Summary:Alex searches his long lost brother, and instead finds Betsy Log Info:Storyteller: none |
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He may have driven thousands of miles, but he sure as Hell didn't look like it. His motorcycle - a retro-looking yet very new Kawasaki Z900RS, has been meticulously washed and cared for. It gleams in the spring sun, carrying its rider along the street in front of the walled compound that is home to Xavier's. The motorcycle easily carried its rider, a tall, athletic man in designer jeans, high end boots, and a fitted black riding jacket over an overpriced t-shirt. He also sports a stylish, understated helmet.
He was not cause for any concern within the compount. He gave off no hostile intent or signs of being a mischief-maker. He seemed to be someone just going from A to B, at least until he turned toward the front gates, set back a little from the roadway. He drew up to the gates and there he stepped down onto the roadway with one foot, balancing his bike as it purred beneath him.
He pulled his helmet off, set it with casual ease on the handlebar, and raked a hand through his sandy blond hair. A closed gate on a school? That was unexpected. He looked over toward the buzzer, frowning slightly. This was not how he had imagined things were going to go.
He may not be sending out any disturbing sort of signals, but that still doesn't mean he can get it. Before he can reach the buzzer, there's a young woman stepping into view behind the fancy black metal gates.
Long purple hair waves over her shoulders, her soft gray tunic dress from a high end fashion line, over equally pricey violet leggings that disappear into gray boots. Her face is without makeup, just the faintest tint of rose on her lips from a lip balm, but the features are still striking. If he's looked over fashion shoots or been to a recent show, he may even recognize Lady Elizabeth Braddock as the face in front of him.
Her head tips to the side, one eyebrow arching slightly upwards. "Hello there. Something I can help you with, love? A bit lost?" The accent is there, as is a faint smile. Meanwhile, her telepathy circles close around his mind, looking for a silent way into his thoughts to scan him.
Alex is unschooled in telepathic resistance. Betsy is able to skim through his throughs as easily as if she were flipping through one of the magazines in which she's appeared. Even as she greets him with an appropriate degree of polite coolness, she can flit through his memories and his thoughts.
It's a surficial reading. A glance through the mind - at least until she decides to really dig in. She can read through images in his mind, growing up in a sunny climate, in a wealthy neighbourhood with wide, smooth streets flanked by well-maintained palm trees. Loving parents. Grade school. Middle school. High school. Sports teams, parties, student government. College. More athletics. The odd girlfriend in there. It's like flipping quickly through the pages of a stop-motion book. It gives a sense of movement, a sense of his life. Seemingly a blessed one, without any glaring abnormalities. Until…
It's like her telepathic tendrils hit a brick wall. Something's hidden away, out of his mind. The block sits like a milestone marker in his mind, changing everything afterward. A sense of questioning, of uncertainty, of something being wrong. Seeking answers without knowing the question. The discovery of a long-last brother.
He hides it all well, though, if any of that comes to his active mind. He reaches down and switches off his motorcycle. He looks her over, and she may well be privy to some of his inner thoughts, appreciating her looks (perhaps not as gentlemanly as one might express outwardly, though what is a telepath to do?), registering her familiarity. He offers her an easy grin. "I'm looking for somebody. A mutant, lives around here somewhere. I heard about this place and thought it'd be a decent spot to start. But… aren't you…?" He doesn't know fashion well enough to remember her name. If she doesn't fill in immediately, he will finish with a new question. "This is gonna seem like *such* a line, and it only is if it'll work, but aren't you a famous model?"
It's certainly not the most revelationary reading she's ever done inside someone's head, but it gives her a quick overview of the guy in front of her. That block sitting there like it is, it's a challenge, and while she may well have the telepathic power, she's not a fan of brute force in someone's head unless it can't be helped. She will just sneak around in his mind like the ninja she doesn't appear to be.
"You've come here, to a private school for gifted students, to look for a mutant?" Both her brows will lift with a touch of arrogant British disbelief. She will lift a hand, sliding it under her hair to toss it back.
"I've heard worse lines, but in this case, it is true. I have done a fair amount of modelling work. Elizabeth Braddock, a pleasure to meet you…?" She will place a hand over her heart, and bend her head forward. She can look away from the prey, because there's nothing to fear. "Who is it you're looking for? I know some people in the area, at least."
