11954/Angry teenager stuff. Oh joy.

Angry teenager stuff. Oh joy.
Date of Scene:	09 August 2020
Location:	Horse Stables - Xavier's School
Synopsis:	Angry Shannon is now happy Shannon and nobody had to die or beg.
Cast of Characters:	Warpath, Nightingale

---

Warpath has posed:
     Whispers are around that Shannon is in a mood. The usually happy one angry is a little unusual. It's not like he is a parent or role model, but he also knows what unchecked anger can lead to. He has something else worrying him too, but he doesn't want Shannon blowing up over something either.

Nightingale has posed:
     It's a mix of things, really, and none of them are any good. Following a talk with her family not long after the battle at the Met, the usually chipper Shannon had become decidedly withdrawn, very touchy, and either coming very close to biting her frirends' heads off, or simply not talking at all. The kitchen had been devoid of her presence most of the day. Instead, she seems to have retreated to where things are a little simpler, and she's taken on the chore of mucking out the stalls. At least it was a constructive way to vent...

Warpath has posed:
     He's not her confessor and he doesn't have to diffuse the situation, but he's starting to feel a little attachment to this one so off he goes to deal with one of the few things he probably isn't equipped to. An angry teenage girl. He needs his head examined.

     For his size he moves fast and deadly silent. So rather than announce his presence he lets you work for a while, studying your movements and posture. It's easy for anyone to see that Shannon's on the verge of nuclear mad.

Nightingale has posed:
     While 'mad' might not be quite the word, it's plain the girl is definitely out of sorts. She's thrown herself into the task at hand in a bid to bleed off some of the emotions in a more constructive way. By the looks of her blue jeans, black t-shirt, and old white sneakers, she's been at the task for a little while now, with bits of debris clinging to her shoes and the cuffs of her jeans. Too, her wings droop, and her feathers look a bit ragged. And though her face isn't immediately seen, something else is very telling.

     The hands gripping the shovel are sheathed in thin, cocoa brown gloves.

Warpath has posed:
     "So I have a large farm that needs someone to clean up after the horses. I think you're hired if you want the job." he comments finally. His voice deep and resonant despite the soft tone of it. He's not here to fight. Not even here to start trouble, but rather see if she can get out of her own head and way.

Nightingale has posed:
     It was difficult to tell if Warpath was joking or not. But it's enough for the moment to get Shannon to look up at him, incredulity etched into her features. Her eyes are a bit red as if she had been crying, echoed by the streaks of dust swiped beneath both eyes. Silence lingers like the rolling of thunder from a summer storm, only broken when she speaks--and for once, she is the one of few words. "You're kidding, right?"

Warpath has posed:
     His face remains neutral and he shrugs after a long moment of silence,"You never know what is real in this life." he advises. A shrug and he adds,"Word around is one of my favored partner's in crime is having a bad time and a little burned out. Since explosions don't hurt me I guess I am curious to come and check on you. Call it part of the job."

Nightingale has posed:
     Eyebrows loft, giving Shannon something of an owlish look. Behind her, a single feather flutters to the ground, gleaming white against the darker floor of the barn. "I'm alive. And for once, not in trouble." She shrugs, leaning against the wall near one of the stalls. "Favored partner in crime?"

Warpath has posed:
     He studies you for a long moment and he nods,"Alive and not in trouble is good. I'd hate to see you in too much trouble." He's given her a lot of trouble about some things like her magentic personality to trouble. Not the time,"What can I tell you? We committed some crime at the Met in a way. Who is more fun than you to tear things up with?"

Nightingale has posed:
     "Maybe someone who can not be so damn softhearted, and heal when they shouldn't." Shannon looks down at her hands, grimacing. "I couldn't stand hearing my mother cry when she heard about me healing someone again. No more. I can't do that to her. Or you. Or Mr. Summers or Miss Grey." However, by the way she's clenching her hands around the handle of the shovel, the fight against her nature is likely to be an uphill one.

