1967/A Day in the Life

A Day in the Life
Date of Scene:	13 August 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Phoenix, Ares

---

Phoenix has posed:
It's just past dawn in New York when Jean Grey finally tries the number plugged into her phone under 'O':

"I can't be behind a desk today," she murmurs, voice raspy as if she's spent the evening gargling sand rather than sleeping. "Where are you? What're you doing today? I'm doing it with you; I wanna see your, your rituals-- the things you do to keep grounded that aren't illegal pit fights. Like we talked about--" It takes a moment of almost palpable reluctance before:

"I need your help, John," she continues, volume slipping even lower. "I-- there's something I've gotta do, and I'm not--" A sharp sigh, and then she simply concludes, "I just need to see you today, alright?"

Ares has posed:
    The response on the other end of the line is concerned. She can almost imagine that furrowed brow from that tall man, the way it seemed as if he were shouldering all the world's responsibilities upon that heavy brow. She can hear it in his voice when he answers her, "Very well."
    But after that there's a pause, a hesitation. Then he'll ask her, "Where is it that I should find you?" He'll ask and he'll wait for a suitable location to be named. Some place that is in the public for a meet, but not exactly in the public's eye.
    Once it's named he'll give a nod pointlessly to the head set, then remember to say, "Very well, meet you there in thirty minutes." And with that their path is chosen. He'll be there, taking a moment to open a gateway to a place near enough that he can walk to the chosen rendezvous.

Phoenix has posed:
It'll take Jean a bit more than 30 minutes to make it from Westchester to Sienkiewicz's Deli in Manhattan, which she takes care to warn the war god of before hanging up.

Maybe an hour after the initial call, a '19 Civic drops her off in front of the deli. There, she takes a beat to glance around the sidewalk and through the long windows running along the eatery's perimeter, seeking some sign of Ares. If he's visible, she'll swiftly close in on him; if not, she'll duck inside to wait. Either way, upon spotting him, she'll offer a brisk, stiff wave, a tight smile, and a muted, "Thanks for meeting me on such short notice," once they're within earshot of one another. "I figured you'd wanna pick where you started your day, but this works too."

Ares has posed:
    "Well," John is there waiting outside, though at first she might have been distracted by the young group of kids who are banging on some old paint buckets in a semblance of musical performance, though rather decently so to be fair. But when she looks up he'll be there leaning against the wall next to the deli's main window with his arms folded over his chest. "My day tends to start without me being able to stop it."
    He pushes off the wall and gives a nod to her, starting to walk down the sidewalk and perhaps assuming she will accompany him. He'll glance sidelong at her and tell her, "I do not recall if I mentioned, but... I have a son." His lip curls slightly, but then he looks away.
    "So my day begins tending to him, getting him some breakfast, preparing his lunch, and then off he goes." He gestures slightly with one hand absently, like a dove being slipped free and fluttering off.

Phoenix has posed:
A five ends up in the cap set out in front of the makeshift drum kit before Jean's attention shifts (way) upwards. Her eyes soon widen because he did not, in fact, mention any children, and then she too looks away.

"Did you already...?" she trails while walking alongside him, guilt audibly alloying the question. "I mean, you had an hour, so you obviously must've," she immediately, quietly determines/rationalizes before shaking her head a little. Her gaze then lifts towards him again as she wonders, "How old? Is he just... " A moment passes as she presses her tongue thoughtfully against the inner curve of her teeth.

"How much does he... know?"

Ares has posed:
    At the expression on her features, he gets a small smile as he looks away. One large hand lifts to rub at the back of his neck thoughtfully while he moves, his eyes drifting over the crowd of people as they walk along, his gait easy and slow so that she doesn't have to rush to keep pace with him. "He's ten."
    That first is offered there in the beginning of his explanation, then he elaborates, "He's at school right now, and I am currently working evening hours, so he has a sitter for overnight." A small shrug is given to her as he then adds, "I have never had a sit down discussion with him about my past, though he knows more than I have told him as things have happened around him."
    John continues along, hands sliding into the pockets of his jeans, "He knows that he's not normal, and I have been training him to protect himself in case things happen. But you asked me what helps keep me steady and level, Ms. Grey?" He looks to her and gives a nod, "It's him in part."

Phoenix has posed:
The redhead's expression briefly clouds-- possibly because she still remembers, viscerally, what John was getting into at eight. Her own pace is rather deliberate, and now and again there are brief winces or grimaces as she breathes; his relaxed speed is fortuitous indeed.

