11037/Log 11037

Log 11037
Date of Scene:	10 February 2020
Location:	Hot Dumpling Restaurant, China Basin
Synopsis:	THIS IS MY OUTCOME!
Cast of Characters:	Magik, Colossus

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Magik has posed:
What is happiness if not found in steamed buns and potstickers? The truth of the matter is, in Siberia such delicacies may be known, but very expensive. Doubly expensive for a poor family suffering from the fallout of collectivization crashing down. It might be a benevolent turn of events to invite Piotr out for lunch somewhere they never might have afforded back home.

How Illyana gets any money is probably a mystery best not turned over. It's her treat, anyway. She waits by the door for her brother, already shedding her coat and slinging it over her arm. The savory smells fill the air, all pork and thick blends of spices odd to a western nose and a little less to someone from Asiatic Russia. Her blonde hair falls in her face. Unlike so many of her cohort she's not staring into a smartphone or listening to music through wireless earbuds.

Rather she reads the menu posted on the wall in the meantime, rebuffing efforts to make eye contact until the second to a party of two shows up.

Colossus has posed:
    When the tall Russian arrives it is with little fanfare though his sister likely can sense his approach from the abrupt glances made in his direction. It could be in the glance from some of those standing at the bar, curious gazes and one or two with a hint of amusement are seen. There's the maitre'd's quick look toward the door and the way his eyes at first are resting at a normal height... then lift up.
    But what seals the deal is when the rumbling deep accented voice is heard. "There you are." He says and then there is, of course, the partial side-hug given in greeting as the tall man slips an arm around her shoulder and draws her in for the embrace.
    And then she sees her brother's eyes as he smiles gently, "Little Snowflake." A stray lock of her hair is brushed aside as he steps back to look at her again. Anew as if not having seen her for years even though it was only a few weeks ago. Ever since he had lost her he had sworn an oath to value her every moment he could if she was returned to him. And she was. Though not without her own ordeal survived.
    "It is good to see you."

Magik has posed:
The little Russian is unlikely on her own to generate too much interest. Standing by and not blocking the doorway, that's appreciated. Reading a menu broadcasts interest in the offerings rather than rudeness. All is going well and smoothly when the servers aren't bombarded by huffs or knowing looks. But when she feels the unspoken weight of Piotr's approach, Illyana wakes up from suspended slumber. Her inward thoughts evaporate behind that mask of a sunny smile.

"I am rather sneaky," she agrees. As if being a blonde girl of a certain age and height gives her total anonymity. Maybe it does among the Cuckoos. While he hugs her, she returns it with a sideways turn, her arms barely meeting around his middle. "Took you long enough. Went for a walk?" The possibility of him wandering the streets and finding a spectacle worth capturing for a few minutes in his mind doesn't seem unlikely. Disentangling herself leaves her coat a bit crumpled but no worse for wear. It needs a pat down or a good shake. "And you. Though you are all about like the first signs of spring." A real smirk then. Spring isn't coming for weeks yet. "Let me treat you. This is supposed to be a very good lunch. Table then?" Booths might be tricky.

Colossus has posed:
    "Yes," Piotr says with a nod in answer to her first statement, and then repeats it with further nods, seemingly in answer to the rest of her questions as he turns and moves with her to the attention of the host of this restaurant. "A stroll, from the subway stop. Not all of us can go wither and thither as we wish like leaves on the wind." Though the way he pronounces 'wither and thither' with his accent might amuse her since she has ever had a better command of the language than her brother.
    "A table would be good," And with that he turns his eyes toward the host.
    "Two then?"
    "Yes, indeed."
    "Right this way."
    It is then on the walk to their table that he will embark to further the conversation as he tilts his head toward her. "You are treating. Is this to be a special occasion? Shall I gird myself for dire news/"

Magik has posed:
Having the store of Charles Xavier's command of English, and that most English of English educations, does give Illyana an advantage. She might not know all the hip slang used by the kids these days naturally through him, but it beats Rosetta Stone or Memrise options with grueling study wearing her down. Illyana follows the host with oddly silenced steps, muted beats left more to the vibrations cast by her bigger brother.

"Am I not allowed to show you a little favour?" she asks once the host has seated them at a table. She waits until she has her chair out, coat flung over the back. At least she isn't wearing that very long multicolored scarf with all its stripes. That would be a true loss to the world, no doubt, if it strangled her in sitting down.

