13145/Strange Days

Strange Days
Date of Scene:	28 April 2021
Location:	New York Public Library, Manhattan
Synopsis:	Ororo came upon an odd phenomenon at the NYC library and stayed for to listen to the Devil's Advocate
Cast of Characters:	Sinister, Storm

---

Sinister has posed:
There are great libraries in the world and there are /famous/ ones. The New York reference library is definitely in the latter catagory and for very good reason; the british museum library is probably the only one that could be considered in a league above this, but in the United States, very few compare for sheer usefulness.

It is rare indeed, that it's ever quite in here. Such a bountious resource comes in handy to all walks of life, including the homeless from time to time, just to get in and warm up.

And one might imagine then, that the Rose Reading room is never deserted -- people flow in and out, seeking knowledge and self-improvement or just research for a paper or twenty. But today is an odd affair. People in the corridors outside can be seen heading toward the room, significantly though, even librarians who one must assume have a purpose in the chamber, come to the door, look confused for a moment and leave with one excuse after another. "Oh, I didn't put it here, I put it there." "Oh, I have to file those returns!" "Oh, no, I left my iron on!"

The door is slightly ajar and the situation is definitely mysterious.

Storm has posed:
Escapism.

Perhaps one of the more safer things to do in this day and age is to escape through reading a book or two of some odd adventure, away from the eyes of the job/home and into the solitude that really wasn't that. There were people about, yet there were those who guard the silence like sentinels. Issuing out their shh's and stern looks to any one person, big or small, who would make the slightest of peeps.

And then there's Ororo.

With her visage public, she's gone a more incognito route. Stark white hair braided into cainrows and hidden beneath a black wig that fits her face. Eyes were the same, but clothing more street. Pair of high waisted jeans. Shirt that speaks to the movement of her being unapologetically black, and a pair of chucks for comfort. Her arms stretch out to brush along the books, even though she had brought one from home.

Maybe. Just maybe she may take one from here, too.

The hustle and bustle of those by the door does gain interest, icy blues dancing back and forth at each person who passes and leaves quick enough. Curiousity kills the cat in which she slinks to the door, hand pressed to the wood to give it a solid shove. The goddess, has arrived.

No.. there's a nosy chick who really doesn't know boundaries and has to be in everyone elses business but her own.

Sinister has posed:
At the door, there is a push. A kind of feeling like one ought to be else but here. Anywhere ELSE but here. Though it's kind of like white noise and likely only effects those of a 'weaker mind' who aren't actively being curious.

ANd then there's the reason why; within the vaulted high ceiling of the Rose room, the hush is immense, but the sussuration is seductive -- the rustle of a thousand folds of paper drifting in page turning. A grand ballet of books floats around the air, open in various places, opening themselves further to different chapters and rising and falling in a display that defies gravity. Sitting on thin air with his legs crossed just so, is an entirely recognizable figure. It's the cloak, it's a DEAD giveaway, as is the black as black hair, neatly tied back in a a pony tail; the white as white skin, the red jewel, the pupiless ruby eyes and that aura of Sinister. Doctor Nathaniel Essex is utterly engrossed in what he's reading though, a fountain pen hovering beside an open journal beside him, a little wriggle of his index finger as he leans on his hand on absolutely nothing... has the pen writing shorthand notes on the paper.

Storm has posed:
That was -not- what she expected. Ororo nearly takes a step back to find something else to do, but she had a purpose. Her purpose was to find out, or at least investigate the strange behaviours that those were exhibiting within the library.

And there was the source.

She -had- heard of him; reading dossiers were not her favorite past time, but it was good to keep up with what was going on with the world. The monster himself, one that she had hoped she'd never see in her lifetime was there, doing the mundane in an extrodinary way.

"Dr. Essex." Ororo states, stepping past the threshold, closing the door behind her with but a push without showing him her back. She didn't come there for a fight; no. Secretly, it was the one thing that she hated. But she did keep her distance and remained on guard, just in case.

Sinister has posed:
There may have even been maddeningly frustrating Danger Room scenarios involving this particular englishman. But dosiers and simulations are one thing; this is entirely /other/.

He looks up, a sudden focus of intense regard and a small wash of annoyance at being drawn from whatever he was making notes on, he fixes gaze on Storm and tilts his head to the side just a hair, in study. The motion is repeated the other way.

He then looks slowly around the library, at the myriad of reference books within and his floating parade of scientific works and slowly back to her.

"Miss Munro. Are you quite in the right room? I believe a good many of these authored works are probably old enough to be your grandfathers."