"You must miss him a lot," she gently muses while tilting her head a little, "but at least you still get some time together. For better or worse," unpainted lips curl upwards a little, "I'm thinking that a kid isn't anywhere near the horizon for me, any time soon. Having someone in your life who inspires you to be your best self is valuable, though, regardless; you're really lucky. Do you..."

The smile falls away as she trails off to take in a breath and shift her eyes forward.

"... I mean, do you think he'll follow in your footsteps, some day? In some sense?"

Ares has posed:
    "That..." John says as he walks, pausing as his eyes distance. She can perhaps sense the faintest hints of his thoughts, the subtle haze as he considers the future, what it could hold for himself and his son. She might be able to pick up faint images of the youngster, tow-headed and pale but with a vibrant manner to him. "I do not know."
    John stops for a moment as they walk and then gestures with a nod of his head towards a small courtyard in an office building's public facing front. It's just a small shelter from the sun and the urban sprawl with a few trees and green grass with two benches for people to sit on. He takes up a seat at one end of one of those benches, leaning forwards and resting his elbows on his knees as he talks to her.
    "I am estranged from my family, and only one of them knows of him. But it's possible they all know of him. They would have to accept him, and he would have to accept the mantle. In some ways I hope he never faces that decision. In others I think it best he should."
    A deep breath is taken, "He could become a demi-god, become immortal. But that has its own pitfalls. But I am saddened to imagine him growing old and passing..."
    He waves a hand to the side, "None of this is helping you. I am sorry."

Phoenix has posed:
"I asked," Jean replies from her side of the bench with a quick wave and a quirked brow, "and family's complicated, anyway: all kinds of expectations, demands, hopes, fears; kinda makes sense that you'd drift that way, y'know?" An arm remains loosely curled around her belly now that she's on the bench, but the other - the one she waved with - reaches to rest on John's shoulder for a silent moment. Flickers of pale skin and straw-colored hair flicker through her thoughts, her preternaturally active mind unconsciously skimming the most prominent bits of John's psychic surface; she can't help but smile again.

"I died for mine," she quietly adds as her hand falls, "and I'd do it again, if I had to, which-- is-- kinda why I called, to be honest: I wanna see what a day in your life's like, because I've got my own control issues to grapple with-- but, also, I I wanna learn from you. I want-- I need-- to be better equipped to fight for them, and for anyone else who needs me, and even though I've been doing this, this superhero shit since before I could drive, I just-- I need more."

Gaze unwavering, she lets out a long, slow sigh, then swallows before concluding, "You're the God of War; I run a school dedicated to teaching young posthumans how to use their gifts for the betterment of society. I think-- we could help each other an awful lot."

Ares has posed:
    The hand on his shoulder is accepted, and given acknowledgement by a small smile that is there for a moment, then ghosts away. His "Ms. Grey," The tall man shifts to the side slightly, looking her in the eyes. "Do not take this the wrong way, and I am willing to give you what insight you wish. Normally I would take exception, but I am... reassured as to your sincerity by your nature and your gift."
    "But what could you help me with?" He lifts fingertips slightly, as if to stay her protest. "I do not ask this in the manner of arrogance, presuming here is naught I could learn. I ask you this out of ignorance, for I am not sure what you could do and what areas I am lacking." His lip twitches slightly.
    It's then that he looks back to that steady ebb and flow of humanity as they walk along the sidewalk just some twenty feet away from their little oasis in the city. He lifts a rough and calloused hand over the stubble of his hair, but then his eyes return to hers. "Alexander may be gifted eventually, but as for now he is a normal boy. Perhaps in time. But I also hope you understand that any instruction in that manner I would need him to receive it from me. He understands the... importance of keeping what he knows to himself in many ways."

Phoenix has posed:
Jean's shoulders fall a little as her offer is rebuffed, but no disappointment registers in her features.

"Maybe nothing," she quietly admits, followed by a soft, sharp chuckle and a shake of her head as she finally looks away from him. "But I guess I figured I oughtta try and offer you something, since..." As she trails off again, she glances his way for a beat, then waves the rest of that thought away. "We do have some-- unique-- training facilities, so if you ever feel like your guys' quality self-defense training time could use a few curveballs, well-- I mean, we could definitely work something out. Ditto, for if he's ever not so normal."

