4143/DANGER ZONE

DANGER ZONE
Date of Scene:	16 November 2020
Location:	Danger Room
Synopsis:	Jimmy meets the danger room, unwittingly facing a number of Logan's Greatest Hits. 1.5 out of 3 isn't bad, right?
Cast of Characters:	Jean Grey, Jimmy Hudson, Rogue

---

Jean Grey has posed:
EARLIER, JEAN'S OFFICE:

Its been an odd couple of days at school. Or at least, odd for those who are new to the place, and haven't had the chance to experience the building in the midst of a crisis. There's no alarms, no outward panic, only quiet, only the absence of the norm. Several students missing from their classes. Distracted teachers, or absent ones, replaced with substitutes. In the later hours, silence, replacing the usual fun in the rec room, or people gathering in the kitchen. None of Jean's cookies or hot cholate, or Rogue's eternal sass. A quiet night.

By the next morning, the students are back. And the school has a new... resident. Emma Frost. She conceals her shame, a hoodie covering the strange collar she wears.

Jean Grey is back in her office, seeing their newest teacher. He's not a fool, and she knows that. She knows him too well to think it, even though they've only barely met. But he's familiar. And he's seen enough to know what the place is, and have ideas what's going on. "If you're interested, I can arrange something. Why don't you come downstairs in an hour, near the medbay where we did your intake. I'll authorize you on basic securrity."

NOW: Jimmy never sees the Danger Room in its 'off' form. When he arrives in the sub-basement, Jean isn't there, but her voice comes through a comm in the hallway: "Step inside the door on your right, we're ready for you. Just... play along, OK?" And inside? Well, it's sort of impossible.?

It's a bar. A painfully dive-y, redneck stereotype of one. The sort of place that would call to Rogue's blood! She and Jean are in the control room, unseen. Jean has a set of programs called up, and the first one loaded.

Jimmy Hudson has posed:
    There was a point recently for James Hudson when the mansion had seemed empty. When he had been moving around the grounds, walking about the halls, and getting a feel for the place as something... felt off. There was a hint of tension in the air, even some of the students felt it. Usually those times when professors or the faculty were no longer in evidence. Often times it was just one or two of them, but when it was a larger number somehow... the school felt that absence.
    And James Hudson was no different.
    If he was pressed he wouldn't be able to name it, or put a finger on it. He stopped by doors, rapped his knuckles on some. But people were out. Much like it may have been on the day when he and Misha arrived from their school in Weehawken. Which means something might be afoot, or people were downstairs in that under-facility where he was taken to when he first arrived.
    It was enough to set his thoughts wandering.
    Which led to him finding Jean in her office the next day. He'd just leaned in at first, asked if she had time, and then they got to talking. Something about the young man, he was aware of a lot of things, but also had this way about stepping around so as to not stomp on social toes. But Jean got the feeling from him that indeed. There were questions, and more insight than he was likely letting on. So it was no surprise that he agreed.
    Into that hallway at the appointed time, then the voice from the speakers tells him to pass through that door and he does...
    Into the ubiquitous vision of what a Honky Tonk is to the people of North America. The wooden facade, the bars on the windows, the local flavor of the decor, the parking lot with its myriad of pickups, SUVs, and a few sedans. Enough to present a reliably believable facade...
    That has James looking back over his shoulder as the door whispers shut.
    "Hnh."
    He looks back, then up and around as if trying to find some anchor or visual representation of the world beyond. Finds nothing.
    "Alright," He says to the sky, as if it would answer. Then he makes for the front door.

Rogue has posed:
Rogue leans back in her chair in the control room with her light grey hoodie's hood pulled up over her head to conceal her face (at least a little). "He's gonna ace this, cause he's hot." she confidently tells Jean to her side, glancing over to the slightly older woman. "Hot people ace things, it's just a fact." Her cup of tea is raised up to sup from it as she keeps her stare on Jean, then eventualy lowers her cup down to stare out the control room window and nod her head gently inside of her hood. "Okay, so, is this bar you're sendin' him to a real place? Cause... if so, then you're gonna have t'tell me where it is." Another very important sip of her drink is taken then and there-after.

