Jeanne and Lance, Backdated to 2/19
Feb. 19th, 2018 06:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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ax_mainJeanne is confronted by the boy leader of the Brotherhood. The encounter certainly has its... ups and downs.
Jeanne's arm was still healing. That was why she was trying not to use it.
Which was a fun challenge, considering she was in the process of fending off a holographic attacker using only her right hand, and, of course, her legs. She kept her left arm folded up behind her, perfectly still so that she wouldn't disturb the still-healing stitches on it. Because she was just now getting back to training, she wasn't dealing with any kind of augmented enemy; just a highly skilled one, in a hand-to-hand sparring simulation that she'd designed herself. It was designed with a slew of data from various combatant data she'd absorbed throughout the years, and she was also trying to program it to learn similarly to how she did so that she would have to create, not just replicate.
It was a work in progress.
Lance had slipped into the Danger Room a few minutes earlier, and had found his prey...quarry? Person he was looking for. He'd found her there, like he'd thought, back at it, just like Fatale would be. Too much alike, Jesus. And injured too, the girl was still going at it, no slouch either, enough that Lance wasn't really sure he'd want to face her in there. He really needed to work on his hand-to-hand. But a few minutes in, he was bored of watching, and finally just reached out and shut the program down entirely. What? She could start it back up later.
Through the mic, he leaned in and said, "Hey, got a minute?"
She was not surprised when the simulation shut down; she'd glanced at the observation booth, as she occasionally did, and spotted the boy there. She didn't recognize him as one of the students, however. Must have been one of the Brotherhood.
Which meant that he was here for one of two things. Jeanne wasn't sure if she was even looking forward to either. "I do," she responded, looking at the observation booth. She didn't like that particular turn of phrase, simply because people didn't possess units of time, they merely were things that passed by, experienced by anyone, but had come to understand the meaning of the idiom at a relatively early age. "Shall I come to you, or you to me?" she asked, though she was also fine just carrying on the conversation like this.
He thought about his options. He didn't really want to find himself stuck in a Danger Room scenario with the girl, but he didn't want to look like a coward, either. A moment later, he opened the door into the cavernous room, hands stuffing into the pockets of his black leather jacket. "Avalanche, Leader of the Brotherhood." You know, along with Wanda, but whatever.
"I was unaware that Magneto had passed the mantle along to another," Jeanne said, her tone flat and devoid of emotion as usual. "Jeanne Foucault," she said, by way of introduction.
"Yeah well, he did," Lance bristled slightly. Magneto had passed that mantle along when he'd walked out on their asses. "And I know who you are. You had the run-in with Fatale."
Apparently new leadership was a sore topic. Something else must have transpired. Either Magneto was ousted, which seemed unlikely, or he had left the group. Given probabilities... he was likely embittered about a sudden and potentially unexplained departure.
"I did," Jeanne said. "Though I would simply say that... an incident occurred during a sparring match," Jeanne said.
"Yeah, I got that," Lance huffed. "Something about her knifing you in the arm, and you breaking hers."
"Her wrist, yes," Jeanne replied, unashamed as to what had happened, since, well, being ashamed was pointless. "It was... an escalation, on my part. In hindsight, there were likely ways to both keep her from stabbing me, as well as to keep the knife in the wound to minimize bleeding, that didn't involve breaking her wrist. However, I chose what my mind presented as the most expedient solution."
"Not so expedient now, huh?" Lance pointed out. "How the hell did it escalate?"
She wasn't sure what he meant by that; the solution had been an expedient one to the situation at hand at the time, which was to say, being stabbed. She supposed he was talking about the fallout from the situation, which, she had to admit, was bothersome. That wasn't a point she desired to argue, however. Best to simply continue the line of conversation.
"I would be happy to show you the footage," she said, shrugging. Even if it had been deleted from the archives for any reason, she had transferred a copy clandestinely to her phone the same day. "However, if you simply desire what I believe to be the barest facts, it's that I escalated the pacing and intensity of our sparring. I am... enthusiastic, I have found, when it comes to pushing myself and others toward what I perceive to be excellence. I should have been more careful, given even what little I know of her history with the Right."
"So basically, you pushed all the wrong buttons because you're a competitive twat, and you didn't think about the consequences, because why the fuck should you?" Lance huffed, folding his arms over his chest. She talked like Tessa, which made him feel like ignorant trash, which he hated. He also hated the thought of this bitch talking like that to Fatale and getting into some kind of competition with powers. Or not powers. Whatever. He still hated it.
