15522/A Storm on the Horizon

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A Storm on the Horizon
Date of Scene: 24 August 2023
Location: Ororo's Attic - Xavier's School
Synopsis: Illyana enters Storm's attic to catch up with an old friend.
Cast of Characters: Magik, Storm

Magik has posed:
As the sun sets outside, a bright white disc snaps open near the top of the Institute, briefly flooding Ororo Munroe's quarters with brilliant light until the soft *klk!* of boot heels compresses the portal into nonexistence.

And then - because Ororo, like the wind she commands, is not someone prone to being bound in a single place - she waits, pacing slowly around the room while her fingertips graze over Ororo's things. Along with knee-high black boots, she's wearing a black leather jacket over a ripped crimson mesh top, black bodysuit, and tight black pants.
Storm has posed:
Ororo's attic is left unattended when Illyana appears from her stepping disc into her friend's sanctum, lights are on but low, the large windows open to allow the breeze to flow and keep the room delightfully temperate and fresh.

Illyana is not left waiting terribly long before that breeze picks up, gusting to a genuine /wind/ before the Weather Goddess returns home, smoothly drifting through one of the open windows to land upon her floor, thick soled hiking boots landing with a solid impact, legs left bare by a pair of cutoff black denim shorts, midriff equally exposed by a white ribbed cotton tanktop she's fashioned into a minimal croptop.

Eyebrows perk, head craning slightly, gaze sweeping over her pacing blonde friend as she murmurs dryly, "Illyana, darling. You're not here to ask me to bring on a Siberian winter are you? Rogue already had me cause a thunder storm a few days ago and people are going to start /talking/..."
Magik has posed:
The first time Illyana Nikolievna met Ororo, she was a burst of warm summer air in the foreign vastness of Xavier's estate, a sorely needed point of comfort for a girl on the other side of the world from home for the first time in her life.

The second time she met Ororo, the white-haired woman wore years of pain and hardship in the wastes of Limbo in the deep wrinkles pressed into her elegant features. Cold and fierce, she kept the power of life itself held close to her breast and sheltered a girl lost on the other side of time until Limbo and its dark master succeeded in separating them, leaving the girl to survive or die on the merits of her own will and the strength the goddess-turned-witch helped her forge.

"I know the rules:" Illyana replies, just as dry and markedly flatter as she vaguely waves her free hand, "One week minimum between impossible weather events."

Many years and meetings later, she trusts Ororo to be a constant: in all her dynamic, unpredictable glory, she can always be counted on to be purely, unashamedly her. It's a comfort of a different, quieter kind.

"I've missed seeing you," she adds, low and measured. Illyana hasn't held a regular teaching position at the Institute for some time, at this point-- and while she's regularly available to provide transportation services when needed, she hasn't been a regular participant in team missions for some months either.
Storm has posed:
Ororo smiles, a slight, secret little smile as she chimes out, "Oh no, I would definitely bend the rule for you, dear... but I think a snowstorm a few days after a rainstorm would have /all/ eyes on me. Unless we find someone who has built a weather machine and blame them." She chews her lower lip, eyebrows lifting in mock thoughtfulness before she sighs softly. "No. I suppose better not to risk it. We will simply have to enjoy one another's company without a snowstorm."

And once Illyana speaks those words about missing the weather goddess, any talk of storms is forgotten because the goddess is far too occupied sweeping in to give the blonde Russian a snug, tight hug heedless of any protestations.

"It has definitely been too long. I've missed seeing you too. I assumed you were occupied with important tasks..." She leans back, one eyebrow arched. "Important non-weather tasks or you /would/ have dropped by to ask for my help, yes?" That question is low, stern... Ororo hasn't been teaching during summer break, so she's /got/ to use that stern Teacher voice when she can.
Magik has posed:
Years removed from her last class, that voice still has an effect: Illyana's chin and shoulders lift slightly, and blue eyes lock onto their feline like. Now she steps in to actually return the hug, rather than simply accepting it with straight arms and a stiff back; the gesture's brief but warm, firm, and - for just a moment - seems poised to linger before she lets go and edges a step back.

"I've been working on finding a solution to a rather persistent problem," she murmurs as her hands slip from Ororo's back to rest around the other woman's upper arms. "Looking for ways to stack the deck in our favor, despite the terrible hand we've been dealt," comes with a firm squeeze.