Storm has posed:
Her head turns a little, eyes slowly bleeding the color white in preparation for..

..nothing.

Absolutely nothing. Ororo shrugs to herself, drawing her arm up to clutch her book, her pace taking her towards an unused seat, still close to the door, to tug out and settle down in to relax. "Any room is the right room where people are -slowly- turning away for some odd reason or another." Her book was plopped upon the table, pages sifted through. It was clear that she was not leaving any time soon. "Switzerland." She gestures around, hoping he'd get the meaning. To destroy or fight amongst books was a travesty, and the way Dr. Essex is operating now, she could tell that the sentiment was the same.

"What -are- you reading, anyway? There has to be some rest for the wicked, yes?"

Sinister has posed:
Sinister glances up at the chandeliers and back, a slow appraisal of 'switzerland' in NYC and he nods lightly. Indeed, an assault on knowledge would be unforgiveable. For his part, he did not even raise a finger other than to control his writing instruments, which is probably a beneficial thing. "Well, it's bothersome to be interrupted by the ebb and flow of humanity. Privacy is an easily afforded privalege with a little effort," the tone suggests that she's only gone and ruined -that- and shame on her. Mind you, the rebuke is rather mild.

Pages continue to turn and the great dance of books shifts, some drifting back to their precise shelves, others shuffling to the front to be regarded.

"I rest on the blue moon. I take a nice little spa treatment in a small resort on Fiji and drink coconut milk straight from the tree. I heartily recommend it. Manicure, pedicure, facepack and sea-weed wrap." It's very hard to tell if he's joking or not, but he looks across the plane of his cheek toward her a moment, then back to his study. "Very occasionally, someone comes up with something new and interesting. And occasionally, I find I distrust the research and cataloguing done by Minions. I found one in a closet gibbering about alphabetizing once and realized it was probably a significant thing."

Storm has posed:
"And yet you're here." Ororo comments, though with a smile! No snark at all! Really!

She turns to the side now, one leg crossing over the other, a pair of spectacles pulled from her pocket to hang upon her nose as she reads. Hand placed upon the pages that were oddly decorated, her foot bobbing for comfort.

They were nearly reading in tandem, possibly something that'll never ever be seen or heard of again.

"Wa nibe se iyen." She utters in one of her native tongues. But it was interesting; the way he dodged her question. He was researching, that was for certain, yet her eyes lift to scan the many books that are in his orbit, and then back down to her own.

"I see. But do you ever read for pleasure, Dr. Essex?" She lifts her own book, 'The Octunnumi', wiggling it for a brief moment before it's back down upon the table, and then to her lap. She could hardly get comfortable.

Sinister has posed:
One of the books snaps shut. It's a very loud kind of **PAK** in what was otherwise a glorious whisper of leaves. Licking his bottom lip, Sinister stares at the far wall, then waves his hand in a spiral, sending all the books back to their respective shelves in a telekinetic storm. He straightens up in the air thereafter and walks down invisible steps to the floor of the library, pen and closed journal hovering beside himself and hands neatly tucking into the small of his back. He is perhaps five foot from her now, head angled in a mein of consideration and thoughtful scrutiny. "Peanuts. I find Lucy to be a breath of fresh air," he says in a dry murmur, then gives a little sigh.

"Are you genuine in your curiosities and friendly overtures Miss Munro, or is this simply a strategy to vex me?"

Storm has posed:
The snap of the book shutting sends Ororo's nerves on edge; her back straightens a little, she clears her throat, yet her eyes remain upon the pages of the book and her foot continues to bob. She has one hell of a poker-face, though one seasoned and old as Nathaniel would know that she was at the ready, for anything.

And probably nothing.

Because the little joke he just told? She had to look up at him twice, and break out into full.. genuine laughter. It was such an unexpected quip that she couldn't contain herself, her head shaking as she pulls the glasses away to rub at her eyes. That, was truly damn funny.

"Oh.. oh sorry.." She finally says, waving at the air to catch her breath. "I'm truly genuine." She pauses, allowing the moment to pass in order to closer her book with the page number memorized. "Sometimes, we are taught to hate. Taught to be wary." She points out. "While at times the lessons are spot on, but history proves that we as a 'people' have been lied to constantly. As you with your research, and me with mine." One hand lifts, finger pointing to the air. "Though, this isn't research. I am a woman, and we are born to meddle in others affairs."

