2019-03-28 - Reconnecting at Xavier's

Summary:

Illyana drops in on Sam as he does some yardwork around the Institute and Doug drops in. The three former classmates catchup.

Log Info:

Storyteller: None
Date: Thu Mar 28 22:04:42 2019
Location: Xavier's Institute

Related Logs

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Theme Song

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sam-guthrieillyana-rasputinadouglas-ramsey

Sam's been doing some work around the yard at the Institute, pruning trees and cleaning up leaves that had fallen away and been left to sit under the winter snow. Technically, they had groundskeepers to do that sort of thing, but Sam liked to keep busy and he always felt a little silly watching someone else do work that he could do just fine. Just struck him as lazy.

He's wearing a light jacket and a button-down shirt, with jeans and workboots, climbing down from a tree and tossing some large shears onto the ground next to a toolbox. He wipes his brow a bit and mutters to himself, "One tree down, fourteen more to go."

In daylight, it's a lot harder to spot the flare of light that comes with Illyana's stepping disks. Unlike certain other teleporters, no foul smells accompany the blonde's appearance. At least, Sam can assume that's how Illyana showed up since she wasn't there when he was climbing down but her voice sounds right behind him. "I didn't think you for a Biology type major."

The tone is familiar. Unaccented English with a dry humor that always seems to be mocking someone. When he turns to look at her, she's mostly the same except… older than the not-quite-a-year that's gone by should have aged her. "Hey Sam." She says with the faintest of smiles. But it's real, and that's not something most folks get from her.

Sam Guthrie blinks and finds himself looking at Illyana, of all people. He supposes he shouldn't be surprised, given the topsy-turvy nature of their lives, but still, he is, his eyes going wide and his mouth breaking into a grin, "Yana! I'll be damned," he says, and then considers his choice of words and winces, 'I mean…it's good to see you."

He starts to move forward to offer a hug but, knowing Illyana's tendency towards moodiness, he hesitates before closing the deal, not wanting to impose himself.

Illyana Rasputina herself just gives a soft huff of amusement at Sam's choice of words. "You're not. That's one of the things I like best about you." She remarks with her usual smirk. The open arms get a once over before Illyana steps into Sam's space and wraps her arms around his midsection to accept the hug and then stays that way for a long moment before letting him go. While she steps back, she doesn't really move out of his personal space.

A nod is given up to the tree. "Soooo, you're doing yardwork?" A brow is quirked up at him, and those cold blue eyes spark with amusement at how the hayseed is filling his time.

Sam Guthrie runs a hand through his hair, tousling the dirty blonde, "Well, a body's gotta keep busy. I ain't in school no more an' I ain't got a real job yet, so I'm just kinda…here. I ain't qualified to teach much but flyin' an' there ain't a lotta kids who fly. Plus, Angel's got that handled better'n me anyways."

"So, I help out where I can," he shrugs. "Leastways I don't feel like a bum. So, uh, you're back, then, I take it?" he says. He won't pry or try to push her about things. He's gotten the sense that her world is not his world, that she deals in the weird and the occult and…things he'd rather just not know about. She's his friend, she's here, that's what he cares about, the rest is just mud.

There were definitely other students for whom Illyana's connection to the occult was a sticking point. That Sam didn't seem to see a problem between his faith and Illyana's… involvements was always one of his more endearing traits. For her at least.

The question has the blonde sorceress nodding. "Yeah. I got caught up in some stuff in Limbo." Even her classmates, whom she was closest with at the school, didn't know much about the realm she teleported through. Save that she grew up there and that it was dangerous. She kept their exposure to the bare minimum, but they also knew that time tended to be a bit wonky there. "But that should be settled now so I figured I'd come back…" She gives a thoughtful frown that, after a moment curves up into a smirk. "I guess I'm just being a bum myself at the moment."

To Sam, the important thing is a person's heart, not their beliefs. And he's always seen the good in Illyana, even when others didn't, even when she probably had trouble seeing it herself. Sam's good at that sort of thing.

"You're always welcome here, I know that much," he says. "Well, you can always watch me keep busy. Or see if you know how to drive a mower," he teases. "Honest, I think we're better off bummin'. Doug's gotten a job and I don't think he likes it much. Poor guy."