Warpath has posed:
     He sighs softly and walks over to you, taking the shovel from your hands and sets it aside. His big hands may be tough and harsh, but his touch is gentle to her and he eases a glove off her hand unless she bolts.

     "I've told you. There is a line, but you have to be able to be both. The soft heart is what endears you to others and inspires trust." He looks at the hand in question and adds,"If you can't trust your team and they don't trust you then someone will get hurt for good. My brother didn't rely on his team and he died. Simple as that."

Nightingale has posed:
     Shannon looks about to say something, but closes her mouth quickly. For a moment, it looks as if she just might bolt, but something holds her back. "I'm sorry," she murmurs, her brows furrowed and her eyes misting over. "I can only imagine how that must feel." Some of the fight drains out of her, the instinct to protect and heal starting to kick in as she listens to the fate of Warpath's brother.

Warpath has posed:
     "Believe me you don't want to ever know." he replies softly. He sighs softly and studies your face and for a while. He looks at your hand and then takes the glove off and nods to you,"It's time you took a berak from the manual labor and did something that will benefit your body and state of mind."

Nightingale has posed:
     What could that be, though? What could Warpath possibly have in mind? Without her gloves, Shannon isn't sure whether to be relieved or worried, the confusion and warring emotions etched on her face. "What, then?" comes a voice that sounds much smaller and younger than tones he might have heard from her before. This was not the girl who had carried herself well out in the field. This was someone confused, lost, and uncertain.

Warpath has posed:
     He puts the gloves back where they belong and manages to laugh...humorlessly,"I think you and I need to go in and take some aggressions out. Both of us. You're upset and I am worried about a missing friend. There's nothing better than to go and hammer down illusions instead of actual people." While he never really barks orders, there isn't room for debate,"Either that or we can work with the blades again."

Nightingale has posed:
     "A missing friend?" Now that was something Shannon knew about all too well. She'd had a taste of that just past New Year's, and still wondered about friends who had moved on from the school with little word, if any. Talk of the Danger Room had her actually flinch for a moment, and for a second, it looked as if she might protest. In the end, force of habit prompts her to speak. "Either works. I guess... at some point we could do both, somehow? But which one first?"

Warpath has posed:
     He walks with you a few steps away from the horses and the stable and then indicates the ground,"We'll work the knives for a while first and then settle into the Danger Room after it starts to get dark." He sits down on the ground and waits for you to sit.

     He takes out the blades and lays one on the ground for you,"My friend went out of the country to study. We haven't been too close since she left and our communications finally failed. Nobody knows where she is either. Ms. Grey is using Cerebro to look for her."

Nightingale has posed:
     Settling onto the ground without another word, Shannon looks to the blades, then to Warpath, studying his features for a moment. It was more difficult to get a read on emotions from him. Around them, the soft whickering of horses adds a soothing background to the lesson at hand. "I'll have to ask her if she wants any snacks when she's through, then," she remarks, the need to take care of others kicking in once again.

Warpath has posed:
     He nods as he listens to her and takes up a blade,"I am sure she'll be glad to have them." he tells you and waits for you to take up the other blade,"So we worked last time on feeling the way the weapon moves in your hand and slight resistance against the blade."

Nightingale has posed:
     Nodding slowly, it takes Shannon a few moments to make herself take up the blade. It's still very much against her nature, and she presses her lips together in a thin line. But she steels herself for the lesson at hand, curling her fingers around the handle. Her grip is relaxed, but firm; she is no stranger to large blades, though normally not of the intended use as a weapon. "That, and you had me trying to sort of look past you without really looking, if that makes any sense."

Warpath has posed:
     He nods and starts back the way they were before at first, just the slow and lazy figure eights and he tells you,"Disassociatve vision." he tells you,"It might help to Google it to see if anyone can explain it to you better than me." Moving slowly at first, he speeds it up after a few minutes,"Relax and let the movement flow with you. The weapon is an extension of you."