Jean Grey has posed:
The scenario plays out like one might expect. Inside, the bar is dim and smells heavily of cigarettes, that itself a dividing line between the heavily regulated spaces of a big city and a place like this. The patrons look as rough as the structure. Flanel and denim, wife-beaters and trucker hats. Maybe they are truckers. Regardless, their reaction to a newcomer is a round of unfriendly looks that quickly fade back into silence. From there, it's a predictable course of events:

The bartender wants to know what he's having. He gets it, has it a while. People come in and out, some patrons talk in whispers at a table, occasionally shooting the stranger at the bar a furtive glance. Maybe he even makes it to a second round. But eventually:

"So what's your business here, stranger?"

Strangely, there's a sense of a storyline to it, one that Jimmy isn't totally seeing. Maybe those men in the back are up to someething, maybe in different circumstances, Jimmy would be looking for something himself. But in the moment, its quickly clear that he's unwelcome. There's no cariacture mutant slurs, nothing indicating they identify him as anything other than someone who's not welcome. But pretty soon, he's got a quartet of tough guys around him. And eventually, they don't give him a choice about leaving.

In the booth, Jean glances at Rogue and laughs. "He'll ace it because this is an easy one. It's not really about that, though. We know what he's theoretically capable of. I'm more interested in... the rest. How he handles it." And then, with a roll of her eyes, "I think it might be a real place. All of these are, or at least... I think they're based on real places. But I'm not the one to ask."

In the room, things proceed as one imagines. They're programmed in the semblance of tough, hardened folk familiar with a brawl, but little grace. They're also not programmed with much honor. At first, it's only fists, someone trying to pin his arms for another man to work his magic. But eventually, it degrades. Pool cues. Bottles. A knife, a tire iron inexplicably brought in from outside.

Jimmy Hudson has posed:
    If it's a simulation that's damned impressive, since when Jim looks at a place, enters it, gets a vibe for it... smell is so damned important. And this place smells real. His expression is calm, yet that almost passive grim look to his features seems entirely at home there as well. Nostrils flare slightly.
    Looks are sent his way. He returns some of them, as if the ones he glances at are purely from convenience and the others he doesn't look at are just dismissed without thought. The stroll to the bar is steady, even. He makes it there with that same cool calm of his that ends with him resting a hand on the counter-top and then with him saying one word.
    "Whiskey." And that should be enough for the tender.
    He's got his back to the room, tending to his drink. Maybe indeed there is something else to be learned about whatever is going on in the back. Then the four make their appearance. He's seen the like before, strangely /very/ often up in Canada despite the country's reputation for being so friendly. Here though, this is no different.
    He might even key a little to the scenario as he tells one with a smile, "We both know it don't matter what I tell you. So stop wastin' my time."
    And as quick as that it was on. A rush of motion, crash of glass, the crack of wood. There's a moment when the guy gets him from behind to hold him only to have his shin cracked and thrown into the way of another of the men. The pool cue gets busted over his back and does seem to send the young Hudson reeling. But he's able to recover, focus, and at one point smacks a guys head straight into the pool table.
    It's only when the knife comes into play. The tire iron grabbing his attention and getting roughly taken away from the man with it, throwing it aside into one of the ceramic light fixtures hanging over the bar.
    Yet that gives the knife-man the moment he needs to step in and /stabs/ plunging the blade into Jimmy's side. It's a blaze of pain and for an instant. A bare instant, one can almost see the wildness of his father there in his eyes as he rounds and /grabs/ his attacker by the collar and pull him in to eat an elbow to the face that smacks his head to the side, and leaves him standing there blearily.
    James holds that fist up, ready as his expression darkens. But then he just pushes the guy over and lowers his fist. Even as that wound along the curve of his side, that's already darkening his grey shirt, begins to knit closed.
    A deep breath is taken as he looks around the place, gaze wandering until he scowls slightly and finally murmurs something under his breath that he's perhaps not aware the microphones in the booth may well pick up.
    He says quietly, "Are you not entertained?"
    The scowl shifts to a rueful smile that's barely there as he shakes his head, pushes a hand through his hair, then starts toward the door.

