10155/Staff Assessment

Staff Assessment
Date of Scene:	22 November 2019
Location:	Classroom - Xavier's School
Synopsis:	Illyana assists Shannon in determining her staff from the night of the protection spell no longer has magic in it, and marks it with a symbol to make it uniquely Shannon's. Coffee and Christmas are discussed. Look out, Colossus!
Cast of Characters:	Nightingale, Magik

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Nightingale has posed:
     It's roughly about mid-morning, and oddly enough, at this hour the music room is quite empty. It's an ideal moment between classes for Shannon to snag a little bit of piano practice amidst the hustle and bustle of tests and studying, in preparation for the holiday break. She's sitting at the piano, with what looks like a 5' bo staff propped up nearby, a few pages of music on the stand in front of her. Her fingers dance over the keys with increasing confidence as she continues to commit the song in front of her to memory. At the moment, she is wearing a long white t-shirt with Tweety Bird on the front dressed as a hippie giving the 'peace' sign, a long pair of light blue jeans, and her old white sneakers. Her hair is long and loose except for one small lock on the left side of her face, which has been dyed glacier blue, braided, and had three silver beads threaded onto the end.

     Briefly, she pauses in her practice and glances over at the staff, pursing her lips. Had her message ever gotten through to Illyana? It had been a little while now, but perhaps she was away on one of her trips. Even in her brief dealings with the Queen of Limbo, she'd learned that patience could indeed be a virtue....

Magik has posed:
Occasional disappearances are part and parcel of senior mutants. Or any mutants, really, for the concern that ever haunts their steps day by day might bring pitchforks, signs, and worse. Illyana so rarely spends her hours and days in the school. But her presence has been markedly less than usual.

Until it isn't. The heavy fall of her boots on the ground gives her away, when usually her stride is soft and muted. Thick rubber guarding against the autumn chill impart a tattoo running counter to the rhythmic melody, the twinkling of piano notes soft where she gives the baseline a deeper, thicker knell of impending doom. Probably the case, with a bag slung over her shoulder thumping softly off her hip. Leather pants have no business being around, but they are, her oversized sweater drowning the petite Russian. It at least speaks to being out in the cold, marred by a few wet patches where the champagne silver turns deeper grey thanks to melted raindrops, fallen icicles, dead snowmen by the bushel. Perhaps not the latter.

A pause in front of the music room and she slips in, quiet as a thief in all other respects. A glance back would show her there, raking her fingers through her fringe of icy blonde bangs. Shannon's work might not be interrupted by words, just that simple, weighty presence as she sets to listen. A brief pause is the perfect time not to raise her voice or vocalize an 'ahem.' But if the music doesn't quite resume, she shrugs a shoulder to keep the bag in place. "Morning."

Nightingale has posed:
     Sudden appearances by Illyana were something that Shannon had become accustomed to in her brief encounters. One minute, she wasn't there, and in the space of a heartbeat, she was. Sometimes it almost seemed as if the mere thought called her forth from the nether realms, as was the case here. Shifting about on the piano bench, she lofts an eyebrow and smiles, a lightly amused smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Illyana! I'd no idea you were back... how are you?"

Magik has posed:
At least this appearance lacks the telltale presence of a tear in reality, a golden rip in the fabric to allow her to step through. A gloss of unease that sometimes heralds her appearance probably shouldn't be present now. Illyana looks like most anyone else on the street. Never mind the haunted, too cold eyes and the risk of a frown rather than a smile coming to her. "I went in search of coffee and heard..." A gesture of her hand bobs along an invisible flow of music. "The coffee is still necessary. Want a cup?" The hunt is on, though Illy's hair falls in her face as she ducks her head. An offer made to Shannon, couched in carefully neutral terms for violating a space made sacred and pure by the frisson of lilting notes. "You are well?" A dodge, there, for those quick enough to catch it.

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon cracks a smile and nods. This is decidedly different from the other times she's met Illyana, right from the first up till the most recent, concerning the pendant from Loki. Sliding off of the bench, she gathers the pages in front of her and slides them into a folder, closing the brilliant cerulean cover. "Coffee is the elixir of life," she offers by way of agreement. "I can always practice a bit later. Mostly have this song down, it's just refining the performance now, and committing it to memory." Her own footfall is much less heavy and ominous; if anything, it seems rather lighthearted, with something of a spring in her step. Her wings remain carefully tucked in behind her as she goes over to where the staff is propped up against the wall, closing her hand around the length of yew wood. "Actually, Kitty pointed me in your direction as well..."