Jeanne cocked her head only a few imperceptible degrees, and subtly squared her stance. Whether or not she was taking the blame for this, she was going to clear a few things up. "I would like to begin by stating that I typically have a difficulty reading people from an emotional perspective. This is doubly so when they are invisible," she said, the only slightest trace of emphasis creeping into her otherwise flat tone.
"I did not pressure Fatale into sparring with me. I wished to test my abilities against someone who could teleport. She surprised me with being able to also become invisible. I was demonstrating, in our sparring, how someone might negate the advantages she had while invisible. Hold me responsible as much as you desire, but at no point in time did Fatale protest or attempt to de-escalate the situation. You may hold me accountable as much as you desire for her wrist. However, a fair amount of the blame also falls to your comrade, who I had no idea was armed at the time of our sparring. Blame that, I might add, I have been endeavoring to keep from falling on you and yours."
She probably wasn't helping, but despite herself, Jeanne was angry. Maybe it was because her arm was sore. Or maybe because nobody had treated her quite as unfairly, she felt, since her parents.
"Yeah well. Thanks for not ratting her out, anyway. I mean, sure, she can get a little riled, but that's not really her fault either. Whether you knew it or not, doesn't matter. You should be more careful of kids around here," Lance told her as he took a lap around the room, checking out the construction while he had a second that wasn't governed by a training program.
"Noted," Jeanne responded, her tone returning to its normal flatness. The soreness in her arm reminded her that she should probably lay off further training for the day, lest she risk further injury. "Needless to say, I have a newfound respect for you and your comrades."
He looked over, frowning suspiciously. "Why?"
"While I cannot say for certain, I suspect that if our situations were reversed, I doubt Professor Xavier would have this sort of conversation with the offending party," Jeanne said, shrugging just a little. "I do not merit such a thing, I imagine." She had no idea why Avalanche had tracked her down, but it was becoming more and more clear to her. His intentions were not altogether peaceful.
He couldn't tell if she was insulting him or complimenting him, and that only unnerved him further. "Whatever. Just watch yourself. Do you still have the knife?"
"I do, though not on my person, as per request of the faculty," Jeanne said. "It is safe. I planned on returning it to Fatale herself, as an... offering of goodwill," she said. Hopefully Avalanche would understand that, and allow her at least that much.
"Yeah well, it'd be an offering of goodwill to give it back to me," Lance countered. "Where's your room?"
"It may be best if I go and retrieve it myself, and bring it back here," Jeanne offered in return. "My... roommate seems to have a very poor opinion of your group. I doubt she would make any of our exchanges any more amiable," she said.
"Oh yeah?" Lance smirked. Of course she had a roommate who hated them. "Which one is it?"
"One who, doubtless, wouldn't wish to be named to you," Jeanne said, shrugging. She had no obligation to share TJ's identity. "I'll return shortly," Jeanne said, turning to leave the Danger Room. "With Fatale's knife."
Lance frowned, but gave a short nod. "Fine. Get the thing. I'll see you back here in a few."
Jeanne left, and returned within a few minutes with Fatale's knife. She'd done some paranoid peeking behind her to make sure that she wasn't being followed; she wasn't sure if Avalanche would try to pull one over on her. When she returned to the Danger Room, she was carrying Fatale's blade, freshly cleaned and polished to a shine. And yes, that was more than just the autoclave's doing; Jeanne had shined it herself, making sure it was cleaned adequately and properly maintained so it wouldn't rust (she wasn't sure how much Doctor McCoy knew about metallurgy and the proper care of blades, but Jeanne had done some reading).
"Here," Jeanne said, offering the knife by the handle, holding the blade by the dull side. "If you could, tell her I harbor no ill feelings toward her. And that I offer my apologies for what happened and my part in it."
Lance took the knife, eying it for a moment. It sure as hell didn't look like it had blood on it, which meant it had been cleaned. Not surprising, but he wasn't sure how Fatale was going to feel about that. "Yeah," he agreed, bending down to slip the blade into his boot. When he straightened, he gave her an odd look. "I'll tell her, though I'm still don't get why you aren't calling for her head."
"I have my reasons," Jeanne said, with an expression that seemed to state that she wasn't going to share them. "If there's nothing else you need, I should be going."
He frowned deeply at her. "So you don't have a problem with us, but you don't want to help us?"
"I never said that," Jeanne replied, shrugging. "Depending on circumstances, I may wish to assist you from time to time."
"That's kind of straddling the line, don't you think? You've never thought of joining us?" Lance asked curiously.
