20126/This Way

This Way
Date of Scene:	23 February 2025
Location:	Blackbird Hangar
Synopsis:	The aftermath of Logan's latest drama, this time in the Blackbird hangar.
Cast of Characters:	Rogue, Jean Grey, Logan Howlett

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Rogue has posed:
To be sent on a mission to what was essentially the edge of the North Pole, was not something Rogue had really wanted to do. She hated the cold places the most. there was a deep rooted fear of being stranded in such a place, and even though she could fly, and was super durable, she didn't want to have to deal with the fear of others being put in harms way, or the prospect of having to fly out of a territory like that on her own invisible wings.

but, she was part of a team, and technically she counted as a Veteran member of the team now too. Oh how the years have flown by.

There had come a comm channel response back to base to signify that the Blackbird was returning, only a few hours behind schedule. The Jet appeared to be in fine condition too, as it made its descent, and utilized the runway door to the far north to glide in to a landing through its open maw, and make its final touch down near the mid-section of the hangar's extensive interior. Beneath bright lights high above, the SR-71 had unloaded its passengers, every single one of them looking worse for wear too. Tabitha, Noriko, Rachel, Scott, Laura... they all looked like they'd gone to Hell and back, which really proved this mission had been a bigger ordeal than it had originally been pitched. Not much was said yet, but there was a bit of a somber glum about everyone's mental state.

There was no Rogue inside the Bird, however, but her mental footprint was nearby, incoming actually.

Through the open maw of the hangar at the far end of the relatively short runway, the sight of bright white wings could be seen, like that of Angel's own. Gracefuly swiping through the air, curling and stretching out to catch a nice flow upon the cold winter wind outside, Rogue flew her way in toward the open hangar, and slipped in to its dark embrace. She worked her wings, flying beneath the rows of lights that cast illumination brightly across her body, a body of which looked considerably more unusual the closer she got, on her own approach to a landing.

Jean Grey has posed:
Conspicuously absent from the polar excursion, Jean is nonetheless waiting at the hangar when the Blackbird returns. Notably, she's not in casual dress, but in the yellow-on-grey-on-black of one of her less flashy uniforms, with the yellow X-logo at the center of the black sweater top and belt alike. Observing from the control room while the plane makes its way in, she departs only in the last moments to make her way down into the hangar proper.

This means most of them are departing just as she's arriving (unless they're staying): presumably any worse for the wear should be off to see Hank in medical, and an official debriefing can wait. A lingering Logan gets a meaningful look; no doubt he's got a story to tell (and no need to see the doctor). By then, its obvious Rogue isn't with them, but Jean doesn't show evidence of panic or worry, at least not of -that- kind. This isn't her standing forlornly on the Widow's Walk, because she's... well, Jean Grey. She'd mentally tracked and checked up on the status of everyone on the plane, and near it, long before they arrived in the hangar.

However, Rogue's appearance is something else entirely. No surprise, here, because this too perhaps she'd noted; a Rogue with her own telepathic powers feels different than one without. However, there's sensing and there's seeing with one's own two eyes, and the two are not quite equal.

Her immediate response, as Rogue sweeps in, is deadpan: "I like the wings. Do they help? I always wondered how different it must feel for Warren, compared to me picking myself up the way I do... or however yours normally feels."

She makes a little banter, frames it in an almost flirty compliment, but that may conceal the fact that Jean IS concerned about what she's looking at, in a different kind of way.

Logan Howlett has posed:
Like many of the teachers within Xavier's Unconventional School for Allegedly Gifted Persons, Logan has yet to provide proof of his certifications for many of the classes that he teaches, and for many of the tasks that he takes care of. Generally, the things that he 'takes care of' must be spoken with hushed, sinister undertones. But occasionally his hands are put to use with something a little less dramatic. Aircraft maintenance, for example, is a complicated task requiring years of training and the reading of a great many manuals. But though the differences between an 80's model Harley-Davidson and an SR-71 Blackbird (with alien tech upgrades) are vast, the basic principles are the same:

Top off the fluids, and plug up anything that's leaking.

