11622/Reaching Out For Understanding

Reaching Out For Understanding
Date of Scene:	12 June 2020
Location:	Kitchen - Xavier's School
Synopsis:	Shannon and Warpath talk about family, pride, and guarding one's soul against anger turning inwards, among many things. All over a tasty dinner and a mixed berry cobbler!
Cast of Characters:	Warpath, Nightingale

---

Warpath has posed:
     It is unlikely anyone would confuse Jimmy as a cook, but whatever he is cooking smells pretty good. He stirs some strips of meat and adds green peppers, onions, garlic, and mushrooms. He is about as animated as he every is, but hey he cooks. Who knew?

Nightingale has posed:
     It was a change of pace for a familiar winged resident of the mansion to find someone else cooking during off-hours, yet here was just such a situation. Rather than crowd the stove, though, Shannon simply smiles faintly at Mr. Proudstar, dipping her head by way of greeting. She'd noted in her rare encounters with him, that he seemed to be a man of few words. For her own part, she simply finds the nearest clean mug, a chamomile teabag, and a teakettle, to make a cup of the calming brew. It did not seem as if she'd slept well, but maintained a smile all the same.

Warpath has posed:
     Looking back towards Shannon for a moment, James nods in response to her and then continues to stir the food,"Miss Lance." he comments softly and looks at his food. He looks back towards Shannon again he adds,"Up too late playing or haunted by something keeping you awake?" He is pretty observant and almost friendly tonight.

Nightingale has posed:
     "Not playing, Mr. Proudstar," Shannon murmurs, her brows now furrowing lightly. "Just... trying not to think of home too much. Others have it far worse, so I try not to dwell on matters." Lifting the teakettle, she smiles once more, canting her head slightly to one side. She's in her red tartan sweatpants, baggy grey tank top, and goofy, fluffy sheepdog slippers again. "Care for a cup?"

Warpath has posed:
     There is a shake of his head and he replies,"It isn't easy..missing your family." he assures you,"If you still have you family you should value them and missing them is natural." Wow, wordy tonight. He stirs the food and glances back towards you with a shake of his head,"No thank you. It wouldn't go so good with my dinner."

Nightingale has posed:
     The young healer in training nods slowly, closing her eyes tightly. "Sam sort of adopted me like a little sister. The rest of the clan went with it. So... I wasn't entirely without family yesterday. But it reminded me it's been a while since I've seen my own. Not since New Year's."

     While she sets the kettle on to boil, Shannon wraps her arms around herself, and her wings soon follow suit. "I keep hoping they'll decide to move out of the area I grew up in, and somewhere a little more mutant-friendly. Somewhere it'd be a little safer to go see them. Till then, well... it won't be long till I've got my license, then hopefully I won't have to bother anyone for a ride back to Connecticut."

Warpath has posed:
     Looking over the food again, James nods and leans over to scent it. A look of grim approval and he reaches for the bowl he laid out and puts the food in the bowl,"There's enough if you want." he tells you in regards to the food.
     The joys of mutant un-friendly places. There is a nod and he stirs the bowl for a moment,"The it isn't safe for you to go home I take it." he comments at the obvious,"It is good that the Guthrie's have taken you in."

Nightingale has posed:
     "Once in a rare while, sometimes I make it home. But I have to use the image inducer when I do, and it feels like living a lie. As much as my family loves and supports me, mutation and all, it also feels like a slap in the face to them." Shannon tilts her head, considering the concoction. She takes a cautious sniff, and smiles, nodding. "Thank you, and I insist on making dessert. Anything strike your fancy?"

Warpath has posed:
     He nods and takes a bite of the food. Chewing thoughtfully he frowns a little. Studying you for a long, maybe a little uncomfortable moment and he says,"If that is what you need to see your family I would bear that." Advice from the quiet man,"As for dessert I rarely have it so I don't know too many good ones. Usually just some fresh fruit or the occasional Snickers if nobody is looking." He raises a brow,"Consider yourself sworn to secrecy."

Nightingale has posed:
     Sage wisdom from the tall, proud Mr. Proudstar does give Shannon pause for thought. "Maybe I've been too proud," she muses. The kettle, at just that moment, begins its merry whistling, its contents bubbling to perfection. She pours some water over the teabag in the plain crockery mug, smiling a little bit as she watches the steam rise through the air like comforting spirits to ease the soul.

     "I'm sorry, sworn to secrecy about what, exactly? I heard nothing." Of course, that little twinkle in the young woman's eye told quite a different tale. Somehow, she manages to keep her voice perfectly deadpan. "Fruit? I could see if there's anything to make a cobbler with, if that's to your taste? Or some strawberry shortcake, maybe."

