Summary:Scott and Betsy talk about things. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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It's a pleasant spring like day at the mansion, partly cloudy and all that. It's a good day for a workout outside, anyhow. Betsy thinks so, at least, working out in the rear grounds. There's a couple bottles of water, a rolled up yoga mat, and a bluetooth speaker and her phone currently playing some EDM music at a fairly quiet volume. The model herself? She's standing on the grass in bare feet, yoga pants and a racerback tank on. Hair is braided back tightly, and her skin shows the glow of exercise. Her body moves fluidly, as she goes through tai chi forms.
From the direction of the lake comes the figure of Scott Summers. It's a nice day, and for an Alaskan boy like him, it was the perfect day for a swim.The water is still frigid cold, but the air is just warm enough to make it tolerable. It's not what most people might consider ideal, but for him it's just right.
As he approaches the rear grounds of the mansion, Scott is still dripping with water from the bottoms of blue trunks, trimmed with gold. He has a towel draped across his broad shoulders and down his bare chest. His ever present glasses rest over his eyes, reflecting glints of sunlight in shades of alizarin light. His hair is wild, still matted together in spiky clumps from the lake water, and tiny crystalline rivulets trace the lines of muscle and sinew down his arms and torso.
Seeing Elizabeth, Scott's lips curl up into a smile, dimpling cheeks that are laden with just a bit past a five o'clock shadow. He gives her a polite upnod as he makes his way near, but remains silent. After all, he's just passing through and isn't trying to interrupt her routine. He's a polite one.
Of course, just as he's drawing near, violet eyes will find and focus on him. That last form completed, before she will drop out of posture. "Scott." The dry, British accent almost makes it exotic. "I've been meaning to try and catch you. I have an important message that really shouldn't be delivered by note or email." She will move, bending to turn off the music.
"Isn't it still a bit brisk for a swim in the lake? The water hasn't had time to really catch up to the air temperatures." She looks amused, as she reaches for a bottle of water. She will uncap it, taking several long swallows before she continues.
"At any rate… the news. Your brother is here. In New York. Looking for you."
Try as he might, Scott cannot suppress the shiver that runs down his spine when Betsy first greets him. At least, with the goosebumps that riddle his skin, he can at least pass that off internally as a chill from cold, rather than an autonomic response to her accent. His spine straightens, shoulders squaring off, giving him an almost startled posture.
"I've been pretty busy, recently. Sorry about that, but if you ever need me, you of all people shouldn't have any problems getting a hold of me," He remarks, reaching up to grip the ends of his towel and pull them downward, putting pressure on the back of his neck. He inhales a deep breath, and turns his face. "You know. Telepathic voodoo and all that jazz."
The question of his swim has him looking down at himself for a moment, before shrugging his linebacker shoulders. Looking back up to her, he flashes a cocksure grin, and replies, "I'm from Alaska. Taking a cold swim is just a taste of home, you know? Polar bear club. This might as well be mid-August for me."
It's a half truth, at least. Over time, he's become accustomed to the New York weather, of course, same as any other native. He feels the cold. It's just that feeling the cold makes him feel a sense of nostalgic connection to home and a life that he can only remember in vague, haze filled memories.
And then she says that.
Instantly the smile bleeds from Scott's face. In its place is a look of almost insulted shock, as if he can't believe Betsy might just pull something like that on him. His brother?
"Alex?"
He says the name incredulously, and steps closer to her, his neck craning forward as if he might be straining to make sure he hears her correctly. "You're saying Alex is here and looking for me?"
"My telepathy is not voodoo. And I am not keen on reaching out to touch someone, to quote an old telephone ad, if I haven't gotten fairly carte blanche permission to do so." Then, of course, there is his reaction, which may be why she wanted to tell him.
"Came up on his motorcycle to the gate, looking for you. Told me his name, what he was doing here. There was nothing deceptive in his head that I could read." Which would mean unless someone like the Shadow King or the Professor was using Alex, it was a pure motivation.
"Been living in California, San Diego. Adopted, went to college, and then found out about you when his mutation manifested. So yes, he's here, in the area, looking for his big brother. Nice enough guy. He acts like he's god's gift to women, but he doesn't actually believe it in full."
