2384/A Little Imp Told Me...

A Little Imp Told Me...
Date of Scene:	08 July 2020
Location:	Recreation Room
Synopsis:	After scarring events, two survivors share war stories and tales of hope. Ha, as if.
Cast of Characters:	Julian Keller, Illyana Rasputina

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Julian Keller has posed:
Julian Keller is in the rec room listening to his earbuds. He's taken some time to learn to operate his phone by TK, going through about a dozen cheapie cellphones before he felt confident enough to try it on an iPhone. Not that he minds spending the money, but there was no point in smashing perfectly good phones until he got a grip on how to do the fingerslide with just his mind.

He still cracks one every now and then, but he's mostly okay now.

He's laid out on a love seat, his legs propped up over one arm and a cushion tucked under his head for comfort, just...zoning out

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Once upon a time there was a nice rec room completely free of trouble. But one clot of chaos already dwells on the couch and another crosses the threshold, stepping through time and space after a faint pop indicates the displacement of millions of atoms. The pop of motion transforms into a blonde girl wrapped in black and blue, shredded t-shirt revealing some weird Poseidonic trifork on the front. She flexes her arm as her graceful stride carries her in.

That sword isn't fit for a school, most of the time, so it vanishes away. It doesn't say much for the old-style Walkman, a playbill rolled up, and a newspaper stuffed together in her other hand. Things carried that she dumps onto the nearest table.

Only thereafter does she look Julian's way. He might be busy, he might not. Hand on hip, head tilted, she looks him almost unblinking for a fair long time. Fingers tap her temple. "Good beats?"

Julian Keller has posed:
Julian Keller normally ignores people who interrupt him. He doesn't have a high opinion of most of his fellows and it doesn't do to encourage him by responding, not even to say 'How dare you speak to me?'. Illyana, however, is one of the few on the tolerable list and so he sits up, his earbuds sliding out of his ears and floating to lay on the table.

"Properly lo fi and chill, as befits my mood," he says, sitting up. "A newspaper? Were you going to go churn some butter before dinner, too?"

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
'How dare you speak with me' is always a possibility. It's hard to say whether ignoring her makes Illyana annoyed or just prepared to wait him out, Julian offering a nut to crack. Excitement!

Leaning against the table slightly gives her an opportunity to pin down the unrolling playbill, the tattered thing fairly old and weathered, probably the sort of object stuffed in a corner. Her heel rolls slightly back and forth, adjusted to the boots that only a mad woman would wear in the heat of summer. Maybe it doesn't touch her. Still, she watches him, the earbuds, and cocks her hip slightly to take the strain off her ankle.

"Nyet, saving the world from an invasive species. Normally fire is best, da?" Her shoulder lifts. "But what fun is that when you can hit them with what they can't even imagine?" That slow, dark smirk echoes a certain wit, a dark knowledge seeded in a hidden joke. "Go get your poke bonnet, go an adventure. Why be inside here?"

Julian Keller has posed:
Julian Keller raises an eyebrow, "I know most of the folks around here are all too eager to get themselves beaten senseless in the pursuit of some errant moral code, but I'm the living proof of what the cost of adventure can be," he says, raising his stumps idly.

"I have been told that I can either move on with my life and try to make the best of it or wallow and become an embittered, snarky shell. I have chosen wallowing," he says.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
"Moral code," Illyana deadpans, though her Arctic desert dryness could make that just a statement of fact or something so much worse. There's practically no telling what she takes away from that particular statement. "It was my idea. My problem then, even though the boss deals with some of it. That's what you get for being management."

A shrug of her shoulder again and she flattens the unraveling tube, not letting it go on. "Wallowing. Mm. This satisfies you does it?"

Julian Keller has posed:
"I was born into extravagant wealth and privilege. Nothing satisfies me. I'm not built that way," he says.