"The thought has crossed my mind," Jeanne said, honestly, because it had. "However, I have yet to see the full extent of both sides of this. Indeed, I do not even truly view them as 'sides,' merely 'factions.'"
Lance crossed his arms over his chest. "You don't see them as sides. You're living in a fantasy world, then, because all the pansy ass little kids here want to do is bury their heads in the sand. They don't get the fact that we're out there, fighting for their right to be alive, and they're in here, acting like everything is normal. Like they're baselines. Well, they're not. None of us are. We're better. And the more people figure that out, the more they're going to want to take us out."
"The combat capabilities of the children in this facility are highly varied," Jeanne pointed out. "What we get is up for debate, as well. What I do know," she said, as frank as she ever got, "is that the gross generalization of any group is dangerous. Individuals react in different ways. Several cities have declared themselves mutant-friendly. I watch their progress with acceptance very closely."
He snorted. "Mutant-friendly. Sure. That's just a party line. And even if it isn't, it's not like they can enforce people like the FoH."
"A party line it may be, but it is a beginning. And antagonizing things further only strengthens the cause of hate," Jeanne said, shrugging. "But perhaps I am wrong. We will see. As I said, if you desire my assistance, I may be willing to give it, depending on circumstances. I have a variety of skills."
"Yeah?" Lance gave her a once-over. "Like what? Besides breaking arms, I mean."
"Hand-to-hand of all varieties. Defense analysis. Security systems. Computer software. Any problem that requires an amount of pattern recognition." Jeanne shrugged. "My memory is photographic, as well as my muscle memory. If I see someone do something, even once, I can also do it, if it is physically possible for me to do so." Meaning she couldn't copy mutations, of course, but still.
Still, the list was impressive. Even more so since the Brotherhood was lacking in computer smarts, and this chick seemed like she knew her shit. He tried to settle himself, relaxing a bit as he looked at her with a new appreciation. "Okay. Tell you what. Standing invitation to visit our place some time, maybe meet some of the others. If you want to know about the other 'faction', anyway."
"I will consider it," Jeanne said, her tone bordering on earnest.
He rolled an 'I don't give a fuck' shrug and headed for the doors. "You do that. Pretty sure you know where to find us. If not, someone else here does."
"I am certain of it," Jeanne replied, watching him go. What was that feeling? Relief? Possibly. She wasn't certain.
Jeanne's arm was still healing. That was why she was trying not to use it.
Which was a fun challenge, considering she was in the process of fending off a holographic attacker using only her right hand, and, of course, her legs. She kept her left arm folded up behind her, perfectly still so that she wouldn't disturb the still-healing stitches on it. Because she was just now getting back to training, she wasn't dealing with any kind of augmented enemy; just a highly skilled one, in a hand-to-hand sparring simulation that she'd designed herself. It was designed with a slew of data from various combatant data she'd absorbed throughout the years, and she was also trying to program it to learn similarly to how she did so that she would have to create, not just replicate.
It was a work in progress.
Lance had slipped into the Danger Room a few minutes earlier, and had found his prey...quarry? Person he was looking for. He'd found her there, like he'd thought, back at it, just like Fatale would be. Too much alike, Jesus. And injured too, the girl was still going at it, no slouch either, enough that Lance wasn't really sure he'd want to face her in there. He really needed to work on his hand-to-hand. But a few minutes in, he was bored of watching, and finally just reached out and shut the program down entirely. What? She could start it back up later.
Through the mic, he leaned in and said, "Hey, got a minute?"
She was not surprised when the simulation shut down; she'd glanced at the observation booth, as she occasionally did, and spotted the boy there. She didn't recognize him as one of the students, however. Must have been one of the Brotherhood.
Which meant that he was here for one of two things. Jeanne wasn't sure if she was even looking forward to either. "I do," she responded, looking at the observation booth. She didn't like that particular turn of phrase, simply because people didn't possess units of time, they merely were things that passed by, experienced by anyone, but had come to understand the meaning of the idiom at a relatively early age. "Shall I come to you, or you to me?" she asked, though she was also fine just carrying on the conversation like this.
He thought about his options. He didn't really want to find himself stuck in a Danger Room scenario with the girl, but he didn't want to look like a coward, either. A moment later, he opened the door into the cavernous room, hands stuffing into the pockets of his black leather jacket. "Avalanche, Leader of the Brotherhood." You know, along with Wanda, but whatever.
"I was unaware that Magneto had passed the mantle along to another," Jeanne said, her tone flat and devoid of emotion as usual. "Jeanne Foucault," she said, by way of introduction.