He shrugs and spreads his hands when she asks her question, disbelievingly. "I got a name and I got a city," he relates by way of defending himself. "This place is… well, like you say, maybe somebody here knows somebody who knows somebody and all of that." He offers her a full smile at the introduction. "Well, so long as I'm not the worst you've ever had, I can live with that," he notes, crossing his arms atop the handlebars of his bike. He adds, "It's nice to meet you, Betsy. I'm Alex. Summers. I'm looking for a long-lost brother. I don't know if his name'd be the same still or what, but it was Scott Summers. That's all I have to go by."
Betsy Braddock watches him with a steady violet gaze - not blue that looks violet, but a true shade. "Long lost brother. How very soap opera. I am intrigued." Her voice is full of unreleased laughter, her face alight. "I know someone who knows him, at the very least. I'm not acquainted, myself." Not recently, anyhow, and really, recently is all that counts. "If you leave some information with me, I can pass it on to see if he wants to get in touch. Let you boys hash it out. "
A shadow of a frown passes across his brow at her reaction. His smile fades slightly before it vanishes altogether. He nods in response to her offer, a bit more reserved now, although still genuine when he speaks. "I'd appreciate that," he says, pushing down the kickstand of his motorbike and setting it to stand unassisted. He swings his leg off of it and pats himself down on his way to finding some paper and a pen. He scribbles Alex on it and provide a phone number with a California area code. He walks forward and offers the paper to her through the bars.
Betsy will smile brightly. "I promise that even if he doesn't call, I will. It wouldn't be good manners to leave you hanging, after all." She will let her fingers touch his with that exchange, giving him a moment to note the manicured, mauve nails. "Unless you prefer to wonder forever." The smile is soft, lightly teasing.
He feels the touch of her fingertips and it makes him look down toward where their hands have met through the bars. He doesn't leap at the offer of a call, couched as it is in her teasing tone. "I appreciate it," he answers with a nod. His hand slips back through the bars. "I'll just wait by my phone," he assures her, starting to back up toward his bike.
"It's a good thing that you have a cell phone, then. Then you can wait by the phone, wherever you are." Her smile blooms in full, lighting her face as she looks at him. "You're really hoping to find him, aren't you. Hoping that he's your brother, that he wants to meet. You're not lonely, but you're still looking." Her tone is gentle, her eyes concerned. "Nice bike, by the way."
"Ain't technology grand?" he offers rhetorically in response to her observation. The apparent sincerity and concern she now seems to offer has him considering her thoughtfully, skeptically even. Without the benefit of her powers, he's left to more mundane ways of sorting out her real reaction. He rests a hand on his bike, gaze lowering down in contemplation. Finally, after a moment, he chances looking back up at her. "It's a bit of a story," he says after a moment. "It's like… he could be a connection to who I really am. Not… who I was raised to be. I probably sound crazy. It's a long story, like I said." He swings a leg up over the bike now. He watches her through the bars, not yet moving to put his helmet on or start up the bike.
"It sure has its uses." She murmurs, even as she's still watching him. "Who you really are, versus raised to be? Don't hold yourself to anyone else's standards. Just be who you are, as you go. Trying to fit anyone's mold only leads to misery." She shakes her head. "You don't sound crazy at all. Certainly not to me." There's another smile, this one slightly self-mocking. If only he knew. "Maybe you can tell me sometime over drinks."
"I feel like…" he begins, eyes narrowing slightly as he searches for the right way to express complex thoughts. The words fail him and he shakes his head to banish the endeavour. His gaze and focus return more fully to her. He twists his lips slightly then notes, "It's illegal to ride on a motorbike in New York without a helmet and I don't have one." His smile spreads slowly and a brow lofts suggestively. "But I'll take you for a spin now if you want, since you like the bike. We can see about those drinks sooner, rather than later."
She will lift her eyebrows. "Breaking the law? My my, mister Summers, what ever would you do then to top such an adrenaline rush on a first date?" She's teasing him again, smiling. "Or I can just meet you down the way at Harry's." She offers. "I have a car, after all." It's a fun little sportscar, custom painted in purple and silver.