Sinister has posed:
"Indeed," that gendered commentary given only in the tone used and a flick of an eyebrow, Sinister sits himself down on thin air once again, leaning forward with both elbows on his knees and fingers steepled, groove of his lip resting upon the tops of his index fingers. There is a very slight hint of a smile though, the edge of the lips and a ghost of a crinkle at the corner of his eyes. "History is written by those that would hang heros. You are of course, quite right. I have always found it quite telling for example, that the condemnation of the third Reich was quite justified, yet the US government was quite happy to tidy its own Eugenics program under the rug and not shut it down until a full twenty years after the end of the second world war. They don't tell you that in Jeopardy though," he sniffs. "I was actually looking at the latest examples of the Human Genome project, the schematics and relative simplicity of CRISPR and also, though you might doubt by veracity... the latest and greatest in So-called Psychical research." Pause, beat. "That last, mostly for pleasure, to see if they'd figured out a pseudo scientific way to say that their machine goes BING or not."

Storm has posed:
"Give it a few more decades. Soon they'll happily accept that information on the latest showing of 'Are you Smarter Than a Fifth Grader.'" Her own joke, however cynical, has her relaxing now. There was no anger, yet dead air from the woman, the mention of what she just had spoken of causes nearly all the air to be sucked out of the room. Nearly. It was a tiny bit humid.

Though once he actually speaks upon what he was researching, he was met with a wide eyed stare. Ororo couldn't begin to pretend she understood half of the words that he had spoken, most of her expertise relied in History, and the lesson plans that were mapped out by the states of New York. Though there are times when she does veer off course..

"What?" She finally says, brows wrinkling incredously. "So you -do- read for pleasure." Blow off the rest, though it may not be her concern just yet. "Here." The book that she held was gifted towards Dr. Essex, whether he reads it or not is up to him. "Granted, our world as it is, is similiar to what's in this book. But this book? Bizzare. Yet different and entertaining. It should keep your attention, if you'd like."

Sinister has posed:
Sinister actually takes the book, turning the first couple of pages and reading exceptionally swiftly. The flicker of an eyebrow raise becomes a genuine one as he laughs softly beneath breath. "You know, there is a theory held by some scholars, that inspiration is fractal. That in fact, several individuals across the world, in various different walks of life, will have the same idea at the same time -- the difference in application of that idea, is merely the significant number of MU. Pure happenstance if the grand design comes upon the mind of a rice farmer who has no idea how to apply any of the grand notions, or to a laureate that has the means and the wit, but absolutely no desire. This is why, the theory goes, the same thing can be put forth simultaneously, with very slight differences in application, as the fractal of inspiration has struck. It seems to me, that a Ghost in a pen has looked deep beyond the candle and seen some of the truths out there. Interesting. I am sure I shall find it quite delightful."

Sinister sniffs once again and with a sucking on his cheeks that makes the bonestructure stand out rather grandly, he offers "...Long and short: How far we've come in figuring out how few of us there originally were... the current estimate is approximately one to two hundred individuals. And how clever tiny little bacteria are at reinventing themselves and how we can tell them to reinvent us. Recipe for potential disaster, you mark my words."

Storm has posed:
Ororo listens to the theory, allowing her mind to wander, imagining the rice farmer being struck with something magnificent, and in his moment of dreaming. And the laureate finding this same inspiration, and moving on with his or her life. All of the thoughts and daydreams do make her smile, as the explanation has been put so eloquently forth, much like he was reading from a book himself.

"It reminds me of a small story, that theory. That few people, who live in different parts of the world were born at the same time, right down to the very second. They're linked and bound to one another for their entire lives, and when they close their eyes to dream, it is not their dreams they are dreaming, but the lives the others are living. Strange, no? May be possible.."

The smile she gives Nathaniel was genuine. Granted, his visage was a little bit off putting, but she sees him more as a man and a scholar than the monster the danger room wrought. "Genetic cloning?" Ororo asks, to clarify. "Or rebirth of.. lets say me as I am. Memories and all." She shakes her head slightly. "There is no soul in that. I agree." Though, that's if that's what he meant, it was rare that Ororo was ever confused, and this was it!