Jean Grey has posed:
Well, he's definitely not polished, but that's about what we'd expect from what we already have on him," Jean muses, watching the fight play out. There's a sense of her trying to be objective, if not totally dispassionate, though it's never entirely easy to play the observer for something like this. Especially when she's made the willful decision to hurt him via this technological proxy. "No crazy government secret-ops background, no ninja training. Probably, he's not too far beyond their level," she considers, indicating the thugs Jimmy is fighting.

And then he gets stabbed. Objective as she may try to be, Jean winces at that.

But it's also precisely the sort of moment she's doing this for, watching as he reacts, and machines in the booth recording other data beyond that. "Ok, let's try number two."

She taps a button, and the world melts and reforms. Even if Jimmy isn't especially with the technology, it becomes obvious that it has to be some kind of simultation, almost a game. Except that it can hurt him.

The next scene has another strange sense of coming into things in the middle. He's in an alley, but this definitely isn't Hicktown USA: the air is cloying and hot. The buildings look different, with their curving, tiled rooftops. Strings of paper lanterns criss-cross above the street. Ahead of him, someone is running. They look small, frightened. And he can sense others behind. Except they're not on the ground, they're on the rooftops, running and yet strangely silent. Dark garbed, masked, with bladed weapons, chains, throwing-

Ninjas. Actual ninjas. You don't see many of those in Canada!

Several of the stars are thrown first, then a chain weapon whips out for him, even as several others leap down to surround him with blades. But it's not all of them, two keep running on the parallel rooftops, chasing the figure ahead.

Jimmy Hudson has posed:
    When the world melts, that is when they get a stronger reaction. For James, his eyebrows raise abruptly and for once he's well and truly taken aback. His hands come up in that classic 'hold on now' sense of body language, his head turning to the side as he looks the place over. Then it reforms, the light and the reality coalescing into a thing that's altogether different.
    The sights change, the smells, even the temperature is enough to fool him. If he hadn't seen the transition himself he'd have been fooled. But now he just shakes his head. Yet there is more wariness in his stance, knowing that the first scenario was perhaps a prelude. It has him more focused, paying more attention...
    And then the shadows move, flickers of silvery light flash from those shadows, shuriken hurled at him and slicing across the distance. He's able to duck down below one as it whirs past, the second slicing over his arm. The wound burns for some reason yet he shakes his head and turns...
    In time for the chain to wrap around his arm. Quickly, almost instinctively he snaps his free hand out to the side and there is the sharp /SHINGK!/ as the trio of bone claws slice through his knuckles, his biometrics raising with that surge of pain from exposing those blades. Then he slashes his arm free, the chain dropping in pieces at his feet. But no time is wasted, he's turning, running, taking a leap at the side of one of the buildings and trying to dig the claw in to give him a makeshift hold, attempting to use it to vault upwards and off the street.

Jean Grey has posed:
"I think that was a bit more impressive, don't you?" Jean muses. "He didn't hesitate, and he's keeping mobile. I wasn't sure about the claws, since he's new to them, and because the artificial scenario might not give him quite the full sense of adrenaline. But it's good. He has enough control to keep them back, but not so much that he's afraid to use them when he needs them. I was a little worried, since he's coming to us as, well-" It's weird to make it entirely about age, given the comparison. "-as someone who's had a pretty normal life up until now. It's a different kind of adjustment."