"I don't know how long I will live," she continues in a low, hardening voice. "Whether it's a short time or a long time. But I know that I don't have any desire to spend however long that is watching the people nearest to me suffer the battles of now -- of years ago -- as they continue to play through their tedious cycles."
Storm has posed:
Ororo's eyes are glinting with borderline malicious glee when Illyana's posture straightens at that voice, before she's murmuring softly, "Hah. Still got it."

For her part, Ororo doesn't draw the hug out, knowing Illyana, much like Rogue isn't one for prolonged hugging, even if the women have their own reasons for each.

As Illyana begins to explain what she's been up to, Ororo keeps her eyes locked on the hellwitch even as she strides across her loft to lean behind one of the dividing screens, glass clinking before she's coming out with two tumblers and a bottle of vodka.

Her gait is slow, smooth and languid as she quirks an eyebrow, lips slowly moving into a thin, not quite worried line. "...Why does this sound like you are planning some sort of... shattering of the cycles?" She doesn't sound /opposed/ to the idea, even as she's pouring herself and Illyana a drink, offering the glass over. "You're not planning /time travel/ are you?"
Magik has posed:
"No," Illyana softly says.

Right after accepting her glass, Illyana tips it back to gradually empty its contents, eyes lidded but otherwise locked on Ororo all the while.

"But I do intend to build a monument to self-determination out of dead racists," is added, a touch of dryness leaking in to give an otherwise severe proclamation a twist of grim humor.
Storm has posed:
Ororo lifts her glass in a small toast and tosses her own back, shoulders visibly lifting and tensing as she groans out softly, her lips curving in a little grimace... at the vodka or the declaration of war by Limbo's queen?

That might be difficult to answer, though Ororo's gaze remains steady as she murmurs dryly. "I rather hope this monument will be metaphorical, yes? I am not the school's art teacher, but I cannot picture a /literal monument that would not look... unsettling. At the least."
Magik has posed:
Cold, blue eyes remain locked on Ororo as Illyana lowers her glass. Stepping closer, she takes the bottle in her free hand and gently tugs it in, up-- all the way to her lips so she can take another sip without going through the trouble of pouring.

"There's a certain value to unsettling art," she finally replies, only just above a whisper.

"Isn't there...?"
Storm has posed:
Ororo reclaims control of the bottle slowly, eyes locked on eyes, raising it for her own drink as she murmurs out dryly, "As I said, I'm no art teacher... but there is beauty in nature and also fierce, unyielding destruction my dear."

She offers the bottle back and sighs out softly, "But you will not be making this monument alone. I am sure of that."

She waits until Illyana is in the middle of her next drink when she chimes in, "But I think perhaps I should fill you in on more cheerful topics. Did you know Rogue is dating?"
Magik has posed:
Without further comment, Illyana's lips slowly spread into a smile. Her shoulders drop, slightly; her back loosens and the rest of her tilts fractionally closer. As soon as Ororo's had her drink, the blonde woman tugs the bottle back to herself for a sip--

-- and a brow-furrowing beat--

-- followed by a slow arch and an idle, "I did not; what manner of criminal is he?"
Storm has posed:
Ororo is fighting back just... the /biggest/ grin, though it's helped by Illyana not choking on her drink or sputtering it everywhere. Fingers lace, arms stretching above her head, Ororo's back arching as she lifts onto her toes like she's savoring every microsecond of hanging suspense.

Her lashes flutter slowly as she hums out, "Oh, he's not a criminal, darling! It's not /illegal/ to be Canadian."
Magik has posed:
A slim, sculpted nose wrinkles for a beat.

"Well," she then utters, low and deliberate as her eyes find their way back to Ororo's.

"I suppose she could do worse."

Which is downright kind for the Queen of Hell, who is already helping herself to another swig.
Storm has posed:
There's a soft murmur from Ororo, it /might/ in fact be a ghost of a laugh, it's definitely... some kind of noise that coincides with a small sympathetic dip of her chin.

"Yes, it is true. An Avenger perhaps." Ororo sighs softly and proceeds to throw herself back onto the nearest of her couches, stretching out and smiling all the more brightly.

"But for now? I think we have earned ourselves relaxation, Illyana. We can catch up... and end that bottle, yes?"