He grins a little wider, now taking a teasing tone back to her with the flirtatious back-and-forth. "Aww. You follow all the rules? Maybe I was born to corrupt good little models, give 'em a little excitement. And *you* did just give me that uplifting speech about being true to myself." He lifts his chin by way of beckoning her through the gates. Showing a degree of confidence that could qualify as a superpower of its own, Alex says to the internationally-renowned model, "Come on."
Betsy Braddock laughs, a hand lifting to push through her head. "I never said I follow all the rules." She murmurs, violet eyes full of mischief. "But going without a helmet.. I mean, do you know how much my body is insured for? I mean.. honestly. One of the stupid rules of the business." She's grinning. "Promise me you won't lay the bike down, and we can maybe go and have some drinks."
Alex gives an answering laugh at her reply. His smile takes on a distinctively suggestive air and he worries his bottom lip with his straight, chicklet-white teeth before he adopts a more serious manner. "Betsy, your insurance company can sleep easy. I wouldn't dream of doing anything bad to your body. Well… harmful anyway. Bad's so subjective a term and I don't want to limit my options." With the flirtation ratcheted up another degree or ten, he turns the key in the ignition and straightens it to lift the kickstand. He watches her expectantly.
Betsy Braddock will lift her hand with the scrap of paper. "Let me pop this somewhere safe, and I'll be right out to meet you." She will jog inside, and indeed put the paper somewhere safe, since Scott wasn't around. She'll slip on some subtle makeup in seconds, grab her own gray leather coat, and her wallet, before she will use her tk to hop over the wall near the gates, and emerge from behind the bushes near his bike. "Ready?"
He turned the bike around while Betsy went inside. It was faced toward the road now and he'd taken he time to adjust his clothing and to make himself his most presentable - hair mussed just so. He had his phone out and was looking into the screen, biding his time, when Betsy appeared. He glances up, tucking his phone away, and he favours her with a grin. "Ready," he affirms. He lifts the helmet off the handlebars and he notes, "I think I'd better do the chivalrous thing and let you wear this. I'll run the risk of the ticket."
"That's not neccessary, you know." But she will smile and accept the helmet, slipping it on over her purple hair. Then she will move easily to slide a leg up and over his bike and settle behind him. "I know the rules. Don't freak out, lean with you into the turns."
He helps adjust the helmet if he needs to, helps with the chinstrap if it's unfamiliar to her. And then he nods along to her summary of the rules. "Sounds like you've done this before. And… I'll go easy, but the bike has some pick-up. So… hold on tight and lean against me. Don't try to hang on just with your arms - inertia's a bitch." He stands up astride the bike, half-turning as she sits down behind him. He kicks the engine into life before he settles back on the seat. Glancing back over his shoulder, he waits for her to nestle in against him as directed.
There is a half-muffled amused snort, before she will lean into his back, letting him feel her hands at his waist. If only he knew she could pick all of them up: Him, her, and the bike; without any sort of strain at all. "I know what I'm doing. My brother loves fast bikes. "
Ignorant as to her power, Alex nods in response. "All right. Don't usually look to have a date start with reminding my date of her brother but… I'll take it." He grins back over his shoulder at her before turning forward again. Where she touches his jacket, it feels warm - perhaps just dismissed as leather warmed under the sun's rays. But when her arms close around him, at points where there is just a t-shirt between his skin and hers, she can feel that the heat comes not from above but within. He's warm - not unpleasantly so, but not like any normal human could be, without being hospitalized for an intense fever.
It's a fast bike but he's a conscientious driver at least. He pulls away from the school smoothly and accelerates smoothly, quickly, along the rural road. He gauges how fast to go, how exhilerating a ride to give her, based off of how she holds him and any noises she makes. He aims to thrill.
Betsy Braddock does take notice of his raised temperature, but if he's sick with a fever he isn't thinking about it. There's a laugh near his ear. "I have a twin brother, so there's bits of him sewn all through the aspects of my life. It's just a natural thing." She's certainly not afraid, he can't go fast enough to scare her. She's completely at ease on the back of his bike.
He tries to excite her, but doesn't go all the way to stunt driving. It's the usual sort of bravado and showmanship a man might offer a woman on the back of his bike. Corners are taken fast, the performance of the bike is put to the test, and before long they are decelerating from the hair-whipping ride, slowing on their way into Westchester. Harry's was the destination.