Leaning back against the bench, she, too, takes a short spell to watch the ever-shifting melange of locals and tourists flowing by them. Her eyes bounce rapidly between them, never lingering on any given face for more than a second; now and again she winces, or arches a brow, or smiles, briefly before shifting her focus.

"Still, thank you," she eventually murmurs, looking up at the deity. "I appreciate the vote of confidence-- and, obviously, I guess, if you ever do find yourself needing a psychic educator who does kumites on the DL... I would owe you." Her eyes return to the rest of the city, and after a beat, she wonders, "So, is this-- is people-watching, just, part of it? Your day?"

Ares has posed:
    A hand is held up as she seems to visibly droop, "I express myself poorly." He tells her in that low rumbling tone of his, those brown eyes meeting and holding hers. She can get the subtle feeling from his thoughts, just the hint of confusion and a tinge of frustration perhaps aimed more at himself. "I asked you that because I would know what you could offer, and in some ways I think I would avail myself of your aid if matters reached a certain point."
    He takes a deep breath and she can almost feel the faint undercurrent of concern in his thoughts, even as he keeps his eyes on hers, "My son is a good child. He has inherited the best aspects of his mother and none of my flaws save perhaps one."
    It's in that moment that he looks away, and she can almost /feel/ the reluctance in his thoughts and his words, as if he were betraying matters somehow, but he presses on. "He is arrogant." He lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck, "Because at his age he has learned much, knows much, and is a competent warrior in his own stead. I fear what would happen to him if he comes into his mantle, gains abilities beyond what he holds now. It could affect him poorly and I would dislike seeing him turn into an individual who looks down on others with malice."
    The hand lowers and he looks back to her, "So if you will aid me later should he need help, then I will gladly aid you now." But then his lip curls up a faint bit, "And yes, actually. I try to not isolate myself. To live amongst poeple as I can. To work with them. To even be drawn into their social mores."

Phoenix has posed:
His frustration brings her hand back to his shoulder for a quick squeeze in the hopes of giving him some reassurance. While she doesn't voice it, she - if anything - is relieved at the notion of not having to get into why she's enrolling a ten year old with demi-potential with the rest of the faculty at Xavier's.

"That's," she murmurs after he looks away, trying - and not entirely succeeding - in hiding some surprise, "very insightful of you." She returns to listening after that observation and reciprocates his smile as her eyes continue roving amongst the crowd.

"This would've been-- I mean, I wanna say 'torture', but that's a little melodramatic, in hindsight? But: uncomfortable, definitely-- difficult," she quietly shares before locking onto a middle-aged man in a suit screaming into a headset about distribution rights and back-end as he passes. The smile begins to melt; her chin tilts in his direction as he approaches the edge of their shared field of vision. "Stressed and anxious because his wife visited him at his office, and he was-- well. He needs an awful lotta money, awful fast, and he's panicking..." Despite the intermittent profanity and spittle flying from his mouth, she sounds increasingly sad as this brief story is relayed, and is quick to resume shifting focus between the crowd at large once he's out of sight.

"We've got ourselves a deal," she then confirms. "What does he wanna be, when he grows up? Does he know, yet?"

Ares has posed:
    At that last question she can see John's eyes widen a bit. He spreads his fingers, hands lifting as if to fend off something so terribly untoward. "It changes from day to day, but he maintains his training and exercises." A tilt of his head is given as she can see him giving thought to the child, and she might see a mental silhouette of an image, a young boy fencing, wielding a variety of blades even as he tests himself against a whirling bladed contraption of some sort. Clearly not a thing sold by Fisher Price."If he were to compete now he could possibly be in the Olympics, but I think competition holds no interest. Which raises various spectres."
    "He said he would like to build things, go into construction like me. I told him he could be whatever he wishes, that he would be able to get a good normal education and embrace whatever struck his interest."
    But then he lowers his hands and shakes his head, "So who knows?"
    That said he'll get to his feet and gives a nod to her, his lip curves. "Come, we have to go shopping. You can push the cart."

Phoenix has posed:
"Who indeed?" Jean replies, a nostalgic smile spreading as blades whirl through her mind's eye. "Gotta be honest," she continues while standing, "When you said you worked nights, I didn't-- construction was 'pretty far afield from what I was imagining..."