Nightingale has posed:
     "I did try to Google it, and it came up with a psychological condition called disassociation instead." The young woman closes her mouth, focusing instead on just feeling the movement of her arm and wrist, the feel of the weapon in her hand. Her brows furrow as the movements become more fluid, and she murmurs, "I don't know if it's a good thing that this is starting to feel a little more natural in my case...."

Warpath has posed:
     There is a smirk and he mutters,"I thought the internet had everything." It isn't a jab at you, but rather the internet in general. The speed seems consistent for now,"Like anything else, it takes practice and you'll get better each time." He pauses and nods,"Ok. I want you to continue the pattern and I will chip at the blade gently from other angles. I will be move to meet you for now."

Nightingale has posed:
     Shannon nods once, continuing the dance of the blade in the air, in the pattern for infinity--a figure eight. Out of the corner of her eye, she notes the flash of the light off of the metal, but focuses more on her breath to keep calm. Every so often, her eyes dart back over to see the blade, forgetting to keep her focus on Warpath's eyes. A soft oath escapes her as she catches herself slipping.

Warpath has posed:
     "Relax. Nobody is judging and nobody is keeping score. It's just the two of us." he offers softly,"You're doing fine." It's amazing that his booming voice can he actually soothing when he wants it to,"Look at me. Painful as it might be."

Nightingale has posed:
     "Who said looking at you was painful? Just... I don't want to disappoint anyone else." Oddly enough, talking about this seems to shift her immediate focus away from the blade in her hand, while the motion somehow becomes more fluid for a moment. Her eyes stay focused forward, gazing right at Warpath's deep brown ones.

Warpath has posed:
     Stopping the movements he moves a hand to stop yours as well. Once both weapons are secured he moves his face right near yours, though his nose doesn't touch yours,"Listen to me carefully and while you are I want you to work on the disassociation. It is easier."

     After he has your attention, his voice becomes soft and almost deadly,"There is nothing you can do that will disappoint me. You are learning. That is part of life. If you find a boy, run off, make all the mistakes in the world....I still won't be disappointed. Do you hear me?" It's hard not to hear him even when he is being quiet.

Nightingale has posed:
     Any sensible person should be terrified, hearing that deadly quiet, calm tone from one so used to the arts of war. Right now, Shannon ought to be shaking in her sneakers. Yet when Warpath gets right in her face like that, the certainty thrumming through his words like threads of adamantium lend them strength and credence. It should frighten her--but it proves a comfort instead. Her pale azure eyes only widen slightly, and she does not even flinch. Her lips even begin to twitch upwards in a faint smile, if only for a moment. "I hear you."

Warpath has posed:
     "All right then." he replies softly and settles back more comfortably. The almost smile gets an almost smirk,"Everyone makes mistakes. You know I broke him here once with the intention to kill Professor Xavier. Do you think there are many who can make bigger mistakes than that in this place?" It is a little insight for her.

Nightingale has posed:
     "Probably not," Shannon replies. "Yet you are here now. You could have killed at the Met, but you didn't. You're a warrior, not a killer." Her own words give her pause, and she looks over at the blade in her hand, appearing to consider this for a moment. Could it even be possible for a healer to make her peace with a weapon of war, perhaps even to appreciate it to a point?

Warpath has posed:
     "I didn't kill at the Met, but I wanted to. Very much so." he tells you and notes the view of the weapon again,"Particularly when I smelled your blood in the air. I knew it was part of your power, but I still wanted to do permanent damage to them." He settles back and tells you,"Don't let that go to your head. There'll be no living with you."

Nightingale has posed:
     "I'd rather not put anyone in that position any more than necessary." It was all the winged teen could do to refrain from hugging Warpath, and indeed, for a moment, she leans in as if to do just that. But, recalling his reaction the last time she did such a thing, she pauses, and settles back down on the ground, keeping the blade lowered. Still, she can't help but smile now, and nods.

Warpath has posed:
     He notes the behavior and shakes his head a moment. Standing up he reaches down to offer you a hand up while tucking one of his blades into its scabbard,"Get up. I think maybe I owe you something."

