13517/Oh Bother.

Oh Bother.
Date of Scene:	17 June 2021
Location:	Frontyard - Xavier's School
Synopsis:	Chit chat with the peoples.
Cast of Characters:	Wolverine, Storm, Phoenix

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Wolverine has posed:
    Even when you're a good hand with an axe and have done it a million times before splitting and dealing with a fallen tree seems to take forever. There are all the steps, the prep work, the clearing of branches, the checking for rot, and then the sectioning before you even get to the splitting. It can be viewed as a good thing as easily as a bad thing, however. Since it may well seem like it takes forever even to get a single cord of wood...
    But then there is something almost zen about it. It gives the wood chopper some time to get lost in their thoughts, to let their mind wander and sometimes it's a way to get the voice of the sub-conscious to speak itself clearly.
    But right now none of that mattered to the man known as Logan. He just had to get the damn wood chopped and he chopped it like it had done him wrong.
    Most people at the school could tell when he was doing it. Since the acoustics of the area near the garage where he leveled that axe, it caused some resonant echoes with each hefty /thwok/ of the axe. He had a steady rhythm just over and over though now and again there'd be a pause as he moved and tossed some wood on the growing pile along the back wall of the garage. But once that was done, the man in the blue jeans, white t-shirt, and those leather boots... he just gets right back to it.

Storm has posed:
It's a thing that takes a lot of work, but it is a thing that's necessary. And which happens to be worth the effort. The sound of the wood being industriously chopped up is something that Storm has been listening to from the attic of the mansion. She has one of the windows partially open to be able to listen, in fact. There's something almost peaceful and rhythmic about the sound of it.

After a little while, she crossed to her fridge in order to retrieve a six pack of beer-- a good craft beer -- and with it in hand, she steps back over to the window in order to push it further open. She steps up onto the windowledge, and her eyes turn white as she calls upon her power to fly as she steps off of the windowledge and into the empty air beyond.

Ororo's long white hair is left loose and free, and it flutters around her as she flies down towards the area near to the garage in order to land near to where Logan is working on the chopping. She wears a pair of black jeans, one of the knees slashed, a pair of comfortable boots on her feet, and a long sleeved blue shirt that's a shade darker than her eyes normally air.

Her feet settle lightly to the ground, and the beer bottles clink softly together. She lifts her free hand, to lightly pull her fingers through her hair, watching him. "I thought you would perhaps appreciate a cold one, and to take a break," Storm offers, a thoughtful note to her voice.

Wolverine has posed:
    She caught him at the perfect moment. When he's straightening up and the axe head is resting on the toe of his work boot. A forearm brushes over his brow as he was grimacing at some thought or another. But then the breeze picks up subtly, giving a hint of relief to the rays of the sun. Though that's not the only respite it carries.
    "Hm?" Is how he answers her at first, head tilted to the side as those deep blue eyes widen a little as he looks to her, narrow with a furrow of his brow, then shift back to the work that had claimed the last hour of his day. Almost a cord was stacked up against that wall, enough for the campfire some of the students were wanting, and a bonfire if needed, and probably two or three more.
    Then he looks back at her as he sets the axe down against the wall of the garage only to scoop up the last few unsplit logs and stack them up beside the tree stump he'd been using as a base. "You must have a sixth sense about these things, 'Roro."
    He leaves the axe, the wood, the stump behind and walks towards her as he dusts his hands off then wipes them on his jeans as he moves near. "Thanks."

Storm has posed:
Sometimes, Ororo manages to have good timing. This would be one of those times. A smile tugs at the corners of her lips as she watches him, and one of her eyebrows quirks up a touch. Her eyes shift from milky white back to blue, and she tilts her head a touch to one side.

She can't help but to smile at his reaction, a flicker of amusement coming to dance within the blue of her eyes. She lifts the six pack of craft beer, extending it partially towards him, the bottles giving mild clinks together as she does so. "I have been listening to you whilst you have been chopping the wood. You have been at it for while," Ororo observes. She casts a glance towards the cord of wood that he's chopped, to where it's stacked, and then her attention returns to him. Watching him.

She chuckles softly at his words, and then she gives her head a faint shake. "I am not so sure about that. I listened, and I watched. And I waited," she says. "Shall we take a seat on the stumps or within the shelter of the garage to be out of the sun?"

Wolverine has posed:
    "A bit," The grim man with the stern features says even as he looks over his shoulder at the fruit of his labors, then makes a face as he looks back. "Too long prolly." But it's a wry sort of smirk that's there, sharing that hint of camaraderie that doesn't come too often from the Canadian mutant.
    Then she considers them taking a load off and he gives a nod, "Sure, grab the stump I'll..." He looks back at one of the unsplit logs, large enough around to serve as a stool. He'll grab it and flip it on its side, the broader base serving as the bottom of the seat. Once done he'll brush a hand over its surface. Pretty even cuts, not a ton of splinters, it'll do.
    Seat taken opposite of the other spot, he accepts one of the beers only then. A twist of the top causes it to snap and hiss a little with the change in air pressure before he tilts it back for three long hungry swallows.
    Once that's done he makes a soft 'ahhh' noise and brushes his forearm over his lips. "Yer an angel, darlin'."

