6102/Dangerless Room

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Dangerless Room
Date of Scene: 03 January 2019
Location: Xavier's School, Westchester, New York
Synopsis: Summary needed
Cast of Characters: Forge, Storm




Forge has posed:
    The Danger Room is once again in use, and there are no explosions or loud fighting sequences going on. That alone could suggest that once again Forge is using it for something relaxing, or doing another test of some type. A look in from the control booth would suggest a horrifyingly cold arctic setting, flurries of snow chilling across the landscape, a small building dwarfed entirely by the size of the massive white and gray expanse: even if that distance could even be seen with the blizzard going on in the Danger Room.

    That is, until seeking entry, when the reality of the temprature being a mild 72 degrees would change the whole of what is actually going on inside the danger room.

Storm has posed:
Suspecting that, indeed, Forge is at work in the Danger Room, Ororo opens the door slowly, peering in. Then, slipping inside and pushing the door closed behind her, she smiles at the cozy little blizzard. "Well, if there has to be a blizzard, this is the best kind. It's practically tropical..."

Forge has posed:
    The strands of snow are realistic, and the weather itself appears fully functional, but the tempratures are all sorts of wrong. The little snow pieces do have a mild chill, but they melt away as they fall to the ground, into little puffs of nothing: steam, perhaps. It isn't wet in feel, which is odd as well. To a weather goddess it may feel simply bizarre, like a manufactured snow pile dumped onto a beach, but it isn't eerie.

    It's creative, really. Forge is not in sight, but there's only one item anywhere nearby, which is the little building: some kind of little cabin set up, protected from the snowfall by the side of a cliff of sheer ice.

Storm has posed:
Ororo makes her way through the mildly fierce snowstorm, to the door of the little cabin. Dressed, as it would seem, inappropriately in a drapey black dress with silver threads woven into the fabric, she knocks at the door of the cabin and calls out to its occupant. "Any room for a wayward wanderer, stranded in the storm?"

Forge has posed:
    There's a laugh from inside. "I saw you enter, Ororo. By all means, take shelter," Forge answers in a loud, warm tone. He is inside, as she enters, in a crowd of manuals all around him. Some are physical copies, bound in paper, others are on touch-pads, but there's a lot of them around.

    "I was working on large open space programming but hit a snag. This is my ... shed of manuals and old ideas," he explains. It truly is just a small building full of various materials, a fluffy white rug, and walls made of a mix of whiteboard, chalkboard, and viewscreens. It is a strange place, as if built from an array of Lego sets that don't mesh together.

Storm has posed:
Ororo nods slowly as she enters and shuts the door to the storm. "You broke the snow," she replies with an expression that is almost unreadable. She looks...disoriented. Almost crestfallen. But a hint of a smile tugs at her lips. She looks around the room as she circles it, touching a few things. Those meant to be touched. Books. Manuals. Not touch screens, though. Those may be meant for a touch, but not /hers./

Forge has posed:
Forge is not dressed to relax, he's dressed in work clothes. He looks more like a groundskeeper than anything else: thick jeans and boots, long button up shirt rolled to mid-forearms, but no gloves now, which exposes his metallic replacement hand. Hair is tied back in a snug reddish leather thong.

    "What? No, not the snow. More that the same land was repeating itself instead of the randomizer I was expecting. The temprature is... set that way by design. I didn't see a need to freeze while working on my skyline structures," Forge chuckles softly. "Here... this might match better." He pauses, looks around. "Computer, Environment module swap, to 2-F."

Outside the door, the scene changes into lush forest, with a long, deep skyline of endless trees falling away, as the little shed is at the top of a cliff, overlooking. "Do you see the flaw?" Forge asks, looking back to his materials.

Indeed, there is something off: the trees form in clumps as they get further away, as if tiled in patterns.

Storm has posed:
Watching with brow furrowed, Ororo nods. The dangle of her silver earrings causes them to swing slightly with the movement, the silver swirls grazing her jawline. "I see. Well, it's a relief that you didn't actually break the snow," she admits. "I don't blame you for not wanting to freeze. Chalkboards do little to keep you warm in a blizzard."

Forge has posed:
"Hmmm. Just a minute, please," Forge says gently, standing still in the shed for a time, and then walks outside, staring outwards at the trees. He's seeing no trees: not really, he's staring into the Danger Room itself. If his mutant power were visible, it would be glowing. But it is not a power that shows until Forge has built something.