Illyana Rasputina makes an 'eeeeh' sound. "Maybe I'll just work on perfecting my bum-ing." Her pale eyes glint with amusement at that before she teases, "And watching you work could be fun."

Doug's predicament gets a huff of amusement. "Yeaaaah. I've seen Doug, and he is definitely a bored Language Lad." She hitches a shoulder in a shrug. "But we'll see. I have a few things that might liven things up for him." Like dragging him into her 'hobbies'. "I'd have just up and wandered off already." Like she'd been known to do during classes sometimes.

Sam Guthrie grins, "Yeah, but he always did get bored easy. Comes with being a smarty pants, I guess. I'm lucky I'm just an average guy. Well, in the brains department anyhow," he says.

He carefully packs up some of the tools and carries them a bit over to the next tree, leading Illyana behind him. "Things are at least a little less bad than they were when we were in school. Registration's gone. Still some hateful folks out there, but that's always gonna be the way. Little bit o' hope goes a long way."

Illyana Rasputina and Sam are out on the Xavier School property where Sam has been pruning trees and cleaning up the leaves that have been under snow over the winter. In his light jacket and button-down and Illyana in black-on-black-with-more-black-andoksomesilveraccents, they cut very different figures. And Illyana certainly doesn't look dressed to do yardwork. But that's OK, because she's not actually doing any, just watching Sam.

"I was gonna say, you're not even average *height*, Sam Guthrie." Illyana says with her usual smirk. "Doesn't help that they probably want him to do the same thing over and over." Uh oh. Who might they be talking about?

Sam Guthrie clambers up another tree, climbing on one of the lower branches and carefully begins to prune away some of the excess. It's clear he knows his work, not just chopping haphazardly but just gently keeping a few stray limbs from growing out of hand.

"Can't help it if I got a little extra leg," he grins. "Well, that's work for ya, I guess. Factory or minin', workin' in an office, all the same thing in the end. Doin' your day's labor for someone else's dime. Least miners got a union," he says.

Sometimes, Doug Ramsey is a *shit*. Never really evil, just kind of an imp.

Like how right now, he walks around the corner made by a well-sculpted rue hedge, and he's holding a football. He had been tossing it around as an idle amusement. He tosses it up… and down. Up… and down.

Then, he looks up at Sam, and at Illyana. Doinking Sam with the football might result in a trip to the E.R.-

Then again, doinking Illyana with the football might result in being hung by his ankles over the Seething Pit of Maggots. Or a dunk in the River of Slime.

In the end, Doug catches the football and holds it. Doink *pending*. "Hey."

Illyana Rasputina could *surely* find a Bog of Eteranl Stench somewhere. Seems right up her alley. The blonde woman turns her head as Doug greets them, eyeing the football and then Cypher himself. "Looks like I'm rubbing off on him. Speak of the devil. You here to talk Sam out of being productive so that I don't feel so guilty just watching him work?" That's likely an exaggeration. Illyana doesn't feel *guilt*. Mostly.

Sam Guthrie grins, "Douggers," he says, finishing his work on that particular tree and dropping down again, his boots landing easily in the soft, new-green grass. "I was just welcomin' Yana back 'round these parts. An' discussin' the evils o' idle hands versus the boredom of workin' for a livin'. I tend to feel guilty for not doin' enough. But I seen enough of my family and friends work themselves down to nothin' tryin' to make ends meet. So maybe I'm bein' ungrateful if I don't enjoy lazin' a little bit," he shrugs. "Catch-22, I guess."

"Work and play define one another in the human language. Too much play that's not productive begins to cloy. Too much work with no join causes stress. The problem of having a complicated mind." Doug tosses the football up and catches it. "I realized that my problem was that I was being too *serious*, which isn't the same thing as taking my job seriously…" Doug sighs. "And was losing the meaning of what I was doing. But the quest for meaning is itself part of the meaning…"

Then once he doesn't have to worry about Sam falling out of the tree and landing on his head, he lobs the football at him, waiting for the catch or the *doink*, and only after does he cheerfully say "Go long!"

Illyana Rasputina pushes her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket, her head turning back and forth as she listens to the two talk. It's familiar, and eases the line of her shoulders. Tension she doesn't even realize is there most of the time. "I think they also call that 'first world problems', Douggie."