Standing on a lift underneath the Blackbird, Logan's hairy arms are outstretched almost as far as they can to, as he checks the torque values of some of the bolts with a recently recalibrated torque wrench. The Blackbird managed to come through with no damage this time, and it must be nice to be doing simple routine maintenance for once. A few meters off in the distance, the FM radio crackles occasionally while playing one of John Prine's less popular songs.

"On my very first job I said 'thank-you' and 'please'
They made me scrub a parking lot down on my knees
Then I got fired for being scared of bees
And they only give me fifty cents an hour..."

He looks pretty good, all things considered, which is after all his signature ability. But while the others are off to have their well-deserved hot showers and eight hours of sleep, Logan is already preparing for the next mission, still wearing the jeans and snow boots he picked up somewhere on Ellesmere Island.

He smells her before he sees her. Nostrils flare, and the mutant mechanic finishes checking one more bolt. But he doesn't have a lot of time to engage Jean in conversation before the final member of the team arrives, fashionably late. Turns out, she can't outrun the Blackbird. Unless she's just been lollygagging.

"There she is... what happened to beating us back from Winnipeg? Musta been lollygaggin'..."

Rogue has posed:
When in flight, Rogue had been leaned forward, with her legs out behind her, one knee artfully bent and aimed downward, the other leg extended for extra aerodynamics, you see. But when she came in to land, she drew backward, lowered her own snow boots, and came to a landing with her wings wide spread, turned up to utilize the wind, and she touched down with a graceful simplicity. Jean was there waiting, and upon Rogue's metal features, she bared a smile for the redhead, a reserved one, but one none the less. Her eyes glanced down at herself, her blue and gold snow uniform in tatters, as was expected from the Southern Belle at this point. Her suits were always in tatters, of some variety or another, to the point where it had become a team joke. With her sleeves torn to shreds, marks across her chest and stomach, thighs and hips, she was baring a fair amount of metal shine to the hangar's bright strips of lights, where normally flesh would be the show.

"They actually do help with agility up there, believe it or not. Havin a bit'a command over the wind makes a noticeable difference." She said, her voice laced with her typical southern allure, but now a bit more sultry, for whatever reason. But, everything about her was a little bit 'bigger' in this form, to the point where her suit - what was left of it - seemed more than a little ill-fitting for her body.

She raised her hands up to her white bangs, and stroked them back, as Logan sauntered over. "I had to make a few stops on the way, ta resolve a few things. Did everyone survive the trip?" She asked him, since she was a little salty about it being a lot more of a dangerous mission than they'd been told it would be when they set out.

She looked back to Jean, and offered the redhead a little pose, with her hip flared out, and her wings curling around her sides. "I have total control... of everything, like this." She said, showing a larger smile now. "I'm growin' fond of it too..."

Jean Grey has posed:
"Oh I believe it. He's always been a show-off with the things." It can be easy to forget just how long Jean has known those members of the first class of Xaviers students, at this point. With the wings in discussion, she glances outward, upwward, follows their full sweep before they're folded away. This leads back to the 'rest' of Rogue, practically bursting out of her torn up costume.

Which brings a raised eyebrow from Jean, too. "If you're going to make a habbit of it, we're going to need to get you some stretchier clothes. At least that's a solved problem by now, for the most part, or we'd have Pete flashing us all the time." Continuing to lightly banter, she smiles thinly, faintly, as Rogue expresses her apparent joy at the combined powers, the control. Even poses. Of course, she looks... very good, and maybe that bleeds through too! There's still an undercurrent in Jean, of worry or disapproval or whatever else, but she mostly holds it back.

Pivoting around as Logan's voice indicates he's no longer submerged in the Zen of Blackbird maintenance, she nonetheless answers Rogue's question first: "Looked like everyone was accounted for, getting off the plane. I wish I'd known it was going to be such a serious endeavor."