*

"Hey, does this place have a pharmacy?" the telepath wonders aloud while going up on her toes and swiveling her head in search for an answer. "I could really use some ointment, at a minimum..."

Sneakered soles return to the ground and the cart she braced against while scanning resumes its forward motion. Since they're in a store, and the store isn't currently being assaulted by murderous fridge robots or lunch meat zombies, her powers remain at a low ebb-- though no amount of restraint can fully silence the steady beat of retail boredom. Other than perhaps detouring for ointment, she's been happy to simply accompany Ares rather than break off to do her own browsing, pausing as needed to let goods fill the cart.

Ares has posed:
    What the man fills the cart with tends to be basic needs, though on some level she might get the sense that he has a menu of sorts in his head. For when he picks out the meats he made some mental calculations that she could see, nothing complex just mentally mapping out the week and trying to fill the slots with things that he presumes are healthy. He even buys some herbs for seasoning the chicken and the beef.
    He also had spent some time choosing produce, picking the sorts needed to accompany the meals he holds in his thoughts, and perhaps some fruits for snacking. He has a pattern, an attack plan if you will about how he comes at this thing known as grocery shopping.
    But once they've reached the other end of the store he quirks an eyebrow, "I don't believe so," Considering they're in what would be considered a Whole Foodsish knock off grocery store, no pharmacy, but all sorts of lovely lovely homeopathic cures for everything. "But why is it that the way you say ointment makes me cringe?" His lip twists wryly as he moves and she might well catch a glimpse of his thoughts with her with comically huge sore feet needing some 'unguents' or something.

Phoenix has posed:
A couple extra bottles of seasoning do tip into the cart once Jean has gently helped herself to a little extra context on his choices. She isn't much of a cook, but years of living in a mansion with an enormous kitchen, no waitstaff, and a wheelchair-bound guardian have forced her to learn a thing or two; her choices are less to fill in perceived gaps in his menu planning and more to provide him with options.

"Figured, but I had to try," she mutters as her eyes flick down-- and then narrow, just in time to return to the war god's. With a wrinkling nose, she mutters, "Sometimes," in response to the image they briefly share, "but, no: think burns." The hand arm still wrapped around her stomach is drawn aside, revealing nothing but indicating the wounded region. Her voice drops until she's just about whispering: "Alien starfish laser burns-- have you heard about what's been happening in Pennsylvania? I was there, last night-- it got ugly for a bit."

Ares has posed:
    The shopping trip pauses for a moment as he looks sidelong towards Jean, brow furrowing. "I was not aware of that, no." He frowns and looks away as he walks past the dairy section near the end of the shopping trip, grabbing a gallon of whole milk as he walks, by then in turn some eggs after pausing a moment to make sure they're not broken. "But then again I do not keep tabs on all of the strangeness."
    He tilts his head to the side, "Have you seen a doctor? Or are you inclined to tough it out?" He asks her as he moves further down the way, now looking for the proper loaf of bread. "I had noticed you favoring your side, but felt if it was important you would speak of it to me." There's a pause, then he adds, "Which you have."
    "And if it is so urgent why are you and yours not out there dealing with it?"

Phoenix has posed:
"My doctor's why I'm not laid up right now," Jean softly explains, visibly taken aback a little upon learning that John wasn't aware of an opportunity to make war on alien invaders. "I'm not entirely sure how my science friend is with xenobiology, but he's got some samples from last night's incident. It's-- I don't wanna say 'contained', because that's a real big word for a situation that I still know next to nothing about, but-- it's being managed: the government's aware, and I imagine they're doing what they can to cordon the area. The problem, really - besides that we don't know enough about these things and what makes 'em tick, yet - is that Pennsylvania isn't the problem, not really-- it's bad, but it's a warm-up: there are-- "

The redhead pauses long enough to swallow as her eyes fall.

"There are more of them, out in space, heading this way. Thousands. I saw them, I-- I tried to stop them, divert them; so did some guy in a Superman space suit and someone with the weirdest eyes I've ever seen through. They're coming, and we're not equipped to deal with them-- not yet, anyway." A loaf slides off of the shelves and into the cart; it may or may not be just the right kind.

"'We' being 'me and mine', of course," she apologetically amends. "I'm not trying to drag you into fighting a space monster, I just-- I guess I wanted a chance to prep, before the inevitable. A little."

After a beat, she adds, "Maybe follow through on seeing a new friend at least once."