"Tea, please. Two cups, and a second pot." This to the host is an immediate request. Hot tea with the bitter, earthen taste is a welcome addition. Not quite a samovar, but it will do. "I thought you would like to have a treat. Not everyone thinks to do these things for family or friends. Especially family, da? We take for granted, and those taken for granted do not have the benefit of feeling wanted."

The demon queen, psychoanalyzing society. Things could be stranger.

Colossus has posed:
    "I am grateful for an excuse to spend time with you, Illyana." The words, though warm of sentiment are delivered somberly much as their countrymen tend to do so. But his eyes are the key and she can see the feeling therein. He seems to not take exception at her ordering for him, for she has often taken the lead in such things. With what has passed for her she is more worldly in some matters, and Piotr so good of nature is open to trying what is before him.
    "Though now you are to tell me what has passed for you." His lips twitch a little, "While I shall tell you what has passed for me. It is so," He takes a deep breath and then begins to relate to her, "I have discovered a lovely pattern in the ice I plan to paint. That is one. I have taken a job at Nevinsky's in Little Odessa. Not because I need the money, nyet. But because I wish to meet more people. I do not wish to... become in what is it they say? A bubble?"
    He looks thoughtful for a time as he looks past her, chewing on his lower lip. "Ah, and I have decided to resume my teaching duties. Art classes at the least." Another half-smile, "There, your turn."

Magik has posed:
"Excuses are unnecessary but you have your responsibilities. Teaching is important. The younger minds need to know about the world." The wisdom struck there has the tarnish on a penny, verdigris acknowledging in no way did her own upbringing resemble those of a student body regulated by clockwork classes, friends, concerns and drama that spill over into the tween population. Or the teen, for that matter. Some drinks are easy to order but the menus are presented on printed cardstock within tall vinyl-bound menus. Cantonese, Mandarin, and English give apt descriptions. A few pictures might give ideas of what the entrees are, but hot dumpling is a pretty self-evident descriptor of what they have. Pork, beef, chicken are all present, along with more exotic entries like duck or chopped seafood varieties. Or red bean paste, which she eyes with interest. The lines are laid out at least in neat columns to aid reading.

"I am still dealing with the dragon on imprisoned in Limbo. It is appropriate punishment for trying to burn down Central Park. I will eventually expect he escapes and that," she says in Russian with less chance of being overheard, "will be a mess. I have not heard anything more as a problem with Captain Rogers, so that resolved itself." Does she sound a bit annoyed it is? Yes. Piotr can probably detect the vague disappointment there. "I was working with Jamie Madrox at his investigation firm. It is something to keep me busy. Like your art. It is good to be with people. People who have a more structured day, with useful talents put to better ends. Maybe. I am not settled. It seemed good but he is very fond of Erik's group. And that..."

Oh, the razor blade smile is out and cuts every bit as hard as jagged ice and tempered Japanese steel. "They live in this bubble. It looks bad to be in. You have it right, you go outside to learn and think differently. You do not shut people out and say you are better. It troubles me. Anyway, there is that, and then these bad spirits like faerie tales attacking at the school. They kidnapped someone, took her into the otherworld. So I might have to set a trap for them who hunt an innocent spirit and give them some of my opinions. They boiled out on the lawn and we cleaned them up rather nicely. But some got away, so I could track them."

Colossus has posed:
    "You are very much busy, and your efforts span the world." Piotr tells her as he listens, nodding a little but then reaching forward to take up a small handful of the tiny noodles that are upon the tabletop. He chews on them thoughtfully as he nods along with her words, "Do you not think it perhaps might be best to move the Dragon to another place where they have... they have more experience with such things?" Though he might be hard-pressed to know of one.
    At the mention of Erik's group Colossus frowns and nods. With how some of their past friends and comrades have fallen out, the Brotherhood is not so universally looked down upon. Yet for the older Russian the stigma remains.
    "That has been one of my fears. Being limited in my... place of perception. I do not wish it to colour my thoughts too much." He takes a deep breath and then looks up at the final aspects of faerie tales and looks curious. "Who was taken? Do you still need aid?"