Sinister has posed:
"NOt necessarily cloning -- that technique is widely used to create a workable sample from something far too small to otherwise test. This is how they sequence the DNA of creatures long dead and rotten to skeletons, by taking a tiny amount of tooth root and dentine to replicate." Sinister seems quite pleased to converse and /almost/ a little surprised that he is enjoying himself so. There is animation in an otherwise very calm and controlled mein. He leans back on his invisible throne, seemingly languishing as if for an unseen artist. His hand does a lot of talking, plucking the concepts from the air, with animate punctuation marks made with the shapes of his fingers. "No, the bacteria so discovered work with living DNA, as opposed to dead. They can take the sequence from a chimpanzee and splice it to that of a human being, or take the DNA that says 'I will have brown eyes' and flip it inverse to turn those eyes blue. There was a very interesting and rather ...ahhh... dystopian film, by the name of Gattaca that hints at such things. But what occurs if you think you know what you are doing, but a tiny mistake gives the bacteria the advantage of you? Or if a human parent, afraid of the Mutant gene, decides to have their DNA... cleaned? I am trying to decide whether I think it is genius, or mortifying."

With a sigh, he smiles though, the curl of just the edge of lips that is not a smirk or a sneer, but /knowing/. "Perhaps the concept of a shared chronomantic destiny is kinder. Tell me, have you in your studies of history, ever come across strangely similar concurrencies such as that?"

Storm has posed:
"Jurassic Park." Though, there was no DNA splicing. Much. But now she understood the means in which he was speaking. "It happens now." Ororo explains. "Though not in a very direct way. They check the chromosomes of fertilized eggs, determine which has the better 'value' and implant. Yes?" Lord, let her tell the others that she had a conversation with Nathaniel Essex, she would never hear the end of it.

"I remember Gattaca. The DNA belonging to a person was coded for a person to do a specific job, if I remember? For example, if you are born with a certain trait that was gained through DNA washing, then that is the job you perform. I am sure there are civilizations that work off of such. We do, in a sense."

Ororo leans back now, body twisting sideways to face Nathaniel more, arm hung off the back of the chair, fingers now animated herself. "The female of the species breeds. Creates life. The female of the species also cares for that life. The male, hunter gatherer. They are stronger, sometimes faster than the female of the species, durable. And if you think about it, a little bit less concerned about their safety." She laughs a little, then shrugs.

"Though, most creation stories share that aspect, I believe. Sometimes I do not consider creation stories apart of history as it ties to religion. But, it is history nonetheless."

Sinister has posed:
"Aah, creation myths. Now that is an intriguing topic. Hmm. I think perhaps there are scientific reasons for other things arrising concurrently, outside of such things. Perhaps it is, that a man saw a dragon in the woods, in China or in the dales of Ireland, or the plains of mesoamerica. Perhaps what they saw was a T-rex skull in the badlands of ALberta, sticking out of a cliff, and in the great cliffs of the Gobi desert, where a Triceratops appeared. My personal fascination that I have long hunted for evidence of in the fossil record and genome, is the prevalence of giants. Every nation on earth tells stories of giants, but none have ever been found save for an isolated and unique dig in Arizona, not far from the tribelands of the Hopi and the Navajo. Skeletons of unusual size, easily nine foot tall. What I wouldn't give, to be able to sample the teeth of -those- but the beaurocracy around the is maddeningly like hunting through the forms in the DMV."

Sinister may well want to be fly on the wall, if this situation ever popped up in conversation /elsewhere/ this is for certain. "Speaking of Giants, the asgardian creation myths borrowed by the vikings are one of the few that have the creator being male. The giant Ymir. Aboriginal australians flip some of the male-female stereotypes also; the man is a moon, the woman the sun. But that culture is older than many that stand by a more patriarchal origin theory. And I believe only ancient Babylon was sage enough to recognize that the female of the species is more deadly than the male."

Storm has posed:
"Mm. That could be true. Most translations dictate that few words have been substituted or mistaken for others because there were no official wording for 'dragons' in the olden times." Ororo remarks, then nods her head silently. "Take the Loch Ness monster for example. When the first sighting of it was recorded, the elongated head with a very large body hidden beneath the surface, perhaps the translations really meant were 'whale penis' instead of 'Nessie'." A joke, a rather crude one for the goddess. But, at least it was true.

"In the bible, it states that Giants have walked the earth, though how they've gotten here is even more salacious than the sighting of the loch ness monster." She muses. "Have you ever tried finding your giants in less beaurocratic countries? Jerusalem, perhaps. Beneath the city of Pompeii. Jersey."

Another joke.

"Yes, and if I remember correctly, the creation story for the Jewish religion lies in a woman. Yoruban a male, I believe.." Now she was searching. This was engaging. "Do you wonder how true we can rely on stories that have been written by those long ago, or told by spoken word from generation to generation?"