Betsy Braddock Will laugh or make the appropriate sounds of enjoyment as they ride. She does love speed - car, boat, bike.. Of course, when you can fly under your own power, it's nice sometimes to just let something else give you the rush.
She will slide off the back of the bike, helmet shed before hands will push her hair perfectly back into place. She will hold out the helmet to him, before she's unzipping her leather jacket. "That was fun."
The bike is parked out front of Harry's. Alex offers a hand to Betsy, in case she wants it to swing herself off. He sets out parking the bike, turning it off, and setting it on its stand. He then swings himself off the bike and moves to stand before her. If she hasn't already done so, his hands will lift to help her undo her chin strap and to help remove her helmet. "So? How do I stack up against your bro?" he asks, lightly teasing, confident she enjoyed the ride - speedy for a non-flying human, at least.
She could easily lift herself off, but as an actual 'Lady', she will never shun a chivalrous gesture. So her hand will settle in his, a light grip as she left herself off the bike. She will watch him move the bike and put it up on its stand as she takes off the borrowed helmet, a hand passing through purple strands to make sure her hair hasn't been ruined by helmet.
"I think you may edge him out. He holds back when his sister is on the bike." There's a flash of a model perfect smile as she hands him his helmet and unzips her jacket. "So what do you drink, Alex?"
"Well, that's all I'm aimin' for. For you to love me a bit more than your brother," he notes with a quick and easy grin - his own smile dazzling enough, for an amateur. He locks the helmet under the seat and then it's toward Harry's that they go. His arm finds its way comfortably to her back - the touch not so much directive as companionable, familiar despite the recency of their meeting. Motorcycle rides do that sometimes. "Oh, depends on where the night's goin'," he answers. "We clubbin' it up? Or just bendin' elbows and getting to know one another?"
Betsy will snort into laughter. "Far you'll need to go for that, Alex. But you can try." She moves easily with long, smooth steps into the bar. She will wave towards the bartender who smiles and waves, clearly familiar with her face. "I was just thinking a couple of drinks. You don't want to arm wrestle me. Certainly not in public." She slides him a flirty violet glance. "I wouldn't want to wound your ego."
The snort earns a toothy, triumphant smile from Alex - he made the world-famous model snort. He has a pleased air after that feat. He offers a friendly wave to the bartender as well and, being the sort with an infectious, likeable personality, gets a wave back. He glances toward Betsy and he grins again, giving her head-tilt, one of those meaningless, flirty litle gestures. He notes, "I know what gate you were on the other side of. I wouldn't doubt you're faster, smarter, stronger, and all of that. At least I've got the looks, though." This is accompanied by a wink though, proving his good-natured intention behind the ribbing.
It will break his heart when he finds out Betsy snorts when she so chooses, but that's for later. One eyebrow will lift, as violet eyes watch him. "You mean standing behind the gate of a private school for gifted children?" After all, she certainly doesn't seem like a mutant. "I just help teach. Yoga, pilates, you know.. stuff a model needs to be good at to keep in shape anyhow. The headmaster's a Brit like myself."
"Oh, I see. You met him at the Brit meetings," he answers with a nod, his tone seeming to accept her explanation, though the word choice ebtrays his skepticism. He angles his head toward a table, leading the way in that direction. "So you in town a lot? I mean, when you're not off on a shoot?" He glances aside and then back to her, musingly. "I guess I just gave you a gussied up 'come here often', huh?"
Betsy Braddock laughs. "No. I am, officially, a Lady. My parents had all sorts of interesting connections. I simply looked some up, when I came stateside." That is, in fact, true, though the Professor wasn't one of them. She will smile at the waitress, asking for a rum and coke, please. She will wait for Alex to order and the woman to withdraw, before she continues. "Pretty much, you did. I'm around a fair bit, when not traipsing off to exotic locales for work, yes."
Alex sits at the other side of the table, resting his forearms on the table and watching Betsy as she answers. He nods amiably and then looks up to the waitress. "Dark 'n stormy?" he asks. When the waitress chirps her agreement and goes off to fetch the drinks. "Well. That's good. You can make those kids all bendy," he observes. Offering his own radiant smile, he asks, "Where's your favourite place you've worked?"