Magik has posed:
"Not so busy. I am too old to take the basic lessons and too young to be trusted as you are." Illyana skims over the menu and folds it closed, setting it aside as the universal indicator for readiness. It all comes down to flights of hot dumplings, the steamed kind in particular. When their tea is brought over, she pours a cup for Piotr and then for herself. Those are small things still familiar, still beloved. The dark scent rises, tempting, a mellow concoction. But still absolutely scalding, and so she does not try to raise the little round cup. "It once lived on Asgard, this dragon. He likes to burn things and devour trees, people, and everything else in his arrogance. I am letting him be a diversion there. Eventually I will have to throw him somewhere else. Maybe the Hulk can be called on again to help. Go fight the dragon for a while again, and then I will throw the dragon out. But where to put him? Maybe a land of oceans, where it will be more amenable to hunting in the water and not setting everything on fire. Boiling is different."

This place might be an excellent example of that. Steamed food is good food in the Russian peasant diet. Her finger circles the rim of the cup, pulled away in time to avoid a burn. She pops it in her mouth and watches Piotr through her bangs. His concerns aren't exactly mirrored in her sharply sculpted face. Not like he literally can mirror hers in a way. "I do not disagree with some of their values. How they go about it? They do not understand what happens when an idea takes hold and burns down everything else. Mensheviks and Bolsheviks. It would not be nice to learn we are on the side of the former, mm? They have their Lenin. Worse, he has the fist of a Stalin, the charm of Nikita, and maybe the mind of Marx. How could this possibly go badly?"

Don't answer that question. Definitely don't answer it. Her gaze drops to the noodles, but she leaves them be for now. The turn of conversation to the faeries gives her a bit of a pause to consider. "I do not know her, the being taken. A spirit. She looked like a tiny mote, perhaps more like Teutonic or Gaelic faeries. A tiny woman wreathed in rainbows, making the snow look like jewels. Most of the students couldn't see her. She showed up plain to me. Megan may have, too. Kaida, I think, had a glimpse. But the younger students more. She was taken by a more martial race of spirits. Someone called them a gremlin, but that's like calling a whole class of faeries 'ghosts.' The technical terms... well. They are violent, they had many weapons in many arms, and I enjoyed telling them to go away. So yes, we will need to deal with them. They are holding something of dreams and hope, I think."

Colossus has posed:
    The tea is cherished as he takes a sip, holding it with both hands and then setting it down with a faint clink. His blue eyes keep hold of hers as she offers her words and he nods at points. Those thick eyebrows lift a little when she speaks to the inclinations of giant winged lizards and eh shakes his head. "Do you not fear that the dragon will take its fate being decided for it poorly? Is it sentient enough to plan revenge?"
    There's a pause as he then remembers a certain incident with Lockheed's dragon treats and he murmurs, "I mean, Lockheed was, da?"
    Then the discussion slips back toward the Brotherhood and instead of answering that question verbally he does so with those expressive eyebrows, conveying dubiousness, wariness, and incredulity in equal parts. He shakes his head.
    "Do you ever wonder how such a place as our school can draw such interest so often from such walks of life and the world?" But then again she is perhaps one of those most familiar with it.

Magik has posed:
"It is immortal and intelligent enough to view an Asgardian royal and Atlantean queen with contempt. I do not expect it will like me, but then its appearance here will only rouse much anger from many sources. It knows only we banished it. It does not know I personally hold him and if he does, then I will handle such. It might plan revenge. I expect it has, against many of us." Her arrogance isn't a thick flaw, so much as a statement of reality on the matter. "This being is from the stories. It is not at all like Lockheed in that way. It wants us all to die so it can take this land for itself. Greedy monster. It belongs close to where it is, unless I send it to another domain."

And just like that, the server comes by to ask for their orders. She flips back to English and points to a few more options, things to be delivered in bamboo baskets fresh from the steamer. Piotr has time to make his own requests before the university aged waitress slips away.

"I wonder how we can have so many walks of life. So many different types. Not all the students fit in with the style of learning, but they need a place. Like education here, everyone must have some kind of formal studies." She pinches the bridge of her nose, considering this. "Sometimes they seem so young. So inexperienced. And some come, with these attitudes they are better and wiser and smarter. They do not see themselves like the adults do. Such potential, such promise, such danger. Like too many chemicals flung around and exposed to the air. One storm, disaster."