Sinister has posed:
There was a smile at the suggestion of digging in Jersey. "Indeed, biblical though is but one of the many. Mayhap, I shall dabble where they have yet to be found, rather than where they actually were." Sinister lifts his right hand, curling fingers in a come-hither motion at a table tucked away in the corner. A tea-tray drifts close, an insulated pot released and a cup of a very fragrant leaf poured into a cup. Either he was expecting company, or prepared for irritation and crockery throwing, because there is more than one. He doesn't actually ask, merely pours a second tea and it floats of its own accord to the air beside Ororo, hovering there obligingly. "Milk? Sugar? Honey?" playing mother to the moment, he waits on her choice, musing.

"As to the evolution of culture through oral tradition and truth? No, not really. None of what we read is the whole of the thing. The soul of the thing. Rather, one must be erudite and a sponge, allowing the information to correlate itself and find the grain of what actually happened in amidst the colourful language and Cloud-dreaming."

Storm has posed:
"Harlem." Ororo says. Mostly because no one would dare to dig in Harlem. "But what does that say about us? Rumor tells it, that you are older than most. How did -we- as a people come into being? Mutants." That was her question, waiting for her answer while she watches him pour the tea. It possibly was expected, she was an unwelcome guest in his space but the conversation itself felt like home. "None. I'll take it plain." A woman, who.. well..

Hearing Nathaniel's explanation, however, allows her to expand upon their meeting. Her hand gesturing to the both of them in a 'See!' sort of matter. "We are taught to hate." Though, she does look troubled, reaching for her teacup, her lips pursing to blow upon the surface to cool. "Why is that." It was a statement now, mostly directed towards Nathaniel and not herself. "What have you done?"

Sinister has posed:
"Terrible things, my dear. Terrible, Sinister things," Doctor Essex replies, with a sigh, the cup released as soon as she takes it and easily moveable, free of the power that held it aloft. He watches her sip it -- a Lapsang Dahjong with a very slight hint of orange blossom and jasmine. Quite fresh and aromatic -- "Article the first however: Mutation has occured throughout history. It is perhaps that the first mutants were these giants that pre-date the modern man. But in so far as documented mutant in historical accounting, one of the oldest known is familiar to you as well as I. El Sabah Nur, was his name, once." He sips his own tea, whetting his throat to unparch his palate, pinky finger lifted a little, but curled in at the knuckle. It's a refined shape of hand, speaking of social instruction.

"Article the second: I have, I think, arguably the best understanding of the X-gene of anyone alive. I am the bacteria that can tell your eyes to be blue and not brown, when it comes to certain... unique properties that we possess. For -some- reason, people get angry when research is conducted with less than purely ethical practices, but in some instances, I will admit to being a product of the time."

Storm has posed:
Ororo listens objectively, she was aware of El Sabah Nur, of course. There was the issue with Warren and what has happened to him and who he could potentially become.

"Dr. Essex." Ororo starts, almost as if she were scolding a child. But not. It was a slight motherly tone herself, one that asks 'why' instead of 'how dare you'. "Have you ever thought of asking instead of resorting to the old.. unethical practices?" Another sip of her tea. "To be clear, I am not volunteering." The cup was placed upon the table so that she could stick both hands in between her thighs, all the whilst joining her legs by the ankles.

"But all across history, -there- have been people who were.. 'nre' enough to submit to such experiements. If not painful." She points out. "Honestly, you do not seem like the terrible person we've all come to know, if anything, deadly curious." That.. should not have been taken lightly, yet Ororo is. And she should be offended by his curiousity. In that same vein, she should be ashamed of herself for hers. "Sorry, I really did not come here to judge. And I do not want this cat to be killed."

Sinister has posed:
"What makes you believe that I haven't? ASked, that is?" Sinister counters with. "You don't want to judge, but what you've heard was judgements made. They do not account the times I asked nicely, or compensated handsomely. They do so at the times when I am expedient," he shrugs lightly, not seeming remorseful of the opinion that others have of him. "Perhaps the only example that was amply recorded, was in Auschewitz -- they called me the vampire, but I paid the children for their donation of blood with a much needed boost of candy. And I did not participate in what occured around me, I simply did not do anything to stop it -- another thing that colours me poorly. But..." again, he shrugs "...modern science has reaped the benefits of some of the more horrifying things done. From those files after all, we know how long a person can stand without moving. The limits of endurance. The data isn't evil, only the way it was gathered, as is evidenced by the fact it's still used. I find it all to be dashedly ironic, really." He shakes his head then, turning momentarily introspective.