The next question is clearly more for Logan, however: "You get everything handled that you need to get handled?" There's concern there too, although modulated somewhat by her general experience of Logan and his always exciting lifestyle; one week its ninjas, the next it's something like this.

Logan Howlett has posed:
Although his body seems to have healed completely, there's no way to completely disguise the effects of a lack of sleep on the feral mutant's countenance. His attempt at forcing a smile is a fairly thin disguise, but when so many things have gone wrong there's no telling which particular thing is causing him the most irritation, angst, or grief at this particular moment. But he remains a fairly simple man, and can't help but be distracted by the Big Shiny Thing, though it makes the size difference between himself and Rogue a bit more comical than usual.

He's used to being the shortest guy in the room. But these days it seems like he's generally the shortest person in the room period. Who'd have thought Jubilee would have that growth spurt?

"It looks good on ya. But if you keep it up we're gonna have to fire the rest of the team... makes a man feel awful redundant."

The look that he shoots at Jean when she suggests 'stretchier clothes' could probably be described as dagger-like. He has so few pleasures in life, and already sinister forces are conspiring to ruin even this tiny one. But then a thought occurs, and his smile becomes a bit more genuine.

Ya know... maybe that ain't such a bad idea after all... She could wear one of Pete's spare costumes."

"Just think of the side boob."

Looking back over his shoulder at the high-tech stealth jet that looms large behind him, Logan has little more than a shrug to offer. The jet is perfectly fine. The team though? Maybe not quite so much. Logan himself? An ever-evolving question.

"Who knows, Jeanie?"

From the sound of his gruff smoker's voice, it's clear that the 'who' isn't Logan.

Rogue has posed:
Rogue held her little glamour pose for a few seconds longer than she knew she should, but she reluctantly straightened her posture, and put her hands upon her hips, as her wings curled around her a little more when 'side boob' was brought in to the conversation. she smirked toward Logan, concealed behind her angel wings (as she literally did get them from said source. In fact all of the additional mutations touching her genetic frontline right now, were noteworthy powers from most of the entire X-Men team. Little brief touches here and there over the years, or more, had lead Rogue to clearly be compliling a rolodex of abilities within her genetic memory banks.

As Jean and Logan spoke, rogue walked around them, starting on Jean's left side, she ended up on the redhead's left, with Logan on her own left. She looked from one of them, to the other. "Piotr's clothin is way too Ivan Drago for my tastes, Sugahs." She said to them both, before her wings uncurled from around her body, and folded up behind her, neatly tucked back behind her shoulders, as she was not terribly shy about the condition of her uniform.

From her belt she produced the box from Fabian, that had granted her these extra mutations (though did they really count as that now, or were they permanently part of who she was now? She just lacked the key to unlock them by her default state.)

"Here." She offered the box to Jean. "I know what you're feelin..." She said, tapping the side of her head with her free hand, the fingers all shining metal too. "I'll let ya hold on to it, if you think you can control yourself..." She said, giving the lovely Miss Grey the chance to test her own ability to say no to 'drugs'.

Rogue's eyes swept over, and down, to Logan. "He got us in a real pickle on this one. But, somehow we managed. They're comin' for his metal bones, though, and I'm guessin' this ain't the last time we see whoever it was that was behind this."

Jean Grey has posed:
The look Jean gets from Logan (and the thoughts that go with it, lets be real!) serve to displace her worry momentarily, as her features flash open amusement at the man's instinctive defensiveness over this one of his few simple pleasures in life.

...only to swing right around again as she rolls her eyes at the open request for 'moar sideboob.'

Plus Rogue isn't having it. "If we let her design the new costume, I'm sure you won't be bored by the end result." Compromise? She smirks. "Now stop talking about my lady in front me like that before I have to do something about it." The latter 'threat,' delivered in an almost comically out-of-character and faux-macho manner, is probably more a jab at Logan via immitation than anything else.

