15345/Sogni Viola

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Sogni Viola
Date of Scene: 15 July 2023
Location: Main Foyer - Xavier's School
Synopsis: New York City to Salem Center, with a brief flashback to Madripoor
Cast of Characters: Archangel, Psylocke, Phoenix

Archangel has posed:
It was Saturday morning, late morning, fashionably late morning, practically lunch time, and Warren Worthington had come to Betsy Braddock's apartment, to see her with the intention of inviting her back to the Xavier Mansion. It would be quite the journey, the better part of two hours if they left now, though just over an hour if they waited a few hours. New York traffic.

He wore a blue polo shirt, the top two buttons undone, and off white shorts, as well as white ankle socks, and white sneakers. It was summer, and he dressed appropriately. Being the W.A.S.P. that he was, he also wore a turquoise sweater, which was loosely tied around his neck.

He parked his Lamborghini Aventador underground, near the elevator, reversing it into the spot, making it easier to pull out. Slipping the fob into his pocket, he pressed the button to lock it, headed for the elevator, picked her floor, and one hallway later, he was knocking at the door.
Psylocke has posed:
Betsy Braddock has the look of someone who has been up for quite a while. It's not quite the 'up all night' look: she's too elegant and put together for that, or to allow that to show -- but it might not be far off. She's wearing a Dolce & Gabbana dress that looks like it literally was worn on the catwalk -- and it may well have been. It's beige, featuring climbing red roses along its length, sitting high on her thighs. She's wearing matching neutral two inch heels and an expensive handbag, though today she's devoid of any kind of jewelry, purple her hair pulled up and tucked underneath a scarf.

Opening the door, she greets him with a smile, and after a moment's hesitation, an air kiss to the cheek. Wouldn't want to destroy her lipstick! The way she moves, there's an energy about her, not quite nervousness, but the want to /do/ that is unmistakable. "Hi, Warren."

A beat of study, and Betsy steps back to let him come in. "Let me just grab a change of clothes, in case I need to stay the night there, and we'll go?" she suggests. She's already turning to leave. The entrance way of her apartment is open and light, and despite the hardwood floors and modern appliances, it's very much an old style apartment. She could afford much, much better. That she doesn't is a choice. It's very much Betsy though, bright open windows, clean lines, a vase of her favorite purple flowers, heliotropes, on the living room table.

"I'm glad you agreed to drive," she adds, as she turns with a small overnight bag hung over her forearm. "I was going to get a towncar, but you'll make the trip much more fun, I'm sure."
Archangel has posed:
Greeting Betsy with a neutral smile, that immediately broadens to a partially opened mouth, an inhalation of air, as he took in her elegant beige dress with the climbing rose pattern. It was high on her thighs as well, the two inch heels added to it. Sometimes he wondered if she deliberately chose two inch heels, just so she could be slightly higher than him. If he had been self-conscious, he might have started wearing lifts in his shoes. But he was not.

He returned the air kisses, "Hi, Betsy, you're looking ravishing as ever." He followed her in as she headed to pack a bag, extra clothes, at least one, perhaps more. He had no idea how long she would be. Stepping over towards the clematis flowers, mixed with iris, he inhaled, savouring the aroma.

"Well, I felt it was my duty. I couldn't risk that you might decide to drive on the left side of the road, and mind control those around you to follow suit. Actually, you should definitely do that. I'm sure the police helicopter would have a field day with it." He laughed lightly at his own teasing joke.
Psylocke has posed:
Are the heels deliberate? Probably not. It's one of those things Betsy's always been aware of, her height, and rather than try and minimize it with shorter heels or flatter shoes, she's always chosen to emphasize it. That it makes her taller than a lot of men, and Warren in particular, is just a fun side-effect. Her smile at his compliment is effortless. "Thank you."

Her heels tap on the floor as she approaches him. It must surely annoy the neighbors below. "I only did that a handful of times after I came to the US," she protests, though there's a smile when she does. "And they don't drive on the left hand side where I've been of late, anyway, so New York is safe in that."