When the shorter man lobs the football at Sam's head Illyana gives a huff of amusement. "You're obviously bored the way you're just inviting trouble, Ramsey." Trying to *doink* Sam and earlier *boop*ing Illyana's nose.

Sam Guthrie catches the ball, extending his long arms and trotting just a bit to make sure he can catch it. "Gotta be careful, me goin' long could end up me shootin' off and flyin' through the fence. Again," he says, shaking his head as he tosses the ball back.

"Lady's got a point, buddy. We're lucky we got regular folk problems instead o' some of the stuff we thought was comin' our way a few years ago. But, as I was tellin' Doug, maybe we oughtta hang out more, like old times. Might keep us all from gettin' off-track if we look out for each other."

Doug, the scholar-athlete, the one who *actually was* a Boy Scout, trots back a couple steps, and catches the ball, before he tosses it back to Sam in that same lazy overhand lob.

"Hah. I used to think that was hilarious." Then he glances over at Illyana, and back at Sam, and he says, "Well… I mean, we're not students anymore. We have our own *lives* and our own plans. That's just part of growing up."

He holds his hands out to catch the ball. "That said? I'm much happier with my fams in my life than not in it. I mean… you guys know my parents and I don't talk since I outed myself as a Mutie, right? You guys, the X-Men… you're pretty much it."

Illyana Rasputina hitches a shoulder in a shrug at Sam's observation. "I didn't have anywhere to live, and New York rent is ridiculous so I just moved into Doug's place so I'm keeping an eye on him." She gives a 'serious' nod, trying not to smirk. She wasn't *quite* that rude about it, and Doug didn't throw any objections her way.

The hint of a smirk dies away as Doug gets more serious. "I've been alone a long time. It's not something I'd recommend."

Sam Guthrie nods, "I know how important family can be," he says. "You know you guys are that to me, as much as Paige or Jeb or any o' the other Guthries. Not that I tell them that," he says with a crooked grin.

"Well, maybe we should have kind of a squad, like old times. Get together a few times a week. Not to train or anything like that, just to…keep in touch. I'll even bring along a few beers if you don't tell on me," he grins.

Doug muses. "Well, I mean, I had the room. I own the building, and I've been looking for something to do with the bottom floor, right now I just have it gutted and I'm storing some stuff in it. I played the stock market a little bit after I got out of school, made some money, bought a place to live. I don't really like playing the stocks though. Like any game of chance, I have a built in cheat."

He looks over to Illyana, and says, "I like having a roommate." Then he crosses his arms, and bites the corner of his bottom lip, thinking about it. "I miss the gang." He admits. "I should've called… or at least texted."

Illyana Rasputina puts her hands up in a sort of 'don't look at me' manner. "I was locked up. Also, phones don't like me. So calls and texting is out for me." Apparently, delicate electronics don't care for hopping through Limbo. Eventually they start acting weird. Illyana blames the daemons.

Letting her arms drop back to her sides she shrugs. "Once you realize you've fallen out of touch with someone, you start wondering if they're going to be annoyed that you didn't get in touch sooner, so then you don't… it's this whole vicious circle." Interesting that perhaps the most anti-social of the group has insight of that sort.

Sam Guthrie grins, "I didn't know I was dealin' with a property owner. Maybe you got the space for us to get together then. We could…I dunno, play poker or somethin'?"

"Well, I ain't never gonna be annoyed atcha. And I'll make a point to keep reachin' out, until ya tell me otherwise. I ain't got a problem bein' a pest."

Doug quirks his mouth at Sam, and he says, "…I lose more often at Texas Hold-Em." He shrugs, once, lightly, and then says "…Well, above and beyond hanging out, an adventure every now and again might be nice. Save the world, then afters. I mean we might exist in a world that hates and fears us, but we find refuge in one another."

Then Doug looks over to Illyana. "*Some*body is getting maudlin. *Somebody* better be careful, lest she invite the return of…" He brings his arm cross his face, like a vampire's cape, "The *Mutant Menace*!" He takes advantage of all those dance classes to vampire-slide up next to Illyana. "Bwah!"

"Yeah, Mr. Overachiever here, ticking off his Adulting Goals all in one fell swoop." Illyana says dryly. "No, if we're gonna play a game it needs to be something that doesn't involve patterns or memory. Like, Cards Against Humanity or something. As for adventures…" She gives another shrug. "Depending on how big an adventure you want, I can totally provide." Find a breaking news story and dump muties on it!