The fact that Rogue knows what she's thinking under all of this, well, maybe it isn't accidental. Outside of the Professor, there aren't many people who know more about managing their thoughts, about controlling the 'volume' of that mental voice, listening in, filtering things out, sharing, concealing, the whole nine yards. That it's all laid out for Rogue is, perhaps, both a way of having a difficult conversation without having it aloud, and an offering at a glimpse of 'a day in the life of Jean Grey.' All mental worries and reassurances aside, however, she reaches for the box without the slightest hesitation.

"I live with the temptation of ultimate power every day of my life," she points out, very nonchalantly. Now there's a question, mixing those two...

Once holding it, she gives it a brief one-over in her hand, but otherwise looks fairly unimpressed, and at least for the moment, not tempted by any genies in bottles, instead returning to that evaluation of the always-eventful life of James Howlett. "Sounds on-brand. Always someone who wants a piece of Weapon X." She looks between them. "And you're telling me that for all the, well, trouble of this mission, you didn't find the real guy? That's... not great."

Logan Howlett has posed:
It's only when he reaches for one of his cigars that Logan realizes that he does not have one. And that's no surprise, since tobacco doesn't exactly grow naturally on Ellesmere Island, and these aren't even his pants. Which is probably why the ends of the legs have been cut off of this particular pair of Levi's. Not that anyone would be able to tell, tucked into similarly stolen snow boots as they are.

Although Rogue is teasing, Logan's face seems to be crossed by a shadow at the mention of a pickle, real or metaphorical. It's clear that he's no happier about the sequence of events than anyone else on the team. Unlike the rest of them, he has a great deal of reason to take it all personally. More importantly, he has a great deal of reason to feel guilty. And it's guilt that's radiating out from that metal skull more than any other feeling at the moment. No matter how he might like to keep his cards close to the vest, there's really no hiding feelings from either of these two, even when they're not cracked out on Fabian's Magic Energy Balls. And, also, Logan isn't really wearing a vest at the moment.

His body hair just makes it look like he's wearing a sweater.

"I shoulda known... no way I shoulda gotten anyone mixed up in my business, 'specially the kids."

He reaches again for a cigar that isn't there. Probably a minor relief for his current company, but he's often more pleasant when he has one.

"They really pulled my balls outta the garbage disposal. But it shouldn't 'a happened. So I'll find 'em, and deal with 'em my way."

There's the growling, threatening tone that we've all come to know and reluctantly tolerate.

Rogue has posed:
In truth, Rogue expected nothing short of pure confidence from Jean taking the box. She knew if anyone could resist temptation, it was her. Still, though, she wanted to see her minute facial muscles reacting to the mere idea of ... what WOULD it do for Jean, to get that boost? Some part of rogue is curious. She just lets her eyes linger on the greens of Jean's, before she glances over her shoulder. "Forge around?" She asked. "Maybe I'll saunter on over to his workshop, see if he'll be so kind as ta work up a girl a new suit for her new body measurements. Course... this should fade out in the next day or so, but still. Maybe a good idea ta have the spare suit on standby..." Her eyes went back to Jean, and a grin crept its way across her lips, like a puppy sneaking toward a treat. 'Just in case you wanna let me off my leash some day..." She said, harboring no shortage of flirtatious undertone in her husky voice, but that was Rogue, wasn't it? If she was boosted right now, maybe her unabashed desire to try and make everyone's cheeks turn red was boosted too.

When she looked over to Hairy S. Logan, she smiled down to him, and her left hand went to his shoulder. Even with metal skin, it might make people wonder if they were about to be Hoovered up by the Belle's suction, but she had just said mere moments ago that she had full control over everything, thus it was safe to touch her, and be touched in return. "Look, Logan. ya didn't know what was waitin' for us up there. That guide was lyin' to us, an' they got us in a bad pinch. But we got out of it just fine, cause we worked together. This team is a well oiled machine, an' we're workin' together better than we ever have before. Laura stuck with me. Rachel stuck with Scott. Nori and Tabi stuck together, and your metal stuck to your bones until I was able to find my way in there, and take out that lead Wendigo..."