Betsy offers the overnight bag to him to carry. It's just the gentlemanly thing to do; she doesn't even think about it consciously. Once she claims her handbag, glances around the apartment, and picks up her keys, she leads the way out and back towards the elevator. "Has much changed, since I've been gone? Charles hasn't remodeled the X-Man base again has he?"
Archangel has posed:
Were it his apartment, he'd probably think of investing in soundproofing floor, and redoing it, some hardwood, maybe a hardwood tile mixture, out of concern for those below, and just to refresh it. Perhaps Betsy had something scheduled. "Only," he repeated, the key part of her protest. He couldn't help but grin widely. "Oh, and where was that?" He asked, curious about her whereabouts.

Idly, he offered up, "you know, driving on the left is better, scientifically speaking. Most people are right hand and right eye dominate. Driving on the left puts your dominant eye closer to the middle of the road. Fewer accidents that way. But during the Napoleonic Wars, Bonaparte converted most of Europe, and most of the world followed."

He accepted the overnight bag, being stronger than he looked. "Oh, I'm sure it's been remodeled. There's always something going on, one of the students having an accident, someone attacking, but they usually put it back, close to the way it used to look. I think he has a deal with his insurance carrier. Pay for nine remodels, he gets the tenth one free."

When they emerged from the elevator ride, they would find the Lamborghini Aventador, waiting in a parking stall. This was not his usual car. It was new. Okay, all his vehicles looked new. He never drove one out of his mansion without it being freshly cleaned, with them being detailed frequently.

But this one was brand new. It had 7 miles on the odometer, which was exactly 4 more than the distance from the dealership in Clinton, better known as Hell's Kitchen. It was purple with black accents, and there was a red bow on the hood. This model did not come in purple. And yet here it sat. Everything was available. It was just a matter of negotiating the price.
Psylocke has posed:
"You know. All over," Betsy answers Warren's question both airily and evasively both. "There wasn't much point leaving a forwarding address." And she lost her phone in Nepal, or so she claims. "You, Warren," she taps his shoulder as they head for his car, "Must be great at trivia night." For his knowledge about Bonaparte.

"You joke," Betsy says with a smile, "But I used to have to, mm, alter memories of some of the repairer's memory of the base itself. It happened often enough that it become very, very easy. I think the Professor was troubled by that, by the necessity of it." Betsy, clearly, not so much.

Out in the garage, the tapping of her heels stop when the purple-haired woman spots the sports car. "Oh, it's gorgeous." Betsy isn't really a car person -- but she can and does admire beauty, and it's in her favorite color. And it has a... a bow?

"Warren," she realizes, looks at him, brow creasing. "Did you gift me a supercar? Please tell me you didn't."
Archangel has posed:
"I am the beneficiary of a classical education," he explained, about why he knew history. Although he had finished his secondary education at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, prior to that, he had attended prestigious boarding schools, and subsequent to Xavier's, he had gone on to Harvard, where he got his MBA.

He did like the tap of his shoulder. It was nice to have that contact. He wasn't as keen on her adjusting the memories of the contractors. They were only doing their jobs.

"Not yet," he said when she creased her brow and asked him about the car, so he reached into his pocket, pulling out the fob, and unlocked it, "all yours, Betts, though unless you want your bag at the side of your or my legs during the drive upstate, we'll have to put the hard top back on. They're currently stored in the trunk," which was in the front for this car. Super easy to take out or put back, each half only weighs seven pounds."
Psylocke has posed:
Betsy's mouth opens and closes, visibly debating. It's not like they haven't gifted each other expensive gifts before. But this is different. They're no longer dating, and this -- the custom color -- must have meant he arranged it soon after he was aware of her return, with some pressure to have it done fast. Not at all unachieveable, given his name and wealth.