Storm has posed:
"Mmhmm," Ororo says, giving a small nod to him, watching him. "Probably too long. But that is why there are people like me who pay attention and bring you cold drinks to convince you to take a break and sit a spell," she adds, sounding pleased with her logic. It is, actually, a sound logic. And the beer is cold, the bottles dewy with condensation from having come out of her fridge.

Ororo gives a nod to him, and then she easily carries the six-pack over to the stump before settling to sit there. She watches him bring over one of the logs to sit on. She plucks one of the bottles from the six-pack, and the she sets the rest of the pack onto the ground between and to the side of them, within easy reach of them both. She twists open her own bottle, rewarded with the familiar hiss of it, and then she lifts it to take a drink before shaking her head.

"Ah, no. I am rather missing the wings, and the halo. Although the flight part, that I have handled," Storm comments, quirking a smile and winking at him. It would seem that she's in a fair humour at the moment. "You are welcome, Logan," she adds, giving a small nod to him. "If I might ask... what were you thinking of, while you were splitting the wood?" she asks, curiosity touching her voice.

Wolverine has posed:
    She can see his thoughts are off, gently distanced as he reflects on that first long drink of the beer. Only for her to give voice to that curiousity and bring him back to the here and now. Which makes him heave a small exhalation of breath that might almost be a laugh if he let it get its legs under it.
    Looking back to her he shakes his head. "A lot of things." Another swig of beer is taken, then she likely sees him chew the inside of his cheek for a moment with one eyebrow quirking. "Too many things." So it's that kind of reflection.
    Then his brow knits and he looks down at the label on the craft beer, peering at it and making a small 'hnh' sound, noting the maker for the future. Which might well mean he likes it. His attention returns back to the young woman opposite him and he nods, "Had a dream that left me on edge. Old water that's run its course under the bridge and then some."
    A beat, then he adds. "Still."
    He takes a sip of beer. Not exactly hugely forthcoming, but then again not a roadblock either.

Phoenix has posed:
"And why there are people like me who bring lunch around right when there's beer to be had. Which is exactly what happens when Jean walks around the corner sporting a picanick basket held in her left hand. "Is anybody hungry?" Jean doesn't ask what anybody's thinking, but she tries not to a lot of the time. If she asks, then they'll be thinking about it, and then it's a never ending cycle of thoughts. Usually.

Jean glances at another of the unsplit rounds, and bright pink power surrounds it, lifts it, and floats it over to rest somewhat between Logan and Ororo. Once it's in place, and steady, the pink vanishes. Jean lifts the basket to set it atop the round, flipping one half of the lid back. The sandwiches within are fairly generic at first glace. But upon closer inspection will prove to be the favorites of the three of them.

Storm has posed:
Curiosity is a thing that does occassionally possess her. Sometimes she asks the questions, and sometimes she doesn't. She tilts her head a little bit to one side as she watches him, and she lifts her bottle of beer to take a drink from it. There is a slight ghost of a smile that whispers across her features at the almost laugh, though she holds her tongue.

"There are always a lot of things in that head of yours," Ororo says softly, a gentle tone to her voice. She shifts slightly, leaning forward a touch and drawing one of her legs up beneath her as she does so. "It can be difficult to sort out the things when there are too many of them," she offers.

She glances towards the bottle when he examines it, and as it happens, it's one from his native country. Mill St Brewery, an amber lager. "Is it a dream that you have had before?" she asks softly, her curiosity perked by it. "Sometimes... sometimes these things can have a way of returning, of haunting a person for some reason or another," she muses, considering his words.

"The past can be a persistent and sometimes tricky thing, Logan. And it seems to make for the worst of dreams, sometimes, too," she adds, her gaze holding to him. "Would you like to tell me about it?" she asks. It's not a pushy sort of question, but simply an offer -- she'll be there for him and listen, if he wants to speak further on the dream.

As Jean approaches, Ororo's gaze slips over towards her, and a smile comes to her features. "Ah, you brought lunch. I could eat, yes. How are you doing, Jean?" she asks. There is, yet, a flicker of concern to her voice. It wasn't all that long ago that she'd struck Jean with lightning, after all. Intentionally.