Scott's jaw snaps back into place, closing his mouth. The corners of it harden, as he gives a silent nod of his head.
"I'm used to Jean… and the Professor, contacting me directly by telepathy, so you're good if you need to. Especially for… something like this."
Of course, the tension in his body language suggests that Scott might not take what she's saying completely at face value. His fists are clenched at his sides, and those shoulders look like they might snap if they got anymore tensed. Slowly, he takes a few barefoot steps towards one of the nearby seats, and eases himself down into it. Legs spread, and elbows on his knees. Lowering his face, he runs his hands back through his hair, and then falls still, so that his fingers interlace over the crown of his skull, as his ruby-lensed stare bores figurative holes in the stone floor beneath them.
"How far did you scan? How deep did you go?"
He lifts his chin, so that he can look up at her. "I'm having a lot of "family" showing up out of the woodwork, and at least one of those people has connections to someone very, very bad. Someone who has a personal interest in making my life a living hell. This… This Alex. He could be a clone. Not even know it."
"Yes, but I'm different than you remember me, so I feel the need to ask all over again." Betsy says softly, violet eyes sympathetic. Most people don't know she's any different. Same body, same face, the same accent. She will follow him on silent bare feet, a hand to his shoulder as he sits. "And since empathy of the projective kind is not one of my talents, this is why I wanted to tell you in person. So you were not alone, and you were somewhere safe. I'm sure it's a shock."
She sits down cross-legged in front of his legs, to settle her hands against his knees, fingers curling around his elbows. She will look up into those ruby lenses, as if they were any normal pair of glasses and she could see behind them. "Take a deep breath, Scott. It's okay to need a moment." Her head tilts, sending her braid swinging around her arm, sliding over her shoulder.
"I went fairly deep. I take the security of the school seriously, Scott. I know first hand the sort of people that lurk out there with bad intentions. There was nothing unusual about inside his mind. The usual nerves and anxiety, because well, he's looking for a long lost brother. He had a good childhood though, he breezed through a lot of those memories when we went for a ride, and out for a drink at Harry's." There's a smile, a hint of a dimple. "Because I wanted to make sure he was legit, as they say."
Betsy might not have projective empathy, but she won't need it when she touches Scott. He's trembling under her touch, and it's not from the cold. When she sits down, he doesn't shy away from her gaze. One good thing about the glasses, they do make him feel safe, in a way. Guarded.
"I'm okay. It's just…" He shrugs. "A shock. Like you said. We've been separated for a long time. A very long time. I don't even know how he could have found me. How he might have made it all the way here."
He does take in a deep breath, and slowly, he leans back in the chair, letting his hands come together to be steepled between his knees. He looks up at the sky overhead, holding his breath. Trying to still the roiling storm of emotions and suspicion that are like a hurricane trying to escape from within him.
"I'd like for both you and Jean to work together. Give him a real, actual vetting process. If there is anything…. anything at all that might be amiss…"
He really doesn't want anything to be amiss. He could have his brother back. He really could. But he can't get his hopes up. Not so easily.
"If there's anything amiss, we need to find it. We need to know about it. I need to know."
"I know you're okay. It's just a lot to take in." She pauses. "After all, I've met Nate. But he's strong enough that I couldn't scan him alone. I would need help. Alex, not so much. He's… sort of an open book. Especially when he thinks the model is flirting with him." There's a smile for him, warmth in violet eyes.
"He's very committed to finding you, though. Came all the way here on his motorcycle, it seems. I think now that he knows he's adopted, he needs those ties. Much like I think you might hope for with him, now that he's not lost to you anymore." Her hand will close over his where they rest between his knees, warm and gentle in the squeeze it offers.
"Scott. Stop trying to shoot hope down. I can…" There's a sigh. "I'll take him out, and I will search his mind, okay? If he thinks it's a date, he'll be even more open to my telepathy."
Nate. Scott breathes in another sigh at the mention of that name. One of his "children", with Jean, from some alternate future or something. But in Nate's case, he had made a vital mistake of revealing too much to Scott. He had revealed that damnable sinister face. Scott hasn't been able to close his eyes since without seeing that razor blade smile and those cold, reptilian red eyes.