"Warren," she repeats, this time sighing his name. The problem with him knowing her so well is exactly that. He knows her too well. Her favorite color. That it's a manual. That the top is down to enjoy the pleasant weather. Her relenting comes when she plucks the fob from his hand, and instead hands him her bag. "Guard it well," she tells him with a smile, as she sways towards the supercar, opens the door, and slides in.

It has new car smell. She breathes it in, adjusts the seat and mirrors, puts on her belt. She waits for Warren to get in, and get comfortable, and his reward in the form of her delighted smile might well be worth it, as she depresses the accelerator and the rumbling roar of the vehicle thrums through the frame of the car.

It's a good thing she wore that scarf over her head. She was expecting him to bring a convertible. Just wasn't expecting it would be /hers/. With a laugh, she pulls the vehicle out of the garage -- carefully, over those gradients the low-slung vehicle doesn't enjoy -- and out onto the streets of New York. There isn't much speeding that can be done in gridlock traffic, but it does let her get a feel for the vehicle's handling.
Archangel has posed:
Sighing his name was not a good sign. There was hesitation. But the man just kept his demeanor. He was confident. He had good posture. He waited. She would arrive at her decision soon enough, whether she was to politely decline, or enthusiastically accept. And when she did arrive at her final decision, he couldn't help but chuckle softly.

He had her bag, she had the fob, and she swayed towards the driver side, he never got tired of this. Or the smile she gave him. He thought about mentioning that new car smell was from the chemicals they treat the dash with, but decided not, as it might ruin the moment. Instead, he watched as she got comfortable.

It didn't just have the new car smell. There was plastic over a number of surfaces, nothing that would impede driving, as he drove it here from the dealership, but just to help reinforce the fact, this car had 7 miles on it, and that was just driving to or from the factory, the basic tests that they do, plus the short distance to her apartment building. He got into the side, placing her bag between his legs, feet on either side.

In the console between their seats, there was a pair of aviator sunglasses, her size, tinted purple on the outside, clear on the inside. But she hasn't explored that yet.

"Don't worry, we'll hit highway soon enough. Oh, and there's something for you in the console."
Psylocke has posed:
Betsy hasn't really missed New York until this moment. It's not the gridlock she missed. It's a bit of the city itself, and a bit of the man in the car beside her, and a bit of the ability to just switch off for a time and enjoy herself. Not really something she's been able to do for a long while now. It changes her expression, into something bright and noticeable.

When Warren mentions something in the console, Betsy glances towards him. "Open it for me?" she asks. When he does, and shows her what's inside, she gives him a complicated look. Both approving and reproving at the same time. How she manages that is anyone's guess. She does relent though because they totally suit the look, bending to grab them and put them on.

"You know this isn't what normal people do for friends." A beat. "But thank you, Warren. It's a lovely, very thoughtful gift."

One that she enjoys much more once they're free of the snarl of traffic and out on the highway. She puts the Aventador through its paces -- not just in terms of acceleration, but its handling, the purple-haired woman clearly enjoying it. It won't be long before they're pulling through the familiar gates of Xavier's.
Archangel has posed:
Their situation was complicated. It didn't take a telepath to know what he was thinking. But by the same token, while extravagant, it was a simple gift, the way a person of lesser means might buy flowers, or a toaster. Okay, maybe not a toaster, but something.

"When have you or I ever wanted to be normal?" That was a lie. Yes, she never wanted to be normal, but she knew, deep down, that was what he had always desired for himself. He had grown to accept his gifts, to live with them, but unlike hers, his required effort to conceal, and there was a certain amount of pain involved too. He had learned to retract them, to bind them, to hide them, so he could pass as a normal person. Most people wouldn't even notice the bumps on his back, no more than a woman's bra straps.

But there was more to it. He had wings. Still, even if he weren't a mutant, he would never be normal. There was so much more to Warren Kenneth Worthington III.