Magik has posed:
The stilted manners are, at best, an effort to give a concession to the norms. It's clear they aren't practiced. Illyana woodenly gestures with a precise flick of her wrist. "You don't have to stop. I can get it." The chords fade from hearing and still there might be a sense of silence, a hanging ponderous wait that demands a push forward into the next step. Slowly she runs her fingers up the bag's strap and holds it close, preventing the fall. "It sounds good." A feint and she's resting on her back heel, not quite prepared to brush her way out of the room, instead holding her back to the wall and naturally positioned where someone encountering trouble is most likely to be protected and able to thrust a sword in a full sweep for best damage. "Kitty did?" Her golden brows rise. The conversation points cut to a look of pointed consideration. "What happened?"

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon nods slowly. "She did. And quite frankly, I'd trust her judgement and yours on this." She offers the staff to Illyana, nodding towards the weapon. "There was the protection spell on the school this past week or so. It was mostly teachers and allies, but a couple of us students took part as well. I was one of them. It got pretty messy, and in the middle of it all, this showed up out of nowhere next to me. It didn't have the orange color of the magic that Doctor Strange seemed to be using, so I can only hazard a guess this came from miss Maximoff. It... definitely came in handy." She pauses, shifting her weight slightly; it's evident she's not accustomed to having anything close to a weapon in her hands at any great length just yet. "I obtained permission from my team lead to train with this, but would prefer making sure there's no magic remaining on it, if there was any at all."

Magik has posed:
The staff is taken with practiced hands, the balance of the wood and the quality of the grain examined with the kind of effortless skill that comes with Illyana's many, many years unseen. She carefully lifts it. The feel sinks deeper on a wavelength she can't shut out, those pupils greying a fraction and expanded into blood-black pools inch by inch. Silence crackles and lifts around her. "I felt it. The spell," she says. The spin and turn and twist of movement comes with a supple ease, made so she doesn't crash into anything -- no smashing pianos or walls. Obviously not a preferred choice, but something. Enough to give a full sense, even as her magical sight widens and yawns deeper still with a focused effort. "I can mark it yours, if you want."

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon looks perplexed, tilting her head. "Mark it mine... how? I'm sorry, just... magic is completely alien to me, I've never attempted it or really know much about it at all. Not even sure if I'd have any sort of ability for it." She steps back to give Illyana plenty of room as she moves the staff about, examining it in ways she can't quite understand or perceive. "How... how is it to you, when you're looking at something like that? Checking for magic, I mean. What's it like from your point of view?"

Magik has posed:
Illyana Rasputin doesn't so much scrunch up her nose as lose a great deal of the limited animation given to her cool, high-boned face. Features barely capable of supporting that fickle gleam of a frown or a nascent smile go back to neutral. And let's be kind, Illyana's resting expression can be measured as two parts ice queen to one part absolute terror. It's a tad disquieting. "Put your name on it," she says. "Or a sign that's just for you. We have enough staves around." Her fingers slide up and along the shaft, and then she puts the bo down lightly on the end. Shannon is handed her staff back. "It is good quality. I would put metal on the ends." The Russian accent lifts and tightens, sliding into a dull notch. "It's like I breathe. You smell things, you see things. That is me."

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon smiles and nods, curling her fingers around the staff. "If you were to put my name or a sign on it that would be wonderful. I don't know how to do metal work, though. Who would I see about metal caps for the ends?"

She cants her head, brows furrowed in thought as she glances first to Illyana, then the piano, and then back to Illyana, trying to understand what her gifts are like for her. "Something like me. I hear music in even the most mundane things. Footsteps could become a drumbeat, or the splash of water could be a peaceful undertone to a song meant for meditation."

Her smile widens a bit and she laughs, just shaking her head. "I may not be able to practice as much for a little while, though. It seems I made the mistake of mentioning ideas for holiday preparations in your brother's hearing, and now I've been tasked with their implementation. He mentioned missing you, you know."

