep down, knows all the reasons this is far too dangerous for both of them. She should still be beside the lake, processing everything that's happened and deciding what to do next. Barely hours ago, someone had tried to kidnap her. She'd be a prisoner right now if it weren't for the man who blurted out a name she still hadn't fully processed -- mother. And she still had no idea what to do about any of it.

But somehow, magically, just with his mere arrival, Kurt seemed to sweep all of her worries aside.

There's something about him that makes her feel...

... safe.

Not just physically safe. She could get that from Cable. Hell, she could get that from Asteroid M. But there's more to life than just knowing that the people who want to kidnap and use you can't get to you.

There aren't many people Madelyne has ever felt like she could be vulnerable with, but despite only having known him for a few hours, Kurt's easy charm and absolute sincerity are such a relief that it's an actual effort not to lose herself in him... not to forget what she is and what she's not.

But maybe, just for a little while, it's okay to forget.

Maybe, just for a little while, it's okay just to be 'Red.'

And after? Well... she can figure that out later.