5920/In New York, You Can Be a New Man

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In New York, You Can Be a New Man
Date of Scene: 12 April 2021
Location: James's Room
Synopsis: No description
Cast of Characters: James Proudstar, Illyana Rasputina

James Proudstar has posed:
It's just another day at Xaviers, James is busy he keeps himself busy it's easier that way. Police, firefighter's, special operators, they speak of the stress of their jobs, how the routine helps you get through it and it's true. Special operations, teacher, survivalist, waiting for the bell to ring. You can sense the low level buzz in everyone around. So, it's rare when James get a spare moment in the middle of the day to be in his room. Straightening dusting, keeping everything what in his mind is Yana clean. He is the neatest of males under 21, and probably only Scott gives him a run over, maybe Pete.

     He's folding the last of his clothes and hiding the few things she keeps here among them when he gets the tingle at the back of his neck, enhanced senses, shaman abilities, long term proximity or imagination. He stands up a little straighter, might even tuck his shirt in.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
What does the wicked witch of the underplanes do when offered an opportunity neither to study, run errands or toil away in preparation for war and peace? Being Russian, drink tea and grimly brood over the state of being? Probably. After dropping off a few art supplies secretly to Piotr's room, Illyana spends an hour or two out in the student gardens where very few students loiter when it's wet and grey. She, on the other hand, arranges several potted herbs in a mound that might even bear leaves, if not fruit, come summer. Might be too early for basil, but lemon mint and rosemary are another matter. They leave their traces on her fingers as much as the tomato leaves impart a spice, and she can deal with that.

Soil cleaned from her hands and boots leaves little impression, at least. A solid scrubbing under her nails wipes away just about everything else, leaving the polish a bit squeaker than clean. No polish on said nails, which she examines briefly when rounding the corner to the hallway and meandering to a certain door of a certain room. No, not the understairs; this is not Hogwarts and besides, even if it were, she's no white snowy owl. Or a Death-Eater. Really.

Humming under her breath would give her away, but she is partly; the earbuds popped in under a drape of winter-pale hair are barely visible, connected to some device or another, giving her the best of a vibrantly dark mixtape. Nothing purely English, either; dark trance and devious electronica are usually European, with a bit of mashed-up Tagalog hip hop to a liquid dance beat mixed up for fun. //Here I am again, floating through the silence in my cold skin, my body's wearing thin, my fears tell me I'll never win. Burn, burn, I wanna see it burn, like a flame consuming rage and hope, tell me when it's my turn, to save it all when they won't learn. I won't let them take me down, down, down.//

A pause, and her knuckles hit the door, a light threnody.

James Proudstar has posed:
James Proudstar blinks and stands up, the proximity explains it, he's been getting flashes of her scent all morning, at the most random times. Working the in the backyard on the pool, cleaning out the firepit. Coming back from the training room, like ships that cross in the night. So close and yet they just can't seem to connect. Yet now coming up the hall. He can smell the garden, the vegetables, Piotr's room, the soap she washed her hands with, her last meal, is she taking care of herself. The music leaves an impression as well.

    Death-Eater? Perish the thought, none who know her could doubt the house for this Russian woman. She is every inch the RavenClaw, while Jim himself reside clearly on the fence between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. The knock surprises him more than any of the rest, it's what keeps him from sweeping her into his arms, he turns and smiles, "Hey, when did you start to knock?"

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Light on her feet, Illyana has little reason for suppressing her presence further. She doesn't need to hide from most of the school. Most days, they have enough to hide from in the outside world, or within, and why add to the trouble? Idly rolling her shoulders to alleviate any pressure point tension dancing along them only helps so far. She waits for the door to swing open and Jimmy to pretty much fill the space up, as tall as the door and probably slightly broader. The scale of things in the mansion has to be able to accommodate Piotr, him, some better incarnation of Victor Creed. Surely?

A tap to one of the earbuds silences the swell of notes bleed into a riff, crackling noise turned off. A smirk rolls in from the mist when she tilts her head up. "In the middle of the day? I knock. You might sleep." It's possible, and not everyone has the hearing of a bat combined with the ability to be a bat in all ways but Bruce Wayne, all said and done.

James Proudstar has posed:
James Proudstar grins and shakes his head, the door, when had he closed it? Didn't matter, he lingers in door frame taking her in, and then remembers himself and steps back allowing her passage and closing the door again behind her, granting them the most privacy the mansion grants. Jim nods and shakes his head, "Sorry, not sure when that got closed, thanks."

    His gaze lingers on the dregs of a bottle of wine that was greatly enjoyed. He grins and follows her across the room, picking up a basket from the highest shelf, sneaking it above his head and slipping an item from his pocket into the small offering, Then dropping it down from that lofty perch and presenting it, "Schastlivaya Vesna" A pair of bunny sacrifices, a mix of rum and merlot truffles and a care package of Russian chocolates. Of course, in the center is the true treasure a pair of tickets to the musical that has Limbo in such a uproar, the talk of Xavier's, Hamilton, box seats no less.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
The nudge of her hip urges the door open, gliding past with a smoothness belying awareness sharp and harsh. Not that anyone is invading Jimmy's space, likely. It's more than murderous with her in the area.

Her fingers touch her brow, and she drops her hand to the side. She watches James through golden eyes, watching the basket. "Are you suggesting it is time to eat too much chocolate?" Her question lies in the air as she plucks the basket, glancing over at it. Truffles? Oh hello!

James Proudstar has posed:
James Proudstar smiles and nods, with a soft chuckle, "Yes, now is the time when we eat too much chocolate." Jim pulls out he rest of the care package and another box of truffles, this one has guiness as well. from under the bed. He spreads them out on the bedspread to be enjoyed. He pulls you into his lap and lavishes you with truffle and glorious Russian chocolates as is only befitting a queen. "And Beak sent me the tickets, box sets, as a thank you. I remember you talking about the show and I would really love to watch it with you... like a real date? I mean not in front of anyone we know but, you, me. are corsages actually a thing? That's like only for proms, right? The way we used to before Tabs left. " He smiles and feeds you another truffle, merlot this time, and then some Russian confection you haven't had in ages.