Wolverine has posed:
    "Not the same, but similar. Old faces." But he doesn't offer details about the dreams or the errant thoughts. Instead he takes another sip of the lager and nods a few times as he listens to what Storm has to say. But then she asks him if he'd like to talk about and she can see that instant knee-jerk reaction of his. The way he just automatically waves things off and leaves them for later. It's there in the way he takes a breath and holds it, exhales a small bit. But then he pauses and seems about to say something. Which is when the redhead makes her appearance whatever was about to say changes...
    "Jeanie," Logan looks up and twists a half-smile that borders on a half-smirk with a glance shared for Ororo. But then his brow knits as he looks between Storm and Jean as if the two of them might be in cahoots, what with the beer and now the picnic basket so presented. One eye scrunches towards the narrow as he assays the lay of the land between himself and the ladies. Suspicion is clear and likely the redhead can detect it. Not grim growly suspicion, but more social suspicion as if one or the other of them might ask him to drive them to the airport or something.
    "There a special occasion for this?" There, that's a politick way of inquiring.

Phoenix has posed:
Jean Grey might have a close and personal relationship with things that are difficult to sort out, or through. She picks out a sandwich for Ororo, and offers it to the woman. It's wrapped in paper, probably recycled, to keep it fresh. "I'm fine, Ro. Thanks for asking. How are /you/ doing?" The slight emphasis shows that Jean is much more concerned about her friend's well being in the aftermath of that event than she is in her own.

As for her, she looks about normal. Business casual type suit in shades of grey, today. The only remaining sign of her recent ordeal with lightning is the branching 'tree'-like shape still on the backs of her hands. The colors have faded, at least, down to a color closer to her skin tone. That makes them slightly harder to see, but still by no means hidden.

"We're not in cahoots, Logan," she says at that clear suspicion that Jean can not only see, but sense. "I could hear you working from my window. And I could feel Ro's intent to bring you beer and convince you to take a break to enjoy it. You've been working hard, so I asked someone to make us sandwiches, and here I am."

Jean shakes her head, a smile showing on her face. "No special occasion. Not even a reward for all your hard work." She sounds amused, and she shifts to lean against the wood acting as picnic table.

Storm has posed:
The white-haired weather witch tilts her head a bit to one side, and then she gives a small nod to Logan. She respects him, and not just because he's older than what she is. The reaction that begins but isn't finished is noticed and noted, but she says nothing of it. She simply waits him out -- all things in their own time, and sometimes Logan is more like a fine wine than he might care to admit: he just needs time.

When she's thusly scrutinized, one of her eyebrows quirks upwards. "Why are you eyeing me thus?" Ororo asks, a flicker of curiosity coming to her voice. "A special occassion for bringing you cold beer? You were working hard and looked as though you would appreciate it," she adds, giving a small nod to him. It's logical and it makes sense, both!

When the sandwich is offered, she reaches out her free hand to accept it, a warm smile coming to her features. "Thank you," she says. She takes a sip of her beer, then tucks it to the ground next to the stump. Then she sets the sandwich in her lap before unwrapping it and picking up half of it. "I am... better than I was. I think. It was... complicated, for a little while," Ororo says, giving a small nod. There's no elaboration offered. She blamed herself after the lightning strike -- how could she not?, but that seems to have eased off.

Wolverine has posed:
    A small snort comes from the Canadian, though his nostrils flare almost imperceptibly, his own way of gauging the social landscape by taking in the scent of the moment. A smirk remains on his lips as he shakes his head when Jean says so openly that they're not in cahoots. Which only serves to make him assume that they are, indeed, totally in cahoots. But less from the evidence of the matter and more that the idea amuses him.
    "Yeah, well." At first that's all he says, and years ago when they first were X-Men that might've been all the two women woulda gotten out of him. But then after the years of knowing each other he elaborates thusly, "We'll see about that." There. Such pay off for so much effort and so many years.
    Though perhaps there is some truth to the fine wine theory as he finally avails himself of the sandwich and takes a bite. Chewing for a time as the young women speak back and forth, some tension there likely from that lightning strike. He had heard a little of it since that sort of thing doesn't entirely go uncommented on nor unnoticed. Still. Then comes the bonus round as he offers, "But thanks."
     At the mention of hard work as well as the food given. Though it does end with him shaking his head. "Some of the kids were wantin' ta have a campfire, s'mores and all that. Told them it's too damn hot. They don't care."

Phoenix has posed:
Jean Grey nods toward Logan, but looks to Ororo. "He's eyeing you like that because he doesn't trust us not to ask him to drive us to the airport. One or both of us," says Jean, a ready smile on her face, her green eyes sparkling with it. Jean sobers a little, but the smile remains, a gentle thing. "I know," she says. "It wasn't as complicated as it sounds, but still was complicated."

She smirks at Logan and digs a sandwich out, also wrapped in paper, and tosses it to him. "Here. Eat you big puppy," she says, amusement clear both in her tone and on her features. She nods about the campfire and such. "It really is too hot for it. Not so bad at night, though. It's still getting reasonably cool enough for a fire. Besides," she says. "S'mores are worth enduring the heat for." So sayeth Jean Grey. S'mores are worth heat!