    He looks out into it, and then returns to one of the touch screens, quietly focused and absorbed in the programming he's doing, unaware of her for the moment.

Storm has posed:
Ororo circles the room of the tiny cabin again, looking at the assemblage and manners of learning that he has gathered, before she slips out the door again to observe the scenery, and she frowns slightly upon the clumps of trees. Not for their offenses altogwther, but for offending Forge and refusing to cooperate.

Forge has posed:
Suddenly the whole of the Danger Room's images disappear. It's disorienting, to suddenly be in the naked walled room, the gray nad white hexes and grid-lines so bleak and confining compared to the previous wide, open area. Forge was bent over a console of the room, but now steps back from nothing, hands resting loose at his belt. "That update will take a few hours, but should fix it. There was a larger underlying issue. Back to reality for a time," Forge says, and smiles to her. "Apologies if you intended to use the room. I can... offer something to eat as a distraction, if you'd like?"

Storm has posed:
This time, Ororo seems unfazed by the stark and sudden change. Her blue eyes trace a few lines of the room, and she sighs. "You do create lovely worlds, glitches and all," she laments. "But do feel free to distract me with food. I shall, in turn, distract you with conversation."

Forge has posed:
"It is not a great feast, merely chili that I slow-cooked today," Forge warns, with a gesture towards the door, in a polite 'after you' movement. He follows to the door, drawing his jacket down off of a hook just inside the next laboratory. He'll also remove a glove from the pocket of the jacket, starting to cover up the metallic hand as they head up and out of the lower basement.

Storm has posed:
Ororo watches Forge as he puts on the glove, her brow slightly furrowed. "Is the hand sensitive, that you cover it? Or cold? Or do you simply prefer to keep it covered?" She walks gracefully alongside him as they move along. "I find it fascinating, such amazing craftsmanship. Is it of your own design?"

Forge has posed:
Forge lifts his brows at her question, but doesn't seem shy about the answer. He just thinks over what he says before he says it. "It is a replacement for that which was lost, not something I wish to call attention to," Forge says, and smiles a little. "It is not sensitive; the opposite. But I disliked the ghost sensations more." He turns it over, the glove making it blend in fully, as no metal shows anymore. "I made all of my prosthetics, yes."

Storm has posed:
Nodding as Forge speaks, Ororo affords him a sympathetic smile. "Just so long as you are comfortable," she replies. "It is certainly nothing that needs to be hidden, otherwise."

A few moments pass before she alters the course of conversation. "There is some hopeful progress on the Black Sleep front. Have you kept abreast of the events concerned?"

Forge has posed:
"I don't hide it for embarrassment. I suppose it is habit," Forge chuckles, but shrugs. He doesn't remove the glove, but it also isn't something that he is concerned about, by his behavior. "Or perhaps I tire of explaining to the students how I lost my hand," he chuckles.

"The Black Sleep... I have only seen what is on the news. I'm no psychic or biologist, to make sense of what has happened to these people," Forge frowns.

Storm has posed:
"It is believed to be completely magical in nature, from all I can tell," Ororo explains. "At least, that is the consensus among those of us seeking to fight it. Someone or something is pulling the strings of the afflicted, and we are seeking those who possess magical talents to assist. I, unfortunately, am not one of those. I have personally never indulged those skills of my lineage."

Forge has posed:
Forge slows down his pace just a little bit, his lips press into a firmed line. Stress shows in tension in his strong jawline. "Hmmmm," Forge says at first, as they enter the elevator. "I left magic behind me." Forge looks at he doors of the elevator, or through them, even though they are now closed. "With a great deal of loss."

Storm has posed:
"Ah, Dear One." Ororo pauses and regards Forge with a heavy gaze. "No one would ask you to take up the mantle that has become too heavy to bear. I, least amongst them, as I have myself never picked it up to begin with, due to its very weight." She reaches out and rests a hand on Forge's shoulder. "We each do what we can. It is all that can be asked of us. But there may yet be logistical facets to the undertaking that you might be able to help with, if you are willing."

Forge has posed:
Forge turns his head to glance at her fingers on his broad, wide shoulder, and is quiet for a time. "It may not be something I am able to act on myself, but I am willing to look at the problem and suggest solutions that I see," Forge says after a long moment of introspection. He looks to her, dark eyes revealing a quiet depth, before the elevator opens and he steps out. "If someone here is afflicted, I can visit them, and if there is something to learn..." He can only shrug. "We will learn."