Escaping the gridlock of the city, and free on the highway, he could feel the G-Forces, pulling or pushing him into the back of that equisitely comfortable leather seat. "It handles like its on rails."
Psylocke has posed:
When Warren asks that question -- When have you or I ever wanted to be normal? -- it makes Betsy look at him. Which is not great when she's in control of a very powerful car. She says nothing for a moment, but then reaches over and, if he lets her, squeezes his fingers briefly with her own. Only briefly, because she needs that hand to change gears.

She knows his words for a deception, even if it's self-deception, but she's not going to broad that topic. Not now, and not in this moment. But she'll remember.

It's only once she pulls the car into an empty spot in front of the mansion that she unties and pulls her scarf off her head, revealing the familiar purple hair, expertly pulled into a tight bun. "Coming back here after so long feels like.. a little like returning home. It's nice, to be a place where you're accepted for who you are." Yeah, so she was thinking about his words for a little longer, go figure.

Smiling, she asks, "Going to give me the tour?" Betsy, pretending like she doesn't know where everything is.
Archangel has posed:
That look, and the meaning behind it, took him to his core. Of course he allowed her to reach out and squeeze his hands with her own. It was fleeting, but she had a very good reason for it to be fleeting. Still, the sentiment was very much appreciated.

Soon, they would arrive, and she would pull it into a vacant area of the interlaid brick driveway. "It is your home, Betts. You may head to the Falklands, South Africa, or Singapore, but this will always be your home." She would always be welcome, no matter what she does, no matter what she has done. The X-Men were family. He was family.

Laughing at her asking for the guided tour, "oh, of course," and he would pretend to give her the tour, mostly refreshing her memory, as he escorted her through the building, "though, first, would you like to check into your room, perhaps change and freshen up?"
Phoenix has posed:
Saturday evenings are quieter around the grounds than weekdays, which idea good thing as Jean has a lot of things on her mind during the week.

Its a good time to relax and get her thoughts together as she heads through the main entrance doors, looking to finish up some extra work while she can..

Although it's hard to ignore the refreshing pool water on a hot summer day and for that reason she did pack her swim suit, just in case she has some free time later.
Psylocke has posed:
The slight murmur of sound, and the faint tilt of her lips suggests that maybe Betsy disagrees with the sentiment that this place is home. It's not untrue, really -- it has been /a/ home -- but she'll always think of England and the ancestral castle Braddock as her true home.

It's not a sentiment she expresses though, for a variety of reasons -- chief among them the expression Warren wears and the certainty with which Warren says it. It brings something softer into Betsy's expression, and she looks away quickly, stepping out of the car, before he can note it.

Her fingertips rest in the crook of Warren's elbow as he guides her around. She looks effortlessly elegant, as much like she's stepped off the runway as she has out of a fashion magazine, her handbag hanging from her other arm as Warren guides her inside. "Mm. I thought it might've been... repurposed by now. My room." She seems surprised that it hasn't been. "Maybe later. I was-" and the thought goes unfinished.

Betsy's presence is not something that ever pings for other telepaths. It's a constant thing, her effort to suppress her psychic presence, so there's no chance Jean would sense her. The smile the purple-haired telepath gives the red-haired one does seem genuine though. "Jean," the woman greets. "It's been a while." Two years, in fact -- over that -- since Betsy Braddock last stepped foot in the Mansion.
Archangel has posed:
Betsy was always so deft, so poised, so relaxed. She knew just what to say, what to do, at any moment. Was it her latent telapthy, or just her upbringing? Maybe it was just her. Whatever, he liked the feeling of her fingers resting in the crook of his exposed elbows. The short sleeved blue polo shirt, top two buttons undone, allowed for the skin on skin contact as he led her around the mansion.

"Oh, I have some pull with the owner." It had taken some effort to ensure that Betsy Braddock's room remained untouched, despite her long absence, but Warren had fought for it, and if that wasn't enough, there was always his checkbook. Xavier didn't need the money, but the school technically did. Declarable donations were always useful.