"But I do like to indulge myself, even if I am only indulging in misery and bad temper. It may not be satisfying, but it can be...cathartic," he says. "From my understanding, you're not exactly the chipper type yourself."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
"Da, what understanding is that?" She doesn't challenge Julian, not directly at any rate. It's a question borne perhaps of curiosity, or from a place to keep him talking when she herself tends to be a laconic soul at the best of times, whole weeks passing without students hearing her speak up. Maybe because a frosty withering look is as good as blasting fire out of one's hands or arms. "Misery and temper are bitter teas," she says. Could be a quote from some dead Russian in a one million page book, maybe not, but they of the far northern nation so often have fatalistic and pithy quotes. "Either way, I will not tell you what to do. Professor does the moral lecturing."

Glaciers have kinder smiles before they calve a berg to destroy a penguin colony or sea level city, mood depending. But it's there. "Such privilege. And now what?"

Julian Keller has posed:
Julian Keller shrugs, "You don't tend to take shit," he says. "What are you, my guidance counselor? Frankly, I thought about going home, but I can't seem to get ahole of my parents. Which shouldn't be concerning given that they never gave a damn about me as anything other than a tax write-off, but I still would rather not surprise them. God only knows what they get up to out of sight," he says with a rather withering tone himself. No love lost there, it seems.

"I appreciate you not telling me what to do. People get annoyed when I ignore their advice."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
The riposte comes back as fast as the words are out of Julian's mouth, but the explosive speed of a fencer is probably to be expected. Half the time, said glowing blade is razor-thin. With words, the same. "Nyet. Been through shit." No measure of worse, less, equal, just the flat statement itself. It's not taken rudely or even calmly, just poised on the blade-point of honesty as unveiled as she can give. The Russian eases her way to sit on the corner of the table. It won't displace unless someone jumps it or he tosses a TK bolt. "Advice is best asked for, or life or death. You're not dead."

Ooh, a contraction, she's getting comfortable. Or not. But to Julian's point, her hand remains set on the inset of her waist and her gaze lifted, unfocused a moment. "That happen a lot? They may not be impossible to find."

Julian Keller has posed:
Julian Keller isn't one to confide, generally speaking. He isn't exactly worried. Worry would imply a degree of care and connection that doesn't exist between Julian and his parents. BUt it -is- unusual.

"They go out of the country sometimes without telling me. They've always had a lot of secrets. I never minded, though, because they left me alone, too. Mostly."

This almost feels like he's sharing something about himself. Gross. "And now, I'm not dead. And more than ever, I realize that I need to do what -I- want, not try to live up to anyone else's expectations of who or what I should be."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
They are what they are: damaged, scarred, terrifyingly gifted at what they do. Maybe more broken and traumatized than is wise for the powers they carry. Julian's statements are taken at face value by the sorceress; she does not pry or chip away little by little. Only that pale-eyed gaze turned his way.

"You change your mind..." She doesn't continue the statement, since certainly someone that bright can read between Illyana's lines. Julian might do and if he doesn't, he might ask. Chilly rather than chill, her cool nod answers that.

"Nothing like death to re-evaluate," she adds dryly. "Maybe your return was nicer than mine."

Julian Keller has posed:
Julian Keller considers, "I'm not sure if I died or not. I was too...insane after it happened to tell. I know that I killed someone. That took a bit to swallow in its own right."

"None of which would matter to them, even if I told them in excruciating detail. But maybe I should...look into it. I'm not exactly sure how, I'm not precisely the detective sort. I don't even look good in a trenchcoat. Okay, that's not true, I look good in everything, but a trenchcoat is definitely not my style."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
"Always does." A bit of a nod from Illyana throws the blunt weight of her golden hair around her shoulders, spilling in restless motion before settling back into place. She smirks as Julian summons the notion of a trenchcoat, and then rolls her eyes heavenward. "Nyet. T-shirts, jeans, no trenches. Maybe a sweater."

Riiight. A sweater. A posh sweater for posh autumns in the Berkshires? Maybe it fits him, maybe not.

Still, she holds up her palm, fingers curling. "Maybe lucky for you, I can find almost anything."