"That's a loaded question. I've had a lot of places that are special for a lot of reasons. Paris was my first outside of London shoot. There's that tiny little island in the Maldives with a hidden waterfall and crytalline waters to swim in. Japan was fun, there was a shoot I did once in the Sahara. The desert can be so beautiful."
Alex traces an old watermark on the tatble with an index finger, idly moving it by the feel of the surface. He arches his brows and agrees, "Paris is beautiful. I mean, when you're doing something new, something romantic… it's special. Haven't made it to the Maldives, though. Always wanted to go."
Betsy smiles a bit. "I didn't get to see much. That one little spot was just so magical, though. The sad part is I haven't gotten to travel for not work. I need to work on that, make it a goal." She smiles as their drinks arrive, lifting her glass for a sip. "So tell me this story."
"Well. Gotta find someone to travel with. Alone, you can have that whole spiritual journey and that, but… can't be others." He glances up to nod toward the waitress, before he takes his drink and tastes it. He sets the drink down and idle turns it, slowly, rolling it in place with his fingers. "All right," he begins. "So… I grew up in California. Nice parents, nice life, whole deal. I grew up, everything was fine, until… I don't know. I started to get this nagging feeling that something wasn't right. I couldn't put my finger on it but… I just *felt* something was wrong."
Betsy will rest her forearms rest on the edge of the table, stirring her drink with the little swizzle stick that keeps her slice of lime the bartender knows she likes swirling in her rum and coke. Violet eyes watch him, a nod. "So… what? Repressed memories or just intuition?"
"Intuition, I guess?" he answers with a shrug. "I went home - I was in college then. Confronted my mom about it. Ends up that I was adopted. I was involved in an accident as a kid. My biological parents died and I was adopted. Ends up that I have this brother, too. Scott." He pauses for a moment then and he shrugs. "I don't know, really. It all seemed normal until one day in college. Like… I could tell something was a lie after that." He gives a small smile and notes, "That's when my mutation manifested anyway so… maybe it all ties together. I dunno. Though, bright side is… maybe now you'll teach me some yoga?"
"Your mutation?" She asks, brows lifting. She thinks of Scott, and his inability to control his without his glasses, but her expression shows only mild curiousity. "Why would your mutation have me teaching you yoga, exactly?"
He shrugs with a flirtatious grin. "What, you're gonna teach those kids and not me? I'm an orphan to boot. I figure I'd be top of your 'good works' list to do. You know, for yoga." He picks up his drink then, tilting it back to take a sip. "Swing and a miss?" he asks.
"I teach students, not long lost brother college boys." Betsy smiles faintly. "I don't teach Scott, why you?" Smile becomes a smirk before she sips at her mixed drink. "You being an orphan moves me not to pity, Alex. I'm one, too. So is your brother, and several other people at the school." There's a low, husky laugh. "You wiffed so hard I'm surprised my hair didn't blow back from the breeze."
He snaps in response to her summary of his ill-fated attempt. "Drat. And here I was thinking I was going to get a pity… yogaing." He heaves a dramatic sigh, tilting back his drink again before setting it down on the table. "So what's your story then? Since I gave you my unimpressive one?"
"Mine is even less impressive. I was born, somewhat grew up, parents died, I went into modelling, took some time off when I felt I was losing myself…" She sips at her drink, then gives a shrug. "Came back, and here I am."
"Interest's in the details," he remarks. "Anybody's life summed up so callously isn't going to inspire a lot of interest. Like…how did you feel you were losing yourself?" He tilts his head to the side a little, watching her appraisingly.
"Oh, you know how it is, sometimes. Or you've heard about it, at least. Sure, modelling seems like a glamourous gig, right? But I was pretty young, still, didn't have a whole lot of wisdom - my own or offered to me. Wake up and not sure what day or city or designer…" She shrugs. "It's not something I like to talk about."
He nods slowly to her comments, grunting faintly in a nod. "Yeah," he agrees. "Sure. I knew a couple of guys that made it to the NFL. Guys I played with in college. One's out of the league already. Same kind of thing, I think. Not much mentoring, lots of money, easy to lose yourself in the glitz of it." He shrugs and offers an apologetic smile, letting the topic drop.