Nightingale has posed:
     Before even getting up, Shannon makes certain to offer the other blade back to Warpth, handle-first. She was no fool, and did not care to mess around with any blade she wasn't trained for. The kitchen was one thing. This was another kettle of fish entirely. Once the blade is taken from her, only then does she get up and brush off the debris of the barn from her jeans, a little bit curious. "How could you possibly owe me anything, when I owe you so much more?"

Warpath has posed:
     He puts the blade away and tells you,"This is not a normal thing so don't get used to it." he warns lightly and pulls the little winged mutant in to give her a hug. Pretty much she vanishes against him and he's not a little awkward at it, but it is a hug none the less.

Nightingale has posed:
     Though caught by surprise, it's not an unwelcome one. Once pulled in for the hug, arms and wings wrap around Warpath to hug him right back, the much smaller mutant just burrowing right in. "Thank you," she says, her voice somewhat muffled, but much of the tension bleeding right out of her.

     Sometimes that's all it took--just a simple hug.

Warpath has posed:
     "Don't thank me too soon. You're going to have to run laps or something for this." he tells you lightly. Most likely he is teasing. Still he gets it. Sometimes you need human contact and his own concerns for another makes it easier for him to see her right now. He's actually looking and paying atttention. He hugs her as long as she feels she needs it.

Nightingale has posed:
     "Bah, can't be any worse than the morning runs I put myself through every day," Shannon replies, just holding on for a while. Human contact--was that something she had denied herself simply for its own sake? Had she become so used to holding back but for her gifts? Somehow, in the moment, she seemed even smaller and more innocent, her normal outward strength crumbling away into vulnerability that she dared to let few see.

     Sometimes, the simplest things were the best ones.

Warpath has posed:
     "Is that a challenge?" he rumbles softly against your ear. Silly Shannon. Regardless they stand there and he listens to her breathing and just waits for whatever may come. Sometimes even the strongest need a moment to step back one time,"Do me a favor and remember, at the end of the day, you're still a kid in this world. Mutant or not. You're allowed to have good days and bad days. Allowed to not always be the chipper welcome wagon."

Nightingale has posed:
     "Someone has to be, though. Even if I can't always be out there, someone has to help out here." Shannon sighs a little bit, finally stepping back, albeit a bit reluctantly. "I won't always be a kid. That day is coming faster than I think anyone likes to admit. Certainly my folks. Very likely Miss Grey and Mr. Summers, too. And definitely me. There's so much suffering out there. So much to be done to help ease some of that, even if it's only for the lucky ones that make it here...."

Warpath has posed:
     When you step back he nods and gives you space. He listens to your words and measure them,"Scott and Jean know very well. There is one things the Hellions did that the X-Men don't as commonly. We were able to go out, be out, and interact. The school has it's upsides. The ones here aren't exposeed to potential danger by almost always being here, but there is a trade off."

Nightingale has posed:
     Shannon nods slowly, and sighs. "The trade off is that we can't always go out as much, without putting people here at risk." The girl grimaces, curling her fingers into something akin to fists at her sides, then allowing them to relax once more. "I don't go looking for trouble to happen. But it does anyways, and I can't run away from it. But every time I deal with it, people here are probably put at risk. How can I even begin to deal with the trouble out there when it happens, and not hurt people back here at home?"

Warpath has posed:
     "You need to protect this place where you can, but we all knew what we were getting into when he came here to stay." he tells you seriously,"Trouble finds everyone, one way or another. Even you." He pauses and smiles at something, but leaves it alone,"Fight when you must, withdraw where you can, never come straight back here, and always knows you can call me. I've been in the wind many times."

Nightingale has posed:
     "Even me, he says," the winged teen mutters softly. But there is something of a smile starting to play upon her features. "Come on, I bet there's another nickname waiting in there. It's difficult to imagine otherwise." Especially since there had been several of those tested out upon her in the days since the incident at the Met!