She watches as the scene plays out, turning into something of a chase rather than a simple fight. It's a smart move, because the ninjas are programmed to be a lot better than the thugs in the bar. They're fast, and precise. They don't run their mouths, or expend energy on anything beyond lethal determination. The simulator wouldn't -badly- wound him, but if they surrounded him, it could get pretty bad.

Yet Jimmy stays ahead of them. Of course, the program throws some further complications in: roof tiles that are looser than they look beneath his feet, strands of lanterns suspiciously directly in the way. Ahead, the smaller figure runs, two of the ninjas chasing, bearing down, getting closer to running along side it at their higher elevation. The pack behind is even larger, hot on his heels.

Ahead, one of them leaps, falling toward their terrified target.

Jimmy Hudson has posed:
    It's the roof tile that initially catches him, one of them shooting out from under foot and shattering upon the road below as he runs. Yet the fall is timed well, allowing a shuriken aimed at him to whirl past above him almost silent save for the slight whisper of the air pressure broken by that blade.
    He's quick to recover, converting the fall into a partial slide down the side of the roof, and then planting a foot on the crenelation at the edge of the roof and using that to vault off of and then down into the street closer to the small person running and close enough to cover that distance in a hurry. Too far to reach, to actually do something, instead he reaches out with one hand and shouts, "Look out!"
    Even as he's trying to close that distance, seeking to tackle the falling ninja around the midriff and take him to the ground, those three claws still extended and if he has chance he'll slash at the ninja's leg to try and at least cripple him and prevent him from pursuing further.

Jean Grey has posed:
If there's a sense that things are getting worse, slipping from his control, it's not unwarranted. It's a difficult scenario, and Jean's chosen to it to push her subject to some extremes- be they physical, tactical, or emotional. Jimmy recovers from the fall well, and leaps ahead, tackling and slashing. He gets one, hitting the ground with it, and his claw perhaps more presciently finds the second as it leaps to join that fray. Here, the simulator doesn't hold back on detail, either: he can feel the simulated fabric, skin, flesh, and finally bone as his claw cuts deep, see the spray of blood and gore.

Ahead, over his wrestling partner, he can see the small figure making it to the end of the alley, crossing out into a busier street where there seems to be life and activity, a threshold of light these shadowy assassins dare not cross. And then, just as suddenly, those shadows fall, as several more catch up and leap down in the space ahead. Behind him, in front of him, swords drawn, they come...

...and then vanish. Jimmy's laying on the ground still, because the simulator can't change that. But the ground is now something a little more familiar: cold, hard frost with a dusting of damp snow above. The wind howls all around, swirling snow reducing visibility to almost nothing, and the chill is immediately palpable.

"Do you want to keep going, or is that enough?" For the first time, Jean's voice appears on the intercom, breaking through the illusion. "Technically, the last one would have probably killed you." She pauses. "Or, as close as is possible, anyway."

As she's talking, in the white haze of the snowstorm, a shadow grows visible. Large, formiddable, vaguely man-shaped, with arms and legs at least. Stalking closer.

Jimmy Hudson has posed:
    She has him going, his focus full on the scenarios given, likely buying well into that suspension of disbelief... which considering the gear they are using and the capabilities of the Danger Room it's no surprise with it being so staggeringly close to reality. Yet as those ninjas flicker and disappear it snaps him back to the understanding of the greater picture. Strong enough of an impact that it has him shaking his head even as he starts to push himself to his feet in that snow.
    Snow that suddenly feels more heavy, a palpable thing as it clings to his body and the contours of his torn ragged overshirt. He turns away, only his silhouette visible to those observing in the stormy weather with a regular cam. But on the thermograph he appears plain as day.
    Enough so that they can see when he gestures with his other hand outwards and the second set of claws slice through his knuckles, spattering a quartet of crimson thermographic blobs onto the ground as the camera picks up the heat of his blood. Only for those heat signatures to fade quickly when the cold takes them.
    "Keep going." He says, loud enough to be heard he thinks, but turning to try and see what it is he's meant to see. Some sort of lesson or scenario to act on.
    Yet that is the moment when he sees that large shadow.