And then Jean appeared. Warren had no foreknowledge that she would be arriving. He had no special sense of smell, no telepathy, nothing like that. His vision was superb, as was his hearing, but he can't hear Jean as opposed to Ororo, Jubilee, or anyone else. It was someone, and the mansion was always busy, even paradoxically when it was quiet.

Pretending like Betsy was new, "ah, Jean, she's now Deputy Headmistress," asiding to Betsy, but loud enough for Jean to hear, "I think she likes to put emphasis on the mistress part," he smirked. "I managed to track Betsy down. No easy feat with someone who can travel through shadows."
Phoenix has posed:
Jean Grey is no ninja, and is not going out of her way to sneak around the grounds. However, she is a fair bit quieter than the likes of Jubilee or Tabitha.

Honestly she is probably equally surprised to see Warren and Betsy as they are to see her. "Oh, Warren, Betsy.." she stands up a bit more, straightening out her mint green summer midi dress, trying to look more professional even on her day off..

Warren and Betsy may be Xmen, although she has not seen them in some time. "Ah, Betsy, Warren...What a surprise.." she tilts her head, eyeing them thoughtfully.

"How long has it been now..?"
Psylocke has posed:
"Do you?" Betsy's tone is both amused and flattered as she looks at Warren, smiling. "Perhaps you can put in a good word for me while you're at it." She recognizes the subtext of it all -- Warren being sure that Betsy would return, despite nothing of her fairly abrupt disappearance supporting this, and no indications to the contrary. His belief in her, unwavering, is both comforting and unsettling at the same time, some how. Of course she neatly avoids that.

"Deputy Headmistress? Congratulations," Betsy says with a smile to Jean, one that turns rueful, "And commiserations." She knows first hand how difficult some of the younger, inexperienced mutants can be, both about their powers and just social situations in general. Fights amongst students can get very messy, very fast, with mutants.

Betsy's smile deepens as Jean asks how long it's been, and the purple-haired woman sidesteps and explicit answer to that pointed question with an easy, "Too long. It's nice to be back home, though. How is everything?"
Archangel has posed:
"I like to pretend that I do," he admitted. Yes he had some pull, but not as much as he liked to claim. The truth, as always, was somewhere in the middle. "Will do," he went on to answer her second part. "Right, so Betsy Braddock," he did glance to see that no students were around, or within earshot. He couldn't hear anyone, even with his enhanced avian-like hearing, "she's an incredible ninja, athletic, skilled, great with bladed weapons, but prefers to use psychic ones. Far less messy that way. She'd like to come back, rejoin the team. I think she was blue," his voice dropping slightly in tone, "last time over, but gold has been lacking in membership, I think you ought to see about switching her over to the good team," which Jean Grey just so happened to be a member of.
Phoenix has posed:
Jean Grey smiles warmly at Betsy and nods, reaching out to give her a hug if allowed. "Yes, too long, I am happy to see you..Both of you! These halls have been far too quiet lately, with everyone going their separate ways.."

She glances at Warren and chuckles a bit, shrugging, "Hmm, well..That would be up to Scott, where he thinks members' abilities will be best applied but I can certainly make a suggestion.."

As for how she has been..Well, Jean certainly looks tired lately, even on her day off..Even as she forces a smile, giving a casual , almost pronounced shrug.

"Hmm where do I start..Things have been a bit hectic, what with a few students acting oddly, and I'm good to see you back Betsy, because I could really use the assistance of a fellow psychic on something.."

She pulls back however, perhaps fearful she is coming on too strong. "But we can discuss that matter later, after you two have settled in, hmm? I do believe your rooms were left untouched. And I hope you have both fared well these past couple of years.."
Psylocke has posed:
Betsy's sculpted brows go upwards when Warren does that oh-so-subtle look around, and then launches into a literal selling of her skills. Her mouth opens and shuts, amusement finally tugging her lips into a smile as the fingers she had resting on Warren's arm retract so that she can give him a warning tap.