As Doug slides up to her Illyana rolls her eyes. "Don't you remember what happened the *last* time you tried your vampire-mojo on me? I do. You ended up on your ass." And then Illyana had to save said ass. And then they ran like hell.

Sam Guthrie grins, "A little savin' the world might be fun, for old times' sake. Maybe from someone a little more threatenin' than the ol' double-M," he says, pointing to the Mutant Menace.

"And yeah, be careful, that girl's always got a sword. Never mess with a woman with a sword. Cardinal rule," he says.

Doug raises his eyebrows at Sam, and then he looks at Illyana. "Hug incoming! Ample time for consent! Permission requested to enter the personal space bubble!" …Yeah, he doesn't really have a villainous bone in his body does he? Well certainly not right now, as he does what so few have ever *dared* to do.

Then he glances up at Sam, and he actually has the good grace to look *little* abashed. "…We're New Mutants. We stick together, through rubber reality Demon Bears and Gray Goo aliens. And, I mean, you're my brother, Sam. Not that you don't already have plenty."

"No drooling!" Illyana demands imperiously before accepting her second hug of the day. Really, if she gets another she's going to explode in a burst of pink confetti or something.

The blonde woman loops an arm around Doug's waist, keeping him next to her once the hug is finished. He's about her height, so it's a lot less awkward than if she'd have tried the same on too-much-leg-Guthrie.

"Now you're getting sappy. I'm starting to feel sticky over here." Illyana teases the pair of them dryly. "But you're easy for me to just drop in on, Sam. So if something comes up I can grab you." If she's feeling charitable, she might even warn him before yanking him off to who-knows-where.

Sam Guthrie grins, "I'll have to get your current number, so you can at least text me a warning. I know, you're not a texter, but seriously, you get used to it." He seems to have forgotten his chores for the moment, leaning back against the bark of the tree with one knee crooked.

"Been a while since I been on a disc ride. Hope my stomach's still able to handle it. I used to get nauseated as heck the first few times you did it."

Doug wraps his arms around Illyana in a big side-hug, and for a brief moment he lifts her feet off the ground, before he stands there with his arm draped over her shoulders. Casual, relaxed.

"Demand a two minute pants-warning clause." He says, before he glances to Illyana, and actually turns scarlet. "Learned that one the hard way. People took *pictures*, Illyana. I had to create a special program to hunt them all down and delete them off the internet."

"I'll have to get a phone first." Illyana notes to Sam. And then inevitably it'll have to be replaced. She pulls a face. She'd going to need to do something as a 'job', isn't she?

The blonde woman can't help but snicker at Doug's outrage. "You were decent! All the important bits were covered!" She says, protesting her 'innocence'. "Besides, waiting for Leggy here to put on pants might take all day."

Sam Guthrie waves a hand, "I don't even wanna discuss Doug's bits, important or not important," he grins. "Unless you pluck me right outta the shower, you should be safe, but, like…don't pluck me out of the shower, huh?"

"I put on pants just fine, thank ya very much. I ain't quite upgraded to magic armor yet," he says. "But, uh, yeah, you'll need a phone. Everybody's gotta have one these days, like it or not, unless you wanna live off the grid like my Uncle Elvis."

Doug is looking away, rubbing the back of his neck, though he's still sorta-hugging Illyana with the arm around her shoulders.

"…Is he the one with the stills or the one who grows the reefer?"

"No grabbing Sam out of the shower, everything else A-OK." Illyana says with a nod, committing that to memory. You know what demons would be good at? Being lawyers. Loopholes, techicalities… yeah. That's liable to bite Sam in the aforementioned bits later.

Illyana slooooowly turns to look at Doug as he asks that, trying not to snicker. "Don't *all* of Sam's uncles have stills?"

Sam Guthrie points at Illyana, "She speaks the truth. Be a waste of good corn mash if you didn't have some Guthrie's Original made out of it," he says. "But he also does grow weed, yeah. Which I am not suggestin' Illyana do for a living. It's illegal. And hard. And you can't get the smell out of your clothes for anything."