Jean Grey has posed:
Jean isn't exactly surprised by the answer, especially as she looks down at the terminal and at the data for the running program. What could she really expect? The screen's header reads:

PROGRAM DIRECTORY | USER: WOLVERINE | SORTBY: MAX PROGRAM HOURS

Beneath that, the selected program, close to the top, is highlighted:

ENVIRONMENT: Canadian Wilderness//Winter | OBJECTIVE/OPPONENT: SABRETOOTH

Within the Danger Room, The figure that in the swirling snow looms ever more massive as it draws closer, proportions coming into frightening perspective: a massive chest with more muscles than seem like they should be able to fit, and long, powerful arms ending in vicious-looking clawed hands. The signature ruffle of fur around his neck, and finally a face that is barely human, savage and yet familiar, particularly with its shock of blonde hair. His eyes are predatory, almost feral, but even worse is his smile. Not for the sharpness of his teeth, but for the pure pleasure he seems to take as he stalks his apparent prey.

"Ohho, now who's this little fellah? Something familiar in your scent, -boy-." That grin, unrelenting. "Now do me a favor, doncha make this too -easy- for me."

And then he comes, faster than those hudnreds of pounds of pure muscle should be able to move. Comes with slashing claws, not meant to simply kill - not at first anyway - but to maim, sever and gut, to make his prey feel death nearing.

In truth, it's actually more than the room is willing to simulate without totally disabling every safety, but it compensates by adding neuro-targetted electric jolts to the blows, to simulate a fraction of the pain and horror.

Rogue has posed:
Rogue puts her phone down in her lap and sits up in her chair in the control room. She leans forward and looks down at the screen, then up at the simulation window in front of her. She reaches for the bag of chips in front of her and pulls it off of the counter to drop it in to her lap on top of her thighs. "Is this really gonna push him, or push the Danger Room, to its limits?" She asks with a sidelong look over toward Jean.

Rogue pulls her gloves off of her hands and smirks, as she opens the crisps bag up and dips her right hand in to find one to raise up to her lips to chew on it.

Crunchy crunchy.!

Jimmy Hudson has posed:
    For a moment that image is so strong, so prominent. Jean has likely seen it many times if she's reviewed those records, those archives, the way that the youth is standing so similar to the images of his predecessor. His center of gravity low, legs partially spread and him turned to the side, arms held at his waist with claws ready.
    Then there's the voice, snide derision clear in its gravelly tone, something in it causing the hackles of whomever hears it to roil even as he ducks a little lower and spreads his arms wide, claws held out. Then Jimmy's voice lifts, voice taking an animation, an intensity that isn't normally heard from the laconic teacher as he says sharply, simply.
    "Who the fuck are you supposed to be?"
    But there is no time for introductions before the horror is on him. Rushing across the snow, debris and ice kicked in his wake, then the leap and the slash past him. Enough to draw blood that mars the winter snow, and accompanied by the electrical shock it sends James /flying/ across the windswept landscape, landing in a drift with a heavy whupf. Only to have another claw gain purchase in his shoulder and tear to throw him across the distance again, sending him rolling across the ground as those claws leave torn divots in the earth.
    He has enough focus to get back to his feet and snarls as he slashes at...
    The air apparently, having lost his opponent. He spins in place, trying to find him, see him in the white wasteland. No scent given, no sound nor crunch of snow, no way to key on him.

Jean Grey has posed:
"If it was Logan fighting, you might be right," Jean tells Rogue, sitting back. She's watching this carefully, because whether or not Jimmy has declared himself ready to endure this, she has her own limits. "At least the limits of the combat heuristics processors. The program's at max setting for adaptive combat ability and aggression, along with the appropriate physical parameters." She pauses, and then considers, "This might actually be -worse- than the real thing, since it's designed to teach you to beat him. Though I'm sure Logan would say the computer can't simulate instinct."