"Yeah well, he did," Lance bristled slightly. Magneto had passed that mantle along when he'd walked out on their asses. "And I know who you are. You had the run-in with Fatale."
Apparently new leadership was a sore topic. Something else must have transpired. Either Magneto was ousted, which seemed unlikely, or he had left the group. Given probabilities... he was likely embittered about a sudden and potentially unexplained departure.
"I did," Jeanne said. "Though I would simply say that... an incident occurred during a sparring match," Jeanne said.
"Yeah, I got that," Lance huffed. "Something about her knifing you in the arm, and you breaking hers."
"Her wrist, yes," Jeanne replied, unashamed as to what had happened, since, well, being ashamed was pointless. "It was... an escalation, on my part. In hindsight, there were likely ways to both keep her from stabbing me, as well as to keep the knife in the wound to minimize bleeding, that didn't involve breaking her wrist. However, I chose what my mind presented as the most expedient solution."
"Not so expedient now, huh?" Lance pointed out. "How the hell did it escalate?"
She wasn't sure what he meant by that; the solution had been an expedient one to the situation at hand at the time, which was to say, being stabbed. She supposed he was talking about the fallout from the situation, which, she had to admit, was bothersome. That wasn't a point she desired to argue, however. Best to simply continue the line of conversation.
"I would be happy to show you the footage," she said, shrugging. Even if it had been deleted from the archives for any reason, she had transferred a copy clandestinely to her phone the same day. "However, if you simply desire what I believe to be the barest facts, it's that I escalated the pacing and intensity of our sparring. I am... enthusiastic, I have found, when it comes to pushing myself and others toward what I perceive to be excellence. I should have been more careful, given even what little I know of her history with the Right."
"So basically, you pushed all the wrong buttons because you're a competitive twat, and you didn't think about the consequences, because why the fuck should you?" Lance huffed, folding his arms over his chest. She talked like Tessa, which made him feel like ignorant trash, which he hated. He also hated the thought of this bitch talking like that to Fatale and getting into some kind of competition with powers. Or not powers. Whatever. He still hated it.
Jeanne cocked her head only a few imperceptible degrees, and subtly squared her stance. Whether or not she was taking the blame for this, she was going to clear a few things up. "I would like to begin by stating that I typically have a difficulty reading people from an emotional perspective. This is doubly so when they are invisible," she said, the only slightest trace of emphasis creeping into her otherwise flat tone.
"I did not pressure Fatale into sparring with me. I wished to test my abilities against someone who could teleport. She surprised me with being able to also become invisible. I was demonstrating, in our sparring, how someone might negate the advantages she had while invisible. Hold me responsible as much as you desire, but at no point in time did Fatale protest or attempt to de-escalate the situation. You may hold me accountable as much as you desire for her wrist. However, a fair amount of the blame also falls to your comrade, who I had no idea was armed at the time of our sparring. Blame that, I might add, I have been endeavoring to keep from falling on you and yours."
She probably wasn't helping, but despite herself, Jeanne was angry. Maybe it was because her arm was sore. Or maybe because nobody had treated her quite as unfairly, she felt, since her parents.
"Yeah well. Thanks for not ratting her out, anyway. I mean, sure, she can get a little riled, but that's not really her fault either. Whether you knew it or not, doesn't matter. You should be more careful of kids around here," Lance told her as he took a lap around the room, checking out the construction while he had a second that wasn't governed by a training program.
"Noted," Jeanne responded, her tone returning to its normal flatness. The soreness in her arm reminded her that she should probably lay off further training for the day, lest she risk further injury. "Needless to say, I have a newfound respect for you and your comrades."
He looked over, frowning suspiciously. "Why?"
"While I cannot say for certain, I suspect that if our situations were reversed, I doubt Professor Xavier would have this sort of conversation with the offending party," Jeanne said, shrugging just a little. "I do not merit such a thing, I imagine." She had no idea why Avalanche had tracked her down, but it was becoming more and more clear to her. His intentions were not altogether peaceful.
He couldn't tell if she was insulting him or complimenting him, and that only unnerved him further. "Whatever. Just watch yourself. Do you still have the knife?"
"I do, though not on my person, as per request of the faculty," Jeanne said. "It is safe. I planned on returning it to Fatale herself, as an... offering of goodwill," she said. Hopefully Avalanche would understand that, and allow her at least that much.
"Yeah well, it'd be an offering of goodwill to give it back to me," Lance countered. "Where's your room?"