Jean might catch on to that last bit. Wendigos. Again. a lot of them this time.

She gave Logan's shoulder a soft squeeze, before she looked on to Jean again. "Everyone did good though, you'd of been proud of them. Maybe not so much me havin' to kill a couple people, but... for the greater good, I promise."

Jean Grey has posed:
Jean turns the box over once or twice, but at least in the moment, she seems far from entranced. Curious, maybe. Dubious, perhaps. Wary? Definitely. "I mostly want to hear more from Hank about all of this. And anyone else who can make sense of the tech."

That aside, although Logan has a very, well, Logan viewpoint on dealing with those problems going forward, Jean's own stance is predictably, equally, Jean: "Don't get in over your head for the sake of keeping others safe. You have people here, friends, family, teammates, and we look out for each other for a reason."

In this case, she has back-up from Rogue, who has all the same to say on the power of teamwork and the like. Jean DOES, in fact, look proud: how mature! "Bad intel happens," she adds, following along and tagging in to boost Rogue's argument. "We never know entirely what we're getting ourselves into, when we put on the suits and head out. But it's not a reason to stay home fretting. It's what all the training is for, that no one has to stop and think in the heat of the moment."

However, that last bit does get her as she wonders: "Why is it always Wendigos? At least they left the ski trip be." A dramatic sigh. "Oh well. Everyone's home in one piece. For now, it's time you lot hit the showers," is that aimed at Rogue Or Logan?! "Find some clothing..." Again, hard to tell! "And get some well-earned r&r."

Logan Howlett has posed:
Although they're trying to make him feel better, and although they no doubt believe what they're saying, it's clear that Logan doesn't believe it. But even he can't argue that the rest of the team performed admirably, and his contributions were a bit less than stellar. But does that really matter, when the entire mission was just another exercise in cleaning up one of Logan's old messes? It's likely that he'll get over it in time.

"Eh... I guess."

It's about the only acknowledgement they're likely to get that their points are valid, and have been received. But then, using his words isn't on the list of things that Logan does best.

Turning back, he gives the Blackbird another look. Steam still curls upward from the engines, and the chilly New York air is making him wish that he had stolen a shirt from someone in Winnipeg. With a beard that's nearly fully grown in, and hair so far on the wild side that it's likely to scare the students, he could certainly use some grooming. And he can pretty much always use a shower.

"Guess the old girl's not goin' nowhere. Maybe you're right... I'll grab a six pack and hit the showers."

He begins sauntering toward the mansion, fatigue clearly setting in. But not without a look back, and a slight arch of one of those bushy, slightly greying eyebrows.

"Let me know if you need any help getting those hard to reach spots."

Rogue has posed:
Rogue shifted her weight from one foot to the other, the tatters of her sleeves swaying beside the exposed parts of her metal encased arms. She swept her eyes between the other two, but had them land on Jean, when she suggested they shower. A grin once more found dominance over Rogue's expressively shiney face, and she glanced toward Logan, who was already turning around, and making his way off, all while offering such helpful services along the way.

Rogue's wild hair was all about her shoulders in thick waves, her whites framing her face with as much dissarray as Logan's own haphazard curls. "Sounds like he's cruisin' for a bruisin', as my Aunt said..." She turned, but paused. Her eyes went after Logan for a second, before she looked back to Jean's hands, where she had traded that box, before she trailed them up to Jean's eyes. "Don't lose that thing..." She quietly said, a serious gleam touching her metal features. "I'm going to use it ta get my mom back..." She said, in a voice barely above a whisper.

When she fully turned around, her wings spread out, causing a rustle of gossimer feathers, and a whoosh of wind to flow around their immediate area.

Taking to the air, Rogue flew over Logan's head, brushing the top of his hair with a brief glancing touch, before she shot on ahead toward the doors. "I'll be all lathered up before you even get the first beer open, Old Man." She taunted him, being the playful tease that she ever was!