Warpath has posed:
     "It happens to the best of us." he muses softly and takes more of the food. He picks up a glass from the counter and takes a drink of water. He looks thoughtful and finally he nods,"A cobbler would be good. A little sugar won't kill me." Leaning against the counter he takes his bowl up again,"Have you been taking care of your combat training as well as your healing?"

Nightingale has posed:
     Shannon nods, and smiles, without a hint of grimness; there may even be a little hint of pride in those pale azure eyes of hers. "As best I can. Been picking up some hand-to-hand from Logan since early last fall, and Mr. LeBeau's been teaching me a bit about handling a bo staff. But if there's other things I ought to be learning, I'm open. Preferably non-lethal where possible, though." Taking a sip of her tea, she sets down the mug and sets about gathering the ingredients for a cobbler, rooting around in the fridge to see what fruit needs to be used up. What comes out is a mix of raspberries, blueberries, and strawberries, all filling the immediate area with their heavenly sweetness.

Warpath has posed:
     There is an ever so slight half grin at the left corner of his mouth. He nods in approval as he listens to your comments,"Both exceptional trianers in their way." he admits. He considers for a long moment and admits,"Less than lethal means is not my specialty. I just wanted to make sure as a healer you don't neglect combat training."

Nightingale has posed:
     Now Shannon does indeed grimace, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Healers are usually among the first targets," she says, her voice taking on a bit of a chill. "And while I may not like it, sooner or later lethal means may become necessary. But those are port of last resort. So long as I can get myself and whoever I'm healing out alive, I'll be happy."

Warpath has posed:
     Another bite of his food and James falls quiet for a while. Maybe he's used too many words tonight. He rests against the counter a little more and finally he comments,"Logan can teach you fast lethal takes downs. Less about suffering than about the finish. You aren't interested in causing pain, just keeping your life."

Nightingale has posed:
Nodding slowly, Shannon smiles a little bit. "He's probably the best at what he does. Even if what he does isn't very nice." Shrugging, she sets to work on the dough for the cobbler. "You'd think that he'd scare the daylights out of someone like me. But the exact opposite is true. Seems to me the ones he growls at, are the ones he actually cares about." She cracks a bit of a smile, lifting her chin in Mr. Proudstar's general direction. "Guess most people can surprise you, given half a chance."

Warpath has posed:
     "Hands down the best." James replies with a sage expression,"The best has a tendency to take care of those that are views by others as weaker." he explains,"That and his tendency to adopt certain students to help them prepare for a world that hates them."

Nightingale has posed:
     Shannon laughs, and shakes her head. "Many things I am. Weak is one thing I won't let myself be." Her brows lift, her lips continuing to tug upwards in a quirky little half-grin. "Adopted, huh?" Now that has her smiling wider still, the task of assembling the cobbler seeming a small one, with not very long at all passing till she's sliding the sweet treat into the oven.

Warpath has posed:
"In a manner of speaking." James admits with a shrug. More food and he lets that stand for a moment,"I don't want any mutant unable to protect themselves. That is physical or mental preparation." There is a nod of approval as the cobbler goes into the oven.

Nightingale has posed:
     "Mental will take time," Shannon admits, perching on a stool to await the completion of the dessert's metamorphosis from a collection of disparate ingredients to a sweet, harmonious whole. "Already I've seen things that still give me nightmares sometimes. Things that make me so angry at the bigotry out there." She rests her elbows on the counter, and her chin in her hands, letting out a soft sigh. "Logan told me once that sort of anger is good fuel for the furnace, as he put it. He's been right about that so far." Her lips curl upwards in a bit more of a smile. "And I have to remember you can't save 'em all. But someone else reminded me that you have to keep going, or else how many others will die instead?"

Warpath has posed:
     "Mental always takes time. More focus." James agrees and is a lot more at ease than Shannon has seen him in the past,"Anger can be a good fuel for the fire. Just be wary of turning it inward and burning yourself." Not wanting to contradict the wisdom of Logan, James does giver her his own perspective,"Use your past to guide your future, but don't let it consume you. It is easy."

Nightingale has posed:
     Shannon nods slowly. "Maybe sometime I'll tell you about... a day I sometimes struggle to not let consume me," she adds, sliding off of the stool and grabbing a pair of oven mitts. The heavenly aroma of a mixed berry cobbler is redolent in the air of the kitchen, lingering like the warm embrace of family. She turns off the oven, and pulls the cobbler out to rest on a cooling rack. "Dessert is served, though. Less talk, more eating."

     For one of few words, she suspected there would be little argument on that!