"It may be best if I go and retrieve it myself, and bring it back here," Jeanne offered in return. "My... roommate seems to have a very poor opinion of your group. I doubt she would make any of our exchanges any more amiable," she said.
"Oh yeah?" Lance smirked. Of course she had a roommate who hated them. "Which one is it?"
"One who, doubtless, wouldn't wish to be named to you," Jeanne said, shrugging. She had no obligation to share TJ's identity. "I'll return shortly," Jeanne said, turning to leave the Danger Room. "With Fatale's knife."
Lance frowned, but gave a short nod. "Fine. Get the thing. I'll see you back here in a few."
Jeanne left, and returned within a few minutes with Fatale's knife. She'd done some paranoid peeking behind her to make sure that she wasn't being followed; she wasn't sure if Avalanche would try to pull one over on her. When she returned to the Danger Room, she was carrying Fatale's blade, freshly cleaned and polished to a shine. And yes, that was more than just the autoclave's doing; Jeanne had shined it herself, making sure it was cleaned adequately and properly maintained so it wouldn't rust (she wasn't sure how much Doctor McCoy knew about metallurgy and the proper care of blades, but Jeanne had done some reading).
"Here," Jeanne said, offering the knife by the handle, holding the blade by the dull side. "If you could, tell her I harbor no ill feelings toward her. And that I offer my apologies for what happened and my part in it."
Lance took the knife, eying it for a moment. It sure as hell didn't look like it had blood on it, which meant it had been cleaned. Not surprising, but he wasn't sure how Fatale was going to feel about that. "Yeah," he agreed, bending down to slip the blade into his boot. When he straightened, he gave her an odd look. "I'll tell her, though I'm still don't get why you aren't calling for her head."
"I have my reasons," Jeanne said, with an expression that seemed to state that she wasn't going to share them. "If there's nothing else you need, I should be going."
He frowned deeply at her. "So you don't have a problem with us, but you don't want to help us?"
"I never said that," Jeanne replied, shrugging. "Depending on circumstances, I may wish to assist you from time to time."
"That's kind of straddling the line, don't you think? You've never thought of joining us?" Lance asked curiously.
"The thought has crossed my mind," Jeanne said, honestly, because it had. "However, I have yet to see the full extent of both sides of this. Indeed, I do not even truly view them as 'sides,' merely 'factions.'"
Lance crossed his arms over his chest. "You don't see them as sides. You're living in a fantasy world, then, because all the pansy ass little kids here want to do is bury their heads in the sand. They don't get the fact that we're out there, fighting for their right to be alive, and they're in here, acting like everything is normal. Like they're baselines. Well, they're not. None of us are. We're better. And the more people figure that out, the more they're going to want to take us out."
"The combat capabilities of the children in this facility are highly varied," Jeanne pointed out. "What we get is up for debate, as well. What I do know," she said, as frank as she ever got, "is that the gross generalization of any group is dangerous. Individuals react in different ways. Several cities have declared themselves mutant-friendly. I watch their progress with acceptance very closely."
He snorted. "Mutant-friendly. Sure. That's just a party line. And even if it isn't, it's not like they can enforce people like the FoH."
"A party line it may be, but it is a beginning. And antagonizing things further only strengthens the cause of hate," Jeanne said, shrugging. "But perhaps I am wrong. We will see. As I said, if you desire my assistance, I may be willing to give it, depending on circumstances. I have a variety of skills."
"Yeah?" Lance gave her a once-over. "Like what? Besides breaking arms, I mean."
"Hand-to-hand of all varieties. Defense analysis. Security systems. Computer software. Any problem that requires an amount of pattern recognition." Jeanne shrugged. "My memory is photographic, as well as my muscle memory. If I see someone do something, even once, I can also do it, if it is physically possible for me to do so." Meaning she couldn't copy mutations, of course, but still.
Still, the list was impressive. Even more so since the Brotherhood was lacking in computer smarts, and this chick seemed like she knew her shit. He tried to settle himself, relaxing a bit as he looked at her with a new appreciation. "Okay. Tell you what. Standing invitation to visit our place some time, maybe meet some of the others. If you want to know about the other 'faction', anyway."
"I will consider it," Jeanne said, her tone bordering on earnest.
He rolled an 'I don't give a fuck' shrug and headed for the doors. "You do that. Pretty sure you know where to find us. If not, someone else here does."
"I am certain of it," Jeanne replied, watching him go. What was that feeling? Relief? Possibly. She wasn't certain.