Those may be interesting little details for the two women to discuss in the safety of their warm little booth, but the details are pretty meaningless for Jimmy. If the earlier scenarios were meant to test and teach different aspects of his personality, this is the Kobayashi Maru, the unwinnable scenario. It's designed for Logan, and locked in a way no student could access it normally.

And it shows.

Because out in the simulated snow, the false Sabretooth is nonetheless a pretty real monster. The wind howls, swirls, and his claws seem part of the storm, cutting and vanishing, striking and fading. Jimmy turns, and is cut across his back. Adjusts, only to feel a slice across his flank. When he attacks, the artic air swallows him.

"You don't belong here, boy. You oughta run home to daddy. Or heck, maybe I'm your daddy. Heh, heh. You like that?"

Sparkling conversation it is not, although it serves as a layer of psychological warfare in the simulation, and study without. Jean's fingers hover near the controls, because soon the creature comes again, and this time, not to play hide and seek. Jimmy only has to stumble, hesitate a moment, and then with blast of white snow followed by a rush of yellow and tan, the creature is ON him, throwing him from his feet and then pinning him, slashing at his face, then reacting to a raised claw by catching the man's forearm. The other, unbound claw even finds a target, draws blood: just enough to show him that this foe heals every bit as well as he does.

"Oh we're going to have fun, boy..." Again, he raises a claw.

And then, finally, instead of everything vanishing, the scene freezes. "I think that's about enough for today."

Jimmy Hudson has posed:
    While the women speak in the observation room, indeed down and dirty in the snow, Jimmy is not doing well. It's all a blur to him, the way the world melds into sensations and impacts and jolting left and right. There are moments... slim moments assuredly when he thinks he has an edge or a sightline on Sabretooth only for the snow to kick up again and claws to bite deep.
    That shirt is a shambles, torn and ragged, left as nothing but strips at points. His bare chest is slicked crimson from the lost blood and the angry wounds that seem to stitch closed albeit slower than they're given.
    Quietly, again under his breath, he murmurs softly to himself. "I liked this shirt." As if that was the true casualty here. Yet as Sabretooth speaks, as he taunts the younger Howlett descendant, Jimmy turns and bares his claws, open as if ready to embrace the rush of the monster in a lethal embrace.
    The snow is kicked up, the rush of movement. Impact.
    Two bodies hit the ground and Sabretooth rears grabbing hold of his wrist, not seeming to care that the youth has the other arm free.
    'Maybe I'm your daddy. Heh, heh. You like that?'
    Which finally gets Jimmy's eyes to tighten, something wild in them as there's a momentary flash of silver across those bone claws as he growls and shouts angrily into the snow and Sabretooth's face even as those now metal blades /slash/ into Creed's abdomen wickedly.
    "My FATHER is JAMES HUDSON!"
    Only for the evil mutant to seemingly shrug that off, dripping blood, gurgling a laugh as he pins the boy then and draws back that claw.
    'Oh we're going to have fun, boy...'
    And then the images freeze, leaving him there in the cold that is no longer as cold, with him trying to catch his breath lying there with the monstrosity over him. But whatever happened to the young instructor's claws is no longer in evidence.

Rogue has posed:
Rogue sits up a little higher in her chair, a bag of chips on her lap as she raises one up to her lips to pass it between them and chomp down quietly upon it. She shakes her head at Jean's words as she watches Jimmy. "God damn..." She say ssoftly. "Where do they get this drive?" She asks, glancing over to Jean. "Not many men in this world seem t'have the killer instinct that Logan'n his kin seem t'have. What happened? Why are we left with a bulk majority'a men who are more interested with their Twitter follower numbers, than how a shirt sits on their--" Rogue pauses, reaches out to pick up her tea to sip from its straw. "Broad shoulders."

She flashes a grin over to Jean then. "I'm glad you invited me t'this. It's better than anythin' on Netflix."