Julian Keller has posed:
Julian Keller purses his lips. Frankly, he's reluctant to involve anyone with his family. They were unpleasant by his standards and he knew that he was hardly a delightful people person himself. Oh, they had friends, but none of them actually liked each other. Rich people.

"I might ask for some help. Sometime," he says, as casually as he can. "If you have time. And I look very good in a nice suit, although obviously I'm going to have to have mine re-tailored to deal with the obvious. I mean, I can make hands, but..." he says, then holds out his stumps and they burst into green flame, hands forming from the raw power there, "They're not precisely easy on fabric."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Illyana upnods, a subtle and many varied thing, not drawing attention to a card all but slid over the proverbial table. Not that simple, really, and not that demanding. "Have time?"

The merest glimpse of her teeth shows in that bare suggestion that could be smirk or smile with equal stead. "It will be no issue. It bends, as it should." Another languid sort of shoulder-roll would follow but she can't be bothered, content to stay frighteningly still and mindful. The green flames, St. Elmo's fire in digital form, draws an appraising look with far more intensity than anyone her age has a right to have. "No, they would not be. The right metal can withstand that, though."

Julian Keller has posed:
Julian Keller nods, "I'm not sure I want to wear a metal suit. But maybe someday. I've thought about...cybernetics, but I don't know anyone I'd trust. Not with sufficient ability. Perhaps Dr. McCoy, but I'm not sure that's exactly his field of expertise."

"And yes. I have time. I'm a graduate now, after all, and one of means. My time is my own."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
"Stark, but can you trust him?" That question isn't one that Illyana herself chooses to answer, probably unsurprisingly. She adheres a little too hard to the Aristotlean method of questioning things, which is to say she questions answers with a reversed inquiry. Hardly very fair, but is it surprising?

Still, not without at least some indication of compassion perhaps, she gathers up her roll of varied things. "Time moves different for me. Though to go back, though I can do it, will not change what happened."

Julian Keller has posed:
Julian Keller shrugs, "I don't know. I don't imagine that, even with my wealth, getting in to see Tony Stark is a simple thing. And I have my own powers, I don't need...superhands. I would prefer to have my own back, first and foremost. I wonder if they can be grown."

Of course, the person most likely to answer that question is Sinister himself. And Julian certainly hopes never to see him again.

"You can travel in time? Holy shit."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Does he really want that answer? To growing hands, to traveling in time?

The same gesture really answers both.

It's not given to Julian verbally. He has to work for it a bit. A little, at least, read in the crook of a pale golden brow or the inclination of her head a fraction at that statement. Maybe all the rumours about Piotr's very creepy sister hold some weight, at least the ones from around the time the Keller scion joined the school as opposed to the year or so before when she was essentially a charming waif not tall enough to surmount a counter or steal a cookie without borrowing a chair from somewhere.

Still. "Think about it."

Julian Keller has posed:
Julian Keller nods, "Magic. Suppose it's all in the name, isn't it?" he says.

"What would it cost me? If magic could just...solve problems, everyone would do it, I expect. It must take something from you. Or want something," he says. "I don't know what you could want with me. I'd say money, but you don't strike me as much interested in cash."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Dropping newspaper and playbill into a portal takes only an instant of thought, the blossoming aperture in reality laced by a silvery-blue inferno that gives off no heat at a distance. Both objects vanish out of sight through the narrow incision, though quick perception might catch a stone floor and silvery wood or polished rock nearby. Illyana banishes the objects and the portal with a wave of her hand, only the bleak glow in her silver-fire gaze indicative of channeling her power.

"Space and time are the same. The portals go places back, here, forward," she explains briefly, giving Julian at least that much without preamble or withdrawal. Cruelty isn't in her nature, at least not always. Cats do play with their food, but a damaged young man at Sinister's care isn't one she needs to rough up further. "Magic is another matter." On that, things are more shuttered. "Do you need a reason for someone to help you? Maybe it is the right thing, living up to my brother's impossible ideals. Say that to yourself."