Magik has posed:
Illyana flexes her fingers and pulls back her wrist, the slow movement of her sweater cuff up the line of her arm revealing a lack of bracelets, an indentation left from the fabric and not much else. She stretches out a little, not long. "What sign do you use?" she asks, a slow blink acting as the proverbial shaking of water from her fur, so to speak. The moment builds and slides as she flexes out the stiffness gathered in her arm, easing it away. The movement dislodges her bag to hang from the crook of her elbow, slithering down from her shoulder and reflexively caught in a rush. "My brother. He can make them." A quick squint at the end might be making a virtual assessment of size, but it's so quick and done when Shannon begins speaking that it might pass notice.

"A winged note," she says. Simply that. One slim finger gestures to the hidden sheet music. "Just an idea. It reminds me of you without giving your name." The intake of breath stills in her lungs, cooling away before she pushes it out. Laughter is still a bit strange, pushing in. "Magic changes for everyone. It's alive and changing. Never believe anyone telling you it is the same." Her thumb hooks the top of her pants, finding a loop. "Da. You could offer your time singing, you know," she transitions again, sharply weaving, a dragonfly assault of conversation rather than a bee line. "What did he have you do?"

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon smiles and nods in agreement. "I hadn't thought of a symbol for myself. But a winged note works well. Thank you so much." She chuckles a little bit, shrugging. "I already do, though my voice could do with a bit of training. You really do need to whap your brother upside the head, though, he seems to put his own voice down when it's really not deserved." She laughs a bit more openly now, her look a little more sheepish. "I opened my own big mouth with the suggestion of gathering local evergreens to make some garlands and wreaths for decorations. The project got bigger from there, and now seems to be including pomander balls to hang up everywhere for the scent, and caroling as well. Who knows what else will be added next!"

Magik has posed:
Magic, when performed, is swift and accompanied by the scent of resin, crackling wood, and a lick of flame on the charred rather than brimstone side. A flick of the wrist and a curve of the hand creates a simple motion, easy to follow. Enough that the engraved symbol appears near the top end of the shaft, a few inches down the staff from its end. Not in the way, not close to splintering. Illyana scrutinizes her work with that minor expenditure. The eighth-note bears a smooth outline of wings splayed side-on, gathered where the flag would normally be. Clean and done simply enough, burnt in. "I will hit him the next time I see him. On your behalf. A delivery that's only fair." With a grim nod, she commits; Piotr is probably feeling his back burn a little. The truth is, she follows along with English perfectly well even if her Russian cast to perfectly formed, scholarly words is a bit different for the ear. "A pomander ball?" A shake of her head to Shannon's suggestion is clearly mystified. "How..." A hesitation; she bites on the word. The faultline crack is there, audible, and forcing herself to stray back to an idea. Another idea, like walking over hot coals, isn't gained fast. "How about giving the balls to the... charity in the city. Somewhere that has none of these decorations. The mansion will be overflowing."

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon smiles wider at the suggestion and nods. "That's not a bad thought. I'd still like to see some here in the mansion, for the scent, but we could make some extra to donate. I'll be sure to tell him of your suggestion." She takes the mystified look from Illyana as confusion, and elaborates on the project a little bit. "A pomander ball is a pretty old-fashioned thing. It's a whole orange that's had cloves stuck into the skin, dipped in spices, and hung up by a ribbon tied around it. They give off the most heavenly scent while they're drying, and they last quite a long time. My mother showed me how to make those when I was a small child."

The staff is peered at while it's still in Illyana's hand, and she reaches out to gingerly trace the winged eighth note that has become her symbol. "That's really beautiful. Thank you so much."

Magik has posed:
A nod comes to the gratitude given. Illyana treats it rather like a prickly newborn, looking for an escape as soon as she can hope to find one. Attention shifting elsewhere makes more sense. "The balls may be something good to add for charity. More function. It will remind others about the need for help," she says slowly, reciting the words that demand translation, rattling around.

But there is something overlooked, forgotten, patently /needed/ at the moment. "Let's get that coffee."

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon laughs and nods in agreement, curling her fingers around the staff as it is extended back to her. She could rest confident in the fact that, if there had been anything amiss with the staff, or magic had been present, it would not have been marked and given back into her keeping. "Yes, coffee. Maybe I'll make us a little something to eat with it, if you'd like." It was the least she could do for the small favors given--both keeping Colossus from putting himself down, and the staff. Perhaps today would turn out to be a good day after all!