1305/Weird Tales of the X-Men: The Witch and the Weirdo

Weird Tales of the X-Men: The Witch and the Weirdo
Date of Scene:	05 July 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Magik, Cypher

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Magik has posed:
    IT's a quiet evening. Fortunately, for the most part, there's no X-men or X-Students that seem to be clogging up the place. It's also one of those rare moemnts that even the faculty are taking a break so outside of a random nurse type or two, there's not a whole lot there to stop anyone from coming in. Not that would be a problem. Not for her, at any rate.

    Illyana's waltzing into the lab with one hand held up and a bit of paper towel held to it. And she's cursing at something behind her. ... Literally cursing. Not as in using bad words, but whatever she just talked to apparently is cursed to have his eyeballs boiled on a regular basis. And that poor individual is the little imp that's bouncing behind her.

    Paying no attention to any other things or individuals within the Medlab, the Sorceress just goes straight to a nurse's station and begin cleaning out a cut on her hand. Apparently she had an accident with something her minion brought her, and she's on a tirade. It should be noted that she's only spoken the language of demons native to Limbo since she walked in.

Cypher has posed:
There is a young man lying in pajama pants in the bed. Someone's given him a tablet computer and he's reading. What is he reading? A digitized copy of the Voynich Manuscript. "So that's what it says. ...Filthy." He is quiet, before he turns his head and *stares* at the girl who walks in.

(I am a badass motherf--ker and will take a literal bite out of anyone who annoys me.)

"The language you are speaking. It's so... greasy. I know what it means but it's changing what it means as soon as you say it."

He is pallid, his skin threaded through with black veins, golden hair a shaggy mop parted over his face. And he was, until very recently, dead. The touch of the kindest of the Endless hangs over him like a shroud. But in the midst of this death... life. Doug Ramsey was dead. And now he is alive, like a flowering weed in a garden of stones.

Magik has posed:
By the time she's addressed, or she thinks it's her that's addressed, she's got that poor imp by the neck. Something else is uttered out in a gutteral tone and she lets go of the imp, allowing it to drop in the small portal that appears underneath it.

    "Huh?" Illyana, obviously, wasn't paying attention so whatever Doug actually said kind of flew over her head. "YOu look like shit," she just blurts out as she sets about working on binding the cut in her palm. "At least the damned knife was sharp," she mumbles to herself.

Cypher has posed:
Doug looks down at himself, and then he leans back, settling his head into the pillow.

He thinks about what to say to that, because it's pretty plain-spoken. Then he says, just a hint of wryness creeping into his voice, "You should've seen me a few days ago. You would have sworn I was dead."

"Hi. My name's Doug. Doug Ramsey. I... used to be a student here."

Magik has posed:
    Illyana's doing a decent job of getting her cut bound, and once that's done she works to clean up her mess. Never let it be said that she's not considerate of the work others do. Okay, she often isn't but this is medicine and it thrives on cleanliness. And there's this habit of weirdness always showing up so... Case in point.

    "Illyana Rasputin," she offers in greating, giving him a look through narrowed eyes while she rests her now bound hand on a cocked hip. "It's not contagious, is it?"

Cypher has posed:
Doug looks down at himself, and then blinks, slowly. "No. I don't believe so." He says. "It's a techno-organic virus that resurrected me, and it's trying to keep me alive. Even though I'm very much alive."

Then he closes his eyes. "You find me fascinating." He says, "But your language is very similar to a cat who sees a mouse."

Then he tilts his head. "Someone has hurt you badly, cruelly, and you're more than prepared to be cruel to others, if provoked."

Magik has posed:
    For some reason, his words just tickle her funny bone. And so, she takes a few moments to laugh. It's quiet, more towards genuine mirth than the semi-sadistic glee she often tends to laugh with. As, well, misfortune tends to be funny to her more often than 'funny things'. "Mice make horrid meals, Mr. Ramsey," she returns with a smirk.

    The next bit gets her to tilt her head, but make no mistake, she's not being passive. Her body language has seized up as if gone on the defensive, and her bound hand curls her fingers slightly as if she were imagining holding a weapon. "Great. Another telepath?" And her tone is clear: Back. Off.