     Listening with a bit more of a serious demeanor this time, Shannon tilts her head to the side, as if making a mental note of each point. "Fight when you must. I avoid that if possible, but... it's not always possible. You have no idea how glad I've been more than once for Sam, Logan, and even Mr. LeBeau helping me on that. Withdraw where you can... that's the hardest part. I hate running. Never come straight back here... is a good idea." One she intended to remember, as it would likely be difficult for her to run from trouble if it happened. The last did bring a smile to her face, and she nods. "And learn from you while I'm here. Even if I'm not always entirely fond of the lessons." She nods towards the scabbards that always seemed to be upon Warpath's person. "It may turn out to save a life one day. Perhaps not even my own."

Warpath has posed:
     There is a smirk and he tells you,"I have only one more name for you. Shik'isn." What that means is anybody's guess, but he will likely slip one here and there in the future when under duress because trouble found her, but he sounds pretty serious.

     "Each person that teaches you will give you something that the others cannot. You have to figure out how to take what they have that works for you and leave the rest behind." He smiles a little and adds,"Your's is the life I am most interested in saving is yours."

Nightingale has posed:
     Shannon smiles some, though her brows knit in confusion. "Shik'isn...? What's that mean?" The pronunciation was very likely butchered in a big way, but she valiantly attempts to twist her tongue around the unfamiliar syllables. What language was that?

     Nodding in agreement to Warpath's words about each person leaving something of themselves behind that the other cannot, she smiles a bit more. "I'm very glad for that," she replies. "And I always will be. Sometimes I wonder how I became fortunate enough to have earned that from you, because it -is- a blessing."

Warpath has posed:
     "You remind me of someone I knew once. Not in the sense of physical as much as her presence. She was my shik'isn, my sister." he explains. So that's where she stands. Luck or not is up to interpretation. He smirks and makes sure to say the word slower so she has a better chance,"Shik'isn. You are close."

     "You bring the good out of other people. You try to help everywhere you can. It's a tendency that will cause you trouble in the future. The least I can do is help you be prepared and watch over you where I can."

Nightingale has posed:
     When she hears the translation of that word, Shannon is brought up short. For a moment, she just looks at Warpath, stunned. There wasn't much she knew about his ways, but what little she had heard was that, to a warrior, to be called their brother or sister was serious business--and a high honor. She tries the word again, slower, determined to nail the pronunciation just so. "That... is going to take some work."

     She pauses, canting her head and smiling. "I don't know if this is something you would want... but I'd be curious to try to learn other words as well. Then you'll have someone else who understands." Her wings ruffle and she puffs up a little bit, smiling a bit wider.

     Even an angel needed someone to watch over them sometimes. And she had the blessing of it being a new brother.

Warpath has posed:
     "It takes practice like anything." he tells you softly and considers what you comment,"I can teach more to you if you want. It would be helpful for various reasons." He considers your presence a little and nods at something else,"So if you think you can manage we'll try that a little at a time."

     She at least isn't walking around looking as though she might snap and throw someone off the side of the horse stable or shove someone into the pool unaware.

Nightingale has posed:
     Shannon's anger and upset had not been so much external as it had been directed inwards, a force that while it could have its benefits in some situations, was one to be wary of. It was a lesson once taught, yet would take a lifetime of work to remember. "That'd be wonderful," she says, smiling wider and inclining her head in agreement. "Thank you so much!"

Warpath has posed:
     "You're welcome." he replies. No. No singing,"And thank you." he adds, but doesn't elaborate. She carries her feelings outward even when she doesn't know it and while he's bad at a lot of things, he's pretty good at reading hostile intentions and anger issues,"You remind me of me a little bit as well, just much cuter and easier to talk to."

Nightingale has posed:
     "Then that's folks' loss if they don't want to take the time to know you," Shannon retorts, her brows quirking and her smile widening. "And my gain. Also, most everyone's smaller than you." She giggles softly, giving a little flick of her wings. If he was good at reading the feelings she often wore on her sleeve, then the gears in her head turning might be all too obvious. "What's the word for 'mountain'?"

     So he wasn't the only one trying out new nicknames....