Colossus has posed:
    "Sounds as if it would make a likely ally for any number of angry individuals who look upon us poorly." And there Illyana can hear the sourness of it in Piotr's voice, the older brother actually giving himself the freedom to express himself freely in her presence. A rare thing and something most other X-ers would not expect to hear from the usually positive Russian.
    Then the waitress makes her arrival and Piotr, who hadn't even looked at the menu, does a simply glance and sees what looks interesting to it. It might even almost be at random as he gestures to an image and inclines an eyebrow to the young woman before offering a smile in return. "This will be wonderful, thank you." And then she is gone along her way.
    "It may be the culture, the American Exceptionalism that is in part responsible for it." Piotr shifts in his seat, straightens up, then undoes the paper clasp holding his napkin in place and spreads it with a faint flourish across his lap. "Or it may simply be what we faced, power granted to youth. Some of us with our own past and problems." Belasco not withstanding.
    He takes a deep breath and looks cross the table to his sister, "So many wild elements. We can only do our best to not 'cross the streams', yes?" His lip twitches a little.

Magik has posed:
"He is older than dirt. I doubt he would have liked the first humans walking out of the dirt and shaking sticks. There are such angry old beings, and it sometimes good to recall their scale of time is not ours. They might have a vendetta with someone eight hundred years gone. Maybe I can point him to Odin." Illyana plucks up a pair of chopsticks wrapped in a paper sheath. She pulls them out and breaks them in two, the better for picking up any buns when they come along. Rather than fiddle, she holds them still in her left hand though very much a right-handed person.

"Exceptionalism does no one any favors. Once, maybe? But now it blinds people to working together. This indulgence of separation, always pushing to extremes. To tell people the only way up is to meet these impossible criteria and then scathe them with harsh words and criticism when they fall short, this is a recipe for despair and disaster. It is a kind of cruelty." The teacup fits nicely in her hand. A sip of the beverage links her back to the bushes grown in some far terrace under partly sunny skies. A world away; a taste that lingers. It leaves her satisfied with a smile. Piotr she nods to. "We help them to help themselves. We do our best. Lead better. Do not be so tempted to make easy and quick answers. I worry maybe this will cause us to be bitter, if we try to take on the whole world and get upset if it doesn't change right away. To shape the universe in a go would not make it better."

Colossus has posed:
    Illyana can read her brother well enough to realize as he follows along with her words that he might not necessarily agree. For there are moments when his eyebrows lift and he sort of looks to the side while nodding, then he lifts a hand and uncurls it to gesture as if to start to interject a point of view. But instead he just follows along with her words and holds his own until there's a break near the end.
    It's then that he draws a breath and offers, "I have also of late considered what it would be if somehow, someone presented to me some form of..." His blue eyes lift and slip to the side, perhaps the English escaping him as he does not have quite the gift for the language as Xavier granted her. He looks back, "Some form of proof, or clarity that showed that perhaps our way is not /the/ way? Would I have the strength of character to reassess myself? My views? Or would I maintain them because I somehow felt they were moral yet the world is not?"
    There's a faint tip-tap of his fingertip upon the tabletop. "It is a thing I have turned over in my mind and my answer is often the same, and perhaps it is a failing of humanity. That I would do what is best for those I care for. That is all I can ultimately do."

Magik has posed:
Illyana picks at one of the steamed buns as they are delivered on a long, rectangular plate. With chopsticks she shows the same finesse as with a blade. There is little opportunity for her to savor her food. This, too, comes from childhood. From the want of youth. From the deprivation under Belasco, for control extended in all directions. She has manners, of course. Chewing the small morsel and indulging in the herb-spiked pork in its soft wrapper is just a perfunctory business. Not the kind to waste time with a meal, she would do admirably in a conflict zone. Up and out, if need be.

Piotr's response has her still and quiet for a long time. Longer than is likely normal, as long as someone outside their family were watching. But this is not unfamiliar. Her lapses into stillness and silence have been profound in the past, and only in recent seasons of life has she broken through the frozen ice to find her thaw points. Not likely she has run out of words. "I will tell you a secret I hold," she says, burying the chopsticks into dandan noodles. A small bowl is used to capture them. "The right answer is not one way. It will be many come together. Like the United Nations could be. You will find our way cannot work for everyone and everything. Then you do your best to live up to your ideals. Is that not worth it? Trying to meet someone where they are, give them options. Maybe it is best not to hide so much. Maybe we need more outreach. I do not believe in one /the/ way, like you call it. Your views can grow with you, and in your case it is very wide reach you can take in. Maybe some of us are too short to hold it all in. Still, we try."