"I am curious yes. ALso curious of the moment: Have any others in the world found a means or method to help hone impossibly dangerous mutations, yet? Or is it all practice, practice, practice, accidental homicide and eventually partial perfection will be managed? If it isn't a straight up execution, lynch, or governmental control and containment, that is."

Storm has posed:
"Yes, I've heard judgements made, but I have not made my own and quite possibly will not." Ororo states. But she does consider one thing. "Mayhap you are the only one left alive the blame all across the world." Her head nods, tea picked up, sipped again after sniffed. It was a beautiful aroma, it was a tea that she could probably make herself..

"We haven't found a way, no. Not even with the exceptional minds at the helm, we haven't. If we were to even consider attempting to find a way, we would have to experiment. Pundit squares wouldn't work in this regard." She sighs, seeing his point. Would she tell him that, nah. "Execution, lynch.. governmental control.. containment.. Nathaniel. I am an African woman who's a mutant. That's three strikes. Imagine if I were lesbian. I get your point." So she did tell him. She finishes off the tea, carefully placing the cup upon the table as she rubs harshly at her eye crease. She was attempting to cool her nerves, steele her emotions, but the travesties against the diaspora and mutant kind does strike a chord.

Sinister has posed:
Sinister inclines his head to her, an aknowledgement of all that was said there, bittersweet though it might be. As bittersweet as his knowing smile. "Well, maybe one day all that I know may come in handy. It is not as if the government doesn't know I exist. It does. But they will never ask, nor will any other. So I will continue to hunt for the godspark, until I am comfortable that our species as a whole, will survive all that is thrown at it. ANd for that, I will -never- apologize."

Storm has posed:
"Eventually." Ororo says, and history always repeats itself. "They will ask." Ororo's hand continually rubs at her eyes, even stopping to pinch the bridge of her nose. One. Two. Three.

Down goes the emotion and her head lifts with confidence, her own smile given then disappears. "While we're on the topic.. is.." Why, is she even asking this. "..there a way for you to trace ones genetic background? With one hundred percent accuracy.."

Sinister has posed:
"Eventually," Sinister echoes, watching the struggle manifest itself subtley on the surface and much less so just underneath. Aah, the turmoil, like the calm surface of a turbulent ocean! Or the eye of a Storm, of course. He tilts his head juuuust enough to be obviously studying her response here.

"Why it is a simple thing," to him, of course. "Don't tell me you're asking me to do such a thing? Surely not..." a light tease, but a phenomenally large thing.

Storm has posed:
"Maybe." Ororo mutters. "Possibly. Eventually." She says again. Eyes gone to the ceiling now to study the intricate carvings there. "I am sure you'd possibly know of most of us. My parents were killed when a plane dropped on them. I know -part- of where I come from, but what else? Common problem among the diaspora. We don't know who we are."

Her brows lift, then lower again. Shaking away the thoughts. The empty teacup was taken, and as she rises to prepare herself another, she speaks. "I'm well aware of the contradictions this conversation is creating. One moment, I could not fathom understanding the methods of madness, and the next I relent and agree. Like a sponge, yes?" She smacks her lips, once her cup was filled, then returns to her seat to sip.

Sinister has posed:
"On the contrary. We know well who we are. It is why we are and where we come from that we struggle with. Nobody else can be me, myself and I, so wholely and essentially as I can." Sinister uncurls his legs, lowering feet to the floor once again arms loosely folding over his chest as he regards her with that penetrating ruby red gaze. "Like a sponge. We must be as a sponge. Are you quite sure? Some of your colleagues would call you mad and reckless. They would question your mind and invariably suggest that I had something to do with altering it." He pauses, chuckles lightly. "Regardless as to whether that is true, I did nothing but talk."

Storm has posed:
"Considering my companion for today, they will assume that either way." Ororo stands as well, taking the final sips of her tea, then replaces it upon the tray. While she didn't answer if she was sure or not, all Nathaniel needed to do was wait. It may not be now, but the question and thoughts were out there, and Ororo would come knocking eventually.

She heads towards the door to pull it open, then stops before she exits. Looking over her shoulder, she says with the most sincerety that always resides deep in her marrow. "Dr. Essex, thank you for speaking with me. I truly did enjoy myself."

Sinister has posed:
Waiting is something Sinister has done for centuries. Patience is perhaps the man's greatest (and some would argue ONLY) virtue. "As have I, Miss Munro. My regards to you and your extended family," Eventually. It is a good word for this day and as she takes her leave, he turns from the door and rises up to his invisible podium to continue his rather antisocial studying.