Jean Grey has posed:
Jean doesn't take a chip at first, at least not until she's certain that the scenario is safely paused and unloading. After that, she looks to Rogue, takes one, and can't help herself from an airy laugh. "We're still not sure about his exact heritage but... it's hard to imagine he's not some part of Logan, seeing that." And while she doesn't quite partake in the other woman's philosophizing on the failings of millenial masculinity, she does have to admit: "Evolution does good work."

As they speak, the simulation begins to fade, yet not in its entirety. The walls, the full exterior of the space returns to its natural state, the gleaming chrome metallic surface. That surface reveals the door to the booth, which opens to reveal Jean as she steps out. No chip at this point. Eventually, the only thing left with them in the room is the full, frozen image of Sabertooth, poised to strike.

"Are you alright?" she wonders, as she approaches, although to at least some extent Jean probably knows- between the monitors and her own sense of things, she wouldn't be coming down if she thought the man wasn't in control. "Let me say that I'm sorry if this was all a little shocking. Normally, with our younger students, we obviously train them up progressively, bit by bit, lesson by lesson. But you're not a child, and adults come with a lot more in the ways of habit, baggage, ingrained behavior. I thought it would be good just to get everything out there on the table, so to speak."

There's a pause, once she's closer, she seems to look the man over. Purely to ascertain that there are no lingering injuries that he's not able to quickly heal, no doubt. "The other half of it that this is a good broad-strokes introduction to what we do, and how varied it can be. Sometimes, we're just dealing with ignorant people. And sometimes... it's this."

Jimmy Hudson has posed:
    Standing there, what strips remain of his shirt hanging in tatters from the waist of his not quite as badly mauled blue jeans, he's breathing steadily albeit heavily as he recovers from the moment, the adrenalin, the intensity. He's still looking. Still looking at the thing that is Sabretooth.
    When Jean appears he turns his head slightly, brow furrowed, and she can likely sense the heightened wariness, the tension, even without her mental senses. For there's the way the contours of his mauled chest tighten and clench signalling that palpable way he holds himself taut and ready even as his body heals and those cuts knit closed. From afar he would be viewed as some nightmare from a horror movie, bloodied so. But closer, Jean at least can see the man remaining in those eyes when he turns them on her.
    "You people." He starts to say, then he looks down at his hands and with a small /SCHNACHAK!/ the blades slither back into his forearms causing him to wince slightly as he then looks back toward Jean. "Don't believe in half-measures. Do ya?"
    Time hangs there, silence, the ominous spectacle of Sabretooth standing sentinel over them. A space of quiet until finally he breaks it by murmuring. "I'm not naive. I know what goes on in the world. But knowing it..."
    The young mutant looks back at Sabretooth and says, "And knowing it. Are different things."

Rogue has posed:
Rogue just kind of materializes beside Jean, her grey hoodie's hood up but her white bangs framing her sculpted features. She's holding that bag of potato chips in front of her as she stands beside her mentor, her idol, in Jean Grey and glances to her, then to ward Jimmy. "We're only doin' this stuff for the best'a reasons." The Belle says to him. "We're tryin' t'find the best folks who'll help us do the hardest work. The kinda work that helps the people most in need. T'spread the word a'greatness. We're lookin' for folks like..." She glances toward Jean. Like Logan? Well... he's not here right now, but James is. She sweeps her stare back toward him. "We're the X-Men. Charles Xavier's vision for a better t'morrow, ya know? Go t'bed at night, wake up and the world is a little bit better causea'a what you did yesterday. That kinda' deal. We hopes, anyhow."

Potato chip crunch.

Jean Grey has posed:
There is a moment where Jean stands stone still, cautious in case she -has- misread the man's level of control. Maybe that's why Rogue is really here, and not just to provide peanut gallery comments. She takes a breath, and expels it, as things settle.