"I think," Betsy intervenes in Warren's advocation, albeit with a smile, "You should stick to advocating for holding rooms, Warren. No team switching for me. I'm where I belong." Plenty of unspoken subtext there, too: there's a reason she was put in Blue and nothing has changed there, as far as she's concerned.

The purple-haired woman's always had a bit of that aristocratic haughtiness to her that makes her seem reserved, but she doesn't at all seem to mind the hug, leaning into coil an arm around the other telepath. It's only when she's straightening from that hug that she asks, "Separate ways?" Well, she has been out of the loop.

"Putting me right to work, Jean?" Betsy laughs. "No, I'm happy to help." It's Jean's last words that have her glancing at Warren, in surprise. "I thought you were here?"
Archangel has posed:
"If he has any sense, he would heed your advice." It was a little odd that the blue team had eight active members, while gold only half that number. But that was Scott's decision. He listened and nodded his head along with the issues of running a school full of mutants.

It wasn't that being a mutant was bad, but when a regular human cut class, or threw another student against the wall, the worst thing you could expect was a booboo being tended by the school nurse, and a frustrated maintenance staff. At Xavier's, it could involve a morgue and a contractor. Sometimes the police. Though having so many telepaths helped with the last part.

"So much for my efforts to win the blue versus gold baseball game this year. But I suppose I'm glad that you're not playing for the other team."

Mirroring the surprised look that Betsy gave, "so did I, but Jean's a busy lady, and this is as ever a busy school. Still," feigning hurt, "I had always thought that I stood out in a crowd."
Phoenix has posed:
Jean Grey chuckles a bit at Warren's plea for more Gold Members. "Unfortunately it is Scott who has the last say on that, but you are right, we could do with more of the..Diplomatic variety..Especially lately.."

A mildly worried expression mars her features fir just a moment before it is gone again, replaced by that gentle, almost motherly smile she always wears.

Looking to Betsy, she shakes her head. "I have never left the Xmen, however I believe many members have branched out onto more..Private ventures as of late. But I am happy to see so many familiar faces as of late.."

Her look to Betsy is almost..Apologetic, shaking her head. "I appreciate your enthusiasm but it's along story, best suited for after you settle in.."

She smiles, a genuinely warm smile, "But I am curious to know what you two have been up to, lately?"
Psylocke has posed:
Betsy is many things. Diplomatic? Not so much. Not when she can use her telepathy to merely push her way through anything that doesn't need stabbing first.

Yeah, she's on the Blue team for a reason.

There's a quick smile from Betsy, turning thoughtful as Warren mentions the other team. It prompts her to say, "I ran into Magneto, in Madripoor, not too long ago." Exactly what she was doing in that literal criminal haven isn't offered up, though. "It felt like someone was maybe trying to set him up to take the fall for an explosion that happened there. Someone -- somethings -- not human."

Her eyes come to rest on Warren again, smiling. "You do. For many reasons." Stand out. "But it sounds like a lot has been going on." Her shoulders shift as she looks back to Jean, visible curiosity in her features. "I'm not sure it's a bad thing, that people have been finding their own way. I think we... need that," she says, her words chosen specifically. "As for me, you know. Gallivating the world." She's vague and non-specific.
Archangel has posed:
A brute force assault was a type of diplomacy. It wasn't the only kind that Betsy used, but was one that Warren knew she enjoyed quite well. Warren was the better known diplomat. He had tact. Some of the time.

"We'll definitely need to hear more about the events of Madripoor." He did not think it was urgent, as Betsy likely would have come forward to that with Scott or Jean much earlier if she had time sensitive information.

Looking to Betsy and that smile, he returned it, but was having a damnable time reading her of late. Rather than dwell, he instead focused on her talk, "we all have a path, sometimes they run parallel, sometimes they crisscross. We don't know until we start walking. The key is not to remain stationary."

"So, rather than talk about this in the hall, kitchen, conference room, or pool?" He was gauging Jean and Betsy's response, and what kind of atmosphere they wanted for catching up.
Phoenix has posed:
Indeed, there was a very good reason why Scott placed Betsy on the Blue team..But if she wishes to change that decision, it is between her and Scott..