Cypher has posed:
"No." Douglas says. "I am not a telepath. My power is--language. I am language, you are language, everything is language." He pushes himself up onto his elbows, his shaggy yellow hair hanging in front of his face. "And I can understand and respond to it all. I can read your body language, and your pain and anger speak with every movement you make."

Then he blinks once, slowly -- he doesn't blink much. "I'm sorry." Then he says, "I think I'm gonna have a problem responding to things people aren't verbalizing." He watches Magik, sleepy-eyed, and then sits up. "Could I..." He says, "Say something to you? It just occurred to me." He offers one hand, palm-up.

Magik has posed:
    Not a telepath? She relaxes slightly. "Good. I'd hate to have to actually tattle to the Headmaster," she comments quietly. Not because Doug did something necessarily wrong, but because her mind is difficult to read even by Professor X himself. But she's still keeping her defensive posture. Even as he explains things. The explanation is enough to get her to pull the claws back in, but the hackles are still up, so to speak. "Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

    "YOu're welcome to say anything you like," she says, finishing cleaning up her mess. "The risk is whether or not the other person would respond well. But if you...read everything... you might need to just learn with what's alright to blurt outloud and what isn't." She fixes him a look, eyeing him through lowered lashes and not in a flirty way either. "It'd probably wouldn 't do well for someone to take offense and then try to take your head."

Cypher has posed:
"Both. But." He pushes himself up, and then gets to his feet. "No, I think I understand." He says. "It's an input problem. Everything is speaking to me, so I need to work on filtering out when people are speaking AT me and when they're simply speaking. My powers didn't used to work this way, before I died. It's going to take some getting used to. Don't worry, it's just between you and me." He approaches Illyana, carefully, and then leans in to whisper in her ear.

It is not a language Illyana has heard before, but it's one she understands, something that hits at the root of Russian and English and Demonic, at the root of the language center of the brain, really.

Doug tells her a joke. It's a a statement of affirmation. And a dark-humored joke. And a heartfelt apology, all in the same single whispered sentence. Something just for Illyana.

Magik has posed:
    Blue eyes remain on the apparently reanimated youth (funny how she's really not at all bothered by this 'was dead' thing), but she permits him to whisper in her ear. There's ap ause and then she steps back quickly. It's not an attack or anything, for in the same motion, she actually draws a deep breath in order to give, for her, a good, hearty laugh. "Oh, I'll have to remember that," she tosses when she gets her breathing under control. "Where's a wholesome looking thing like you," sans, you know, the nice complexion issues going on, "Learn something of that sort. And... sit back down. I"m not picking you up if you fall."

Cypher has posed:
Doug Ramsey sits down, and his blue eyes peek from beneath sandy bangs. "Well I told you I was dead, right?" He gives a little smile. "Wholesome. I guess I was. Though I think I may be the world's worst Mormon--I don't really think the church has policies covering coming back from the dead. But I just... sometimes I know just what to say when I watch people, and I can speak 'their' language. Well, now I know I can, I never tried it before."

"But I'm not completely sure I know MY language yet." He turns, and lies back down. "Can we be friends, Illyana? I'm worried the ones I had might have forgotten me."

Magik has posed:
    "I'd refrain from speaking what I was speaking when I walked in. You might be able to form the words, and understand the meaning behind it...but probably wouldn't be able to control what might happen." Demons, unpredictable even in their own language. She flexes her hand again, her posture easing back into the mood it was before; relaxed but still having that note of paranoia. The next question throws her off, and a thin brow disappears under her bangs as she arches it. "We can try. I'm not the friendliest. Or the most supportive. You might just be funnier to me than you intend." She lowers her hand here. "But there's nothing to say we can't try. It's why I'm here, after all." She pauses and turns towards the exit. "To try." To try... what? Even her body language seems vague on giving any clues, though the undertones of her words suggest morality is involved somehow.

    "Rest well. I hear coming back from the dead's an exhausting ordeal. We'll see each other again, I"m sure." She waggles her fingers in typcal 'Ta ta' fashion before exiting.

Cypher has posed:
Doug Ramsey lies back, and closes his eyes, and says, once he's sure she's out of earshot, "Better to be her friend than her enemy. Cute girl, in a 'Talking Tina' kind of way. *Yikes*."