"I hope you're right. I do. If you are, that would be…" He starts before falling silent for a moment. He literally can't even think of an appropriate word. He just winds up shrugging instead.
Looking at Betsy's hand closed over his own lightly clasped ones, he tries his best to relax, loosen up and even offers a wane smile to the violet haired model. Unfolding his hands from one another, he turn his palm up and squeezes hers in return.
"If he thinks it's a date?"
Scott lifts one brow.
"Or if it is one? If he is my brother, and he is legit, then I'm willing to bet you'd be hard pressed to do much better."
"Of course I'm right. I'm British." She lifts her chin, putting as much posh as she can into her accent for the moment, for that joke. "I promise, there was nothing even vaguely suspicious about his mind, and I lurked in there for quite a while, because I wanted to be sure. You don't really think I'd bring something this momentous to you without any sort of research, do you?" There's a flicker of a smile.
"Willing to bet on a guy you haven't seen or known in years? That's brotherly loyalty, right there. And yes, if he thinks it is a date. Do you think I'd date the brother of a …colleague without asking first? Not to mention you're assuming I'm attracted to him, and interested in dating at all. Which.. I'm pretty much not. There's been a lot that's happened with me before I came back here. I'm not sure I'm ready to be dating and opening myself up to anyone new."
Her joke about being British and thus, correct, makes Scott give her a flat, deadpan look, as he retorts, "Don't make my colonial blood boil. I might go dump your tea stash in the pool."
Her reassurances bleed the humor from him, though. He doesn't have it in him to argue. Nor does he really desire to. He can only pray that she isn't mislead. That she's on the mark. So, instead, he just casts his gaze elsewhere and gives a faint nod of his head to acknowledge what she's saying.
As she continues on, though, about the idea of dating and everything, Scott is clearly out of his element again. He just shakes his head, before dipping his chin to his chest and scratching the back of his still damp head. "Yeeah. I'm… really not the guy you should be talking to when it comes to dating advice. As it turns out, I'm pretty terrible at it."
"You assume I drink English tea." She deadpans back, an expression in violet eyes that he's never seen before. Like there's a stranger in Betsy's body, just there a moment and hidden again. Her hand comes up, pushing her braid back behind her shoulder.
"I didn't even know you'd jumped in the pool, Scott. Perhaps I could help you. After all, I used to be very good at it. I just need to …center myself, before I wade back in. You'd think I would be swimming in dates, but no."
"You're British. You can't keep that claim and not drink tea, Betsy. To be a card carrying Brit, you have to drink at least one cup of tea a day, eat a cookie that you call a biscuit, and you have to play cricket," Scott replies with a smirk. His head tilts to one side, and one might guess that behind the mirrored lenses of his ruby quartz shades, his eyes are narrowing as he studies Betsy. And the unusual mannerisms that she exhibits. But if he notes anything unusual, he has an amazing poker face about it.
"Trust me when I say that there really is no helping me. I'm kind of in a hopeless situation. I'm kinda like that dude from that Greek boat story. You know… the whirlpool and the serpent thing. Scylla and Charybdis. Only if instead of a whirlpool and a serpent, one's a mysterious enchantress with raven hair and blue eyes and the other is a redhead bombshell who knows more about me than anyone else."
He scoffs.
"It's really not a pretty place to be."
He rises from his seat and rolls out his shoulders, before extended a hand down to offer Betsy help from where she had settled down. "You'll find your footing again, I'm sure. You're Elizabeth Braddock. You're a supermodel and an heiress and you are made for things like whirlwind romances. But, I should go put some clothes on."
"Most Brits wouldn't know how to brew a proper oolong, though." Betsy smirks back. Her hand will slip into this, letting him 'help' her to her feet. "Well, perhaps you need to step back from both of them to dry land. Which one can you not do without? Which one can you not see your life without? Even trying may give you the answer. Don't overthink it, which I know is rich, coming from a telepath. Follow what's in your feelings, what your gut instinct is. It'll be hard, if you have feelings for them both, but it's better now than later, yes? Or worse… never because they both leave you for not choosing."
Her hand will come up to pat his shoulder gently, her smile as soft as her skin. "Well, I do appreciate the extended viewing period. Other than male models, I think I forgot what men look like in swim trunks."