Colossus has posed:
    She can see that she reaches her brother, something in him sad and resigned. But there is also something warm and optimistic that lights in his eyes as she goes on, her words leading that way at least for him and the way he considers his sister. He can tell that this is a... semblance to the youthful girl she was in some ways, something triggering that nostalgia. But then she makes her attempt at a joke and he'll exhale a small chuff that would almost be a laugh if he granted it more breath.
    "You should not burden yourself so. I torment myself with these thoughts because I have too much time on my hands. You are busy. With your dragons and faeries and demons. And boyfriend." Those last two words come out almost accusing as he then adds, "Whom I have not met since I have learned of his state in being such."
    The tall Russian leans back in his chair, causing it to creak faintly with his arms folding across his chest. "Perhaps he has been avoiding me, yes?"

Magik has posed:
Illyana pours more tea for herself and offers the same for Piotr with a bump of the metal, scorching hot pot. They do not pad this thing very well but she puts up with her burning fingertips as a matter of course rather than complaining. Once the tea is refreshed, it goes back to the tabletop. A few sips are all it takes to need to pour more, a reason why she asked for two pots in the first place. They are going to go through a fair bit, and the other one can cool down in the meantime.

"Eat more, you will get thin and wither otherwise. All this good food, and Piotr Rasputin lets me pick away at it. Nyet." She encourages him by pushing the bamboo bowl over for him to find something he might like while she nibbles on noodles. "Hmph, you are not the only philosopher. Someone else has to think on what you think about, and give good advice now and then. You have time on your hands, and do not think I am so busy. I have too much. Even between the other place and here..." Her eyes narrow a fraction, hinting at the monster behind the youthful mien. "When we sit still, something is wrong. The world is turning and we cannot pretend it's all summertime endlessly. I think you feel it in your bones. There should be more we can do. Not sitting on our hands." Her fingertips clack the chopsticks lightly together. "To use a terrible metaphor, sitting waiting for the grain to grow isn't what a responsible person does. They prepare for winter and take stock for spring." She shrugs at that, stirring up the dandan noodles. The dark sauce flows around them, coating the serpentine strands.

"This is a bad time for him, just like August is for me." August, that strange month, of heat and promise, growth and long afternoons. An odd time to be upset. Barring one little event. "It is a difficult anniversary, recalling when you died."

Colossus has posed:
    He had tried to lighten the mood. Failed. And presented with the so very X-men problem of dealing with what one must deal with after they've died... he just shakes his head. "In some ways that must be a thing you both share. The hard times. The difficulties and adjustments." There's a pause as he shakes his had, "And here I am with my foolish attempts at..."
    Piotr looks to the side, and around, then back towards Illyana as he adds. "Normalcy." He looks back to her and then says with a lop-sided smile. "When we are not so normal."
    He takes up some more of the noodles and munches on them as his eyes wander, then he looks back. "In any case, Illyana. If your boyfriend fears I will judge him harshly, assuage that worry. I would not make things more difficult."
    There's a pause and then he offers his own attempt at humor, "Dating you is assuredly difficult enough, da?"

Magik has posed:
"It is familiar," says Illyana with that odd acceptance that comes after going around the wheel a few times. It probably strikes as incredibly strange or morbid, a deviation from the broad latitude of 'standard' in their world. "He processes his feelings differently from mine. Maybe because I have faced it a few times, and come to accept that things that die do not easily stay dead." The tilt of her head is met with a measured look. A smile to match his lopsided smile, and then she reaches out to pat his arm. "You judge yourself too harshly. It is easy to forget sometimes that others have not seen all what we see, what we have done. The children swaddled in comfort of a middle and upper middle class environment who haven't known the loss of hunger or hardship."

She shakes her head slightly. "You are my brother. He is my boyfriend. We all have similar interests beyond me. Da? He isn't afraid of you. Maybe he fears your reaction if I come back with a broken arm one day? I doubt so. It's a time to be reflective. And when you give him that look and that talk about how not to run afoul of FSB, I will laugh around the corner."