Doug rolls his eyes upward. He hasn't told either of them about his stash of 'special brownies'. They're *medicinal*. Sometimes having superhuman powers of perception and comprehension really stresses you out.

"Yeah, my family doesn't do that. Our most notorious creation is Nana Ramsey's Tuna Aspic Salad. The Nana Ramsey Challenge is coming back, by the way. I'm gonna do it for Easter. If you can eat a slice of it and keep it down, you get a special gift from me."

"I've already determined that I kinda suck at botany. I was trying to find some plants for some witchcraft-foo over in Central Park the other night and I'm pretty sure I just have a basket full of weeds." Illyana says with a derisive huff of breath. "Besides, I've only known one person to get anything to grow in Limbo, and it wasn't me."

The news of the upcoming Challenge has Illyana wrinkling her nose. "It'd have to be a really special gift. I've eaten enough awful stuff in my life."

Sam Guthrie nods, "I'm a dab hand at gardenin', but it ain't exactly somethin' easy t'do if you're gonna live in the city anyway. You'd need a bunch of grow-lights and maybe some sort of hydroponic set-up. Space. You'd need space."

"I do appreciate the prospect of a special gift, but I ain't so sure it's gonna be worth eatin' whatever toxic nonsense you manage to put together."

"…I have space." Doug says. "I have the whole first floor of the old warehouse." Then Doug wrinkles his nose at Sam. "It's a traditional family recipe, Sam. Don't dishonor my family name!"

He keeps a straight face for about ten seconds, then dissolves into giggles. "…I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I think my powers might've first manifested when I was three and I learned how to spit the stuff into a napkin when Nana wasn't looking. What's a matter, Sam…" Doug raises one eyebrow, "You chicken? Bwak-bawk-buk-buk-buk-awk!"

When Doug says he's got space, Illyana lets go of the other blonde and starts backing away. "No. Oh no. I'm not gonna take up gardening, I don't care how much space you have or how good *you* are at it!" Illyana shoots Sam a Look. "I'm good with dead things, OK? And killing live things."

"How does being Language Lad help you spit out nasty food?" The sorceress asks, peering at Doug.

And then comes down the gauntlet, and Illyana takes another big step back. You're on your own here, Ramsey!

Sam Guthrie grins, "I ain't chicken, Doug, you know better'n that. I just don't wanna eat somethin' nasty. That ain't fear. That's just plain common sense."

"An' let's not get into killin' things as job options yet. I dunno what kinda job takes those kinda skills, but I'm guessin' it's not one that would be Institute approved, y'know?"

Doug raises an eyebrow, and he says, "Yeah, it is pretty nasty."

Then he gives an easy shrug of his shoulders, and scuffs one foot along the ground. "Wellllllll… I don't like to talk about it. But since you guys are family, you ought to know—"

Doug winces. "…My powers are growing. *Have* grown. You know how there was that whole debate in the X-Club about what exactly my mutation was? It turns out I'm a hypercognitive, possibly with some branching out into metapsionics, but mostly? I'm a pattern recognition machine. I take something humans are naturally amazing at, and I take it to superhuman levels. So when I was translating a language, I was literally learning it from scratch, sorting out the patterns in my head, developing an understanding of their relation to one another, and then intuiting their meaning the same way a child learns to read and write. But I can do it in seconds, even when I have no linguistic basis for comparison."

"I can do it in other ways, too. I can read people's body language… and I can react to it." Doug pinches the bridge of his nose. "I can do a lot of things."

"I play it close to my chest, because being around someone who can read your emotions and can pick up on all the little white lies makes people really uncomfortable, sometimes."

"I *sorta* fail at a lot of 'Institute approved'…" Illyana notes, though the dry manner suggests it's not *too* bad. Usually. Mostly.

Doug's admission gets a long Look from Illyana. "Hmm." Her head tilts to one side. And then the other. She *might* be trying to parse some of the big words that Doug has insisted on using. Maybe. Finally, she opens her mouth to say something and then her head snaps over to the side, eyes narrowing. And then without a word, she's teleporting out.

What happened to being a team??

Doug stares at where Illyana was, and then he's left rubbing the back of his neck. He has an odd look on his face, like he just swallowed something sour. "Slighe a-steach, Ramsey." Then he waves a hand at Sam. "I'm… bye, bro." He walks off, with his hands in his pockets.

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