"It was a judgment call," Jean admits, with a flinch of a guilty reaction at that bit about half-measures, or lack thereof. "And I take full responsibility. But compared to a lot of mutants your age, you've had a reasonably normal, or at least not-hellish kind of life. So I didn't want you to have any illusions about this, about what we do and what you were asking to join. This is it. This is what the job looks like on a bad day."

Looking aside to Rogue, its a bit of a reversal for her to give the Xavier speech while Jean hands out the hard reality, but she seems to appreciate it. Maybe she brought Rogue for a lot of reasons, for more kinds of backup than the clobbering sort.

"I also wanted to be sure, but I doubt there's any sense in putting you in introductory classes with students a decade younger. There may be places where we'll need to pad out your skillset, but my feeling is that it's best you start learning by doing. And after seeing this, I'm ready to approve you for probationary active status, which will mean going on certain missions with approval from a senior team member. You'll also have access to the Danger Room- ah, that's what we call this simulator." She gestures around, before returning to the point she was making. "So you can try out these scenarios, or various others, on your own time."

She offers a slightly less professional and more encouraging smile then, and adds: "I think you did pretty well for starters. Even if the ninjas killed you, the kid got away."

Jimmy Hudson has posed:
    "Mm," James says as he holds his words for the moment after Rogue offers her insight, he nods slowly, having likely pieced together some of what she's told him already. But it's good to have it laid out in front of him. He takes some of the tatters of his shirt and uses it to wipe at some of the blood on him as he takes a deep breath.
    "Well. One thing is for sure. Showed me I'm not what you'd call ready if that's what you deal with." He doesn't look back at Sabretooth then. Instead just stands here looking at the two of them.
    But then Jean counters that opinion as she tells him about the kid getting away, which has him giving a sort of grudging nod and a roll of one shoulder, one hand lifting to squeeze it as he winces a little, then he looks back toward them both.
    "Alright, if you think that's wise. If there's any reading to do, let me know. Or a work list of scenarios. Something I can do in my down time." He then lowers his eyes to look at his current state, bloodied and bedraggled, then he looks back up.
    "I." He starts to say, "Should go get cleaned up. Thanks for this." He looks to Rogue, then back toward Jean, nodding once. "Thanks. For the trust." His awareness of that likely hangs heavy on him. That said, however, he starts to head towards the now visible door.

Rogue has posed:
Rogue just looks over at Jean, and after a moment she flashes the redhead a smile before her stare goes back over to Jimmy and she nods her head once toward him. "You do what you wanna do, Muscles Malone. We're just here t'offer you options, if you think your life can equate t'somethin' greater. That's the option I was given, and it's the option I took too." The bag of chips is thrown over her right shoulder and Rogue starts to step back out of sight.

"Either way, I've certainly seen enough t'know there's plenty a'potential here for another hard hittin' member t'our ranks." This is said specifically over to JEAN, her ginger headed buddy and pal. And of course, Rogue affords her a big grin too before she fades out of sight back in to the control room.

Jean Grey has posed:
"These were intentionally challenging scenarios," Jean emphasizes. The last thing she wants out of this is for it to be demoralizing. "Situations stacked against you, that you were facing alone." A word she hangs on with some emphasis. "In the field, you're going to have a team with you. And while you're not going to be doing basics with the younglings, I will put you on the schedule for team practices. We also have databases you can review," since he asks about study materials. "This guy was generated from those files," and she gestures at the lingering image. "Although not all of them are all that detailed. But don't worry. If we're up against something that's just for the experts, then you stay on the bench."

Maybe the sports metaphor will help with Mr. Manly Man McRippedShirt!

"But yes. Its still up to you," she agrees with Rogue. "See how the training goes, and we'll get you out there making a difference first reasoanble chance." Then, grinning. "By all means, go hit the showers. I'll see you around upstairs." Like Rogue, she retreats toward the control booth rather than the main exit, presumably to travel via secret passages or review important data logs.