Jean arches a curious brow as Betsy mentions Madripoor.."Funny you should mention that..Since Scott and I received a tip regarding some sort of threat involving brown robed figures and some sort of ancient artefact that has a lot of people interested..However I must remind you both that we must be very diligent about making duty reports on the team logger so that we are all on the same page about current events.."
Warren's suggestion is responded to with a nod and smile, "You are right, you are both my guests, and I am happy if you plan to return to the Xmen as well..But first of lease relax. Why don't we settle into the Re room? Snacks, booze, pool, tv..And a nice plushy sofa to relax on..?"
Psylocke has posed:
"It's really less interesting than you would think." Again, Betsy being evasive. It's not like that's not normal though. Warren being philosophical though does get an amused look from the purple-haired woman. "You've been studying philosophers of late, Warren?"

When Jean arches a brow at her, Betsy simply smiles. "I wasn't an active X-Man at the time, and I guess Tabitha or Illyana put in a report, but if Scott wants to yell at me later, he can. We're probably overdue for a catch up, anyway." Betsy isn't particularly worried. It's not like knowing where Magneto is is that important. One can merely head to Genosha if they want to find him.

Jean referring to them as guests seems to catch Betsy off guard, though. "I can understand why I might be a guest after so long away, but Warren lives here still. Jean," she reaches out to try and catch the other woman's arm. "You don't have to play hostess. It's fine. We know where everything is -- even the snacks. I promise, we're good." She's happy to head wherever the two suggest, though there's a slight crease in her brow.
Archangel has posed:
"\<span class="bold_fg_w bg_n ++ hw"\>Death smiles\</span\> at us all, but all one can do is \<span class="bold_fg_w bg_n ++ hw"\>smile back\</span\>." A pause, "Marcus Aurelius." It seemed that Warren had been studying of late. "Who knew that he could predict Deadpool back then?"

It was a little strange that Jean kept referring to them as guests. They both had rooms here. Warren didn't spend every day at the mansion, but he did live here, it was one of his many residences. He left the talk of Madripoor, as they covered everything that needed to be said about it for now, and he tried his best never to get involved with a head of state that was powerful enough to lift islands up to orbit. It was safer that way.

He didn't object to the rec room, but had to point out, "the patio sounds better, why stay indoors on a gorgeous day like this?"
Phoenix has posed:
Jean Grey nods to Betsy, watching her thoughtfully. "Hmm, well, it seems we have much to catch up on.." her smile is a tiny bit restrained at reference to Scott 'yelling at her.' which tends to happen to everyone as of late but..Here's to hoping.

To Warren, she nods and, as if she read his mind, her smile is a bit more wry for some reason. "Forgive me..For a while it seemed as if everyone had gone their separate way to pursue personal interests. But, I am happy to see all of you again.." she chuckles at his suggestion and nods.

"But of course you are right, it is a lovely day, to the patio it is then.." and she starts to head that way, trusting they both already know their way around the mansion well enough as to not need a guide..

They are, Afterall, Xmen..Even if it has been a while..
Psylocke has posed:
"I'd rather stab than smile. At least for Death. But we're old friends," Betsy answers Warren's quote, with a laugh. It's Gallows humor and she's totally allowed. She has, after all, died once already. "Is he around? Deadpool?" she inquires, with interest.

Betsy is too astute not to notice Jean's reaction to her comment about Scott. She doesn't even need to use her powers to see it. "I'm not worried. I promise," she reassures, as if to appease the woman, reaching out to try and take Jean's arm companionably as they walk, glancing towards Warren with a smile.

"Good," Betsy says, when Jean says she's happy to see all of them. "Let's go and lounge in the sun, get some drinks, and relax." There are plenty of topics the British woman won't touch, but casual gossip to catch up on the latest? She's more than happy for that.