8478/Enter: Shannon

Enter: Shannon
Date of Scene:	24 July 2019
Location:	Xavier's School
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Nightingale, Beast, Storm, Jubilee

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Nightingale has posed:
     It was early evening, with the sun just beginning to dip low in the sky. Humid and just a bit hazy, the air bore only the sounds of cicadas whirring, and a few crickets chirping. A light breeze ruffled the ivy growing on the gate, but did little to break the heat. It was a peaceful, almost idyllic view, and one of hope for many who came here. In the distance, and growing closer, there is the sound of tires on the driveway, and the thrumming of a car motor as what appears to be a light gray 2008 Oldsmobile Intrigue approaches. As it grows closer, if one is able to see, they might spot a middle-aged man with threads of silver starting to show in his otherwise dark hair, and an auburn-haired woman, with her hair in short waves. They do not appear to be alone, a third person in the back seat of the vehicle with them. The car comes to a stop at the gate, waiting for the moment.

Beast has posed:
Henry McCoy was somewhat stalked by the people outside, becuase well, he arrived not too long before, getting out of his hired car,a nd sending it off. He's out front, dressed in his suit, and sees some kids at work. Some doing gymnastics, others gardening. When a car arrives after him, his brow furrows. "Kids, get inside," he says. Just as a precaution, which will surely get the attention of Ororo and Jubilee as their teachers. At that, he goes back to the gate, and looking outside it says, "Who's there?"

Storm has posed:
A golf cart putters up and Ororo pulls it aside. It's really the only way to get around the grounds quickly, short of flying. The stately white-haired woman dismounts the vehicle and moves to join Hank, palms interlaced in front of her stomach. She's in something that resembles a dashiki in color and cut, though it's cut away to reveal her left shoulder and arm. The hem of the tunic hangs to her knees. Bangles jangle on her ankles and plain sandals at least make her towering height somewhat less intimidating to people. Not much can be done for the mohawk'd white hair that sticks up above her head, wild and untamed. "Is there a problem, Hank?" she asks him, quietly.

Jubilee has posed:
On such a beautiful day, Jubilee has her students outside often. Today, they're arranged in pairs on mats, on the lawn. Or were, until it became prudent to usher them inside. Jubilee, in a turquoise leotard and pale yellow sheer skirt with hair pulled up in a neat pair of pigtail buns, walks closer to Hank, her feet bare, but for the various athletic and medical tape that reinforces her skin there. She looks from him to Ororo, but thus far, does not speak a word. Then, she looks where they look.

Nightingale has posed:
     The rumbling of the car's motor dies down, no longer interrupting the cricket's song. The front driver's and passenger side doors open, with the man and woman both climbing out. The view of the back seat is a little more clear as the pair exit, with a fair-haired teenager in a blue sundress sitting there. And are those... feathers, peeking out near her shoulders? The gentleman, in a simple gray suit and black wingtip shoes, leans inside the car briefly. His voice is a deep tenor, with a bit of a rumble to it. "Stay in there for a minute, Shannon." The doors are mostly closed, left ajar for the sake of the heat and humidity. At this proximity now, the worry lines etched on the pair's faces are readily apparent, a couple at the end of their rope. "Henry McCoy?" the man asks. "We apologize if this is an intrusion, but we came a long way to talk to you. I'm Paul Lance, this is my wife, Terry." He holds out a large hand, though likely nowhere near as large as some, and definitely not one unused to work.

Beast has posed:
Henry McCoy answers both Jubilee and Ororo by pointing to the car outfront, and the people coming out. Well, Shannon's feathers get attention from the sharp eyed man, and he well, he opens the gates. Stepping forward, he looks back to the other teachers, to see if they'll stop him, and then he goes to shake the man's hand. "That's my name. What brings you here?" He gives very little information, given the recent security threats.

Storm has posed:
Ororo seems quite content to let Hank take point here. After all, they did ask for him by name. She walks in his wake with a quiet tread; when Jubilee approaches, she looks at the woman, then flashes a tight but friendly smile at her. A little gesture to invite her into the situation, though it's hardly needed.

She focuses on the girl while Hank speaks to her parents. Ororo's features are regally composed, even a little stern, but no animosity can be seen. Instead she seems quiet curious about the feathered yougn woman being dropped on their proverbial doorstep.

Nightingale has posed:
     Terry returns Ororo's smile, offering her hand. She is wearing a simple, loose top and pants of wine-colored cotton, and a transluscent duster jacket with large red roses imprinted on a black background. Sandals seem to be the order of the day, a pair of basic flip-flops adorned with a few cowrie shells. "We're sorry to bother you like this, but we don't know where else to turn. It's about our daughter. She's... special." Both the man and woman look at each other, not sure how much to share how soon. In the back of the car, the teenaged girl peers out at those outide, with a mixture of awe, fear, worry, and hope etched into her youthful features.

Beast has posed:
Henry McCoy sighs. He's gotten appraoched like this before. But usualyl the kid isn't so, well, Gifted as to have wings. He makes a command decision. "Bring your car inside the gates, and why don't you introduce your daughter. This is Ororo Munroe, history teacher at Xavier's School. And this is Jubilation Lee, one of our physical education teachers. Is your daughter being bullied? Threatened?"

Storm has posed:
Ororo shakes Terry's hand politely, and inclines her head. "I am very pleased to meet you. All three of you," she adds, for Shannon's sake. "You are welcome here. This is a safe place."

A hand rests on Hank's shoulder at his predictably scientist reaction: asking questions! "Hank, if I may. Perhaps we can discuss these matters in the visitor's den," Ororo suggests to him. She looks to Jubilee. "Jubilee, would you please let the house monitor know that we are bringing guests to the den?" she requests of the woman. "And if you can ensure it is clear, I would be grateful."

Ororo glances at the newcomer, then at Jubilee. "And if you can spare the time, please join us for meeting our new friend," she adds, voice a little quieter. "You have a good knack for meeting new recruits."

Beast has posed:
Jubilee, a ball of energy, will give the most friendly wave possible and called out greeting to Shannon, making it clear to the parents that she's trying to make their daughter feel most welcome.

Nightingale has posed:
     Paul turns and nods to Shannon, who hesitates a moment or two longer before unfastening her seatbelt and getting out of the car on the passenger side. Visually speaking, there's little question as to what was meant by 'special', for there is no hiding those wings, reminiscent of classical paintings of angels, feathered and white. The young woman smiles shyly, meeting the eyes of Henry, Ororo, and Jubilee in turn, before casting her azure-hued gaze to the ground. She remains a step behind her parents, her shield in this unfamiliar situation. "Nice to meet you," she murmurs, her voice a light alto. Her sleeveless sundress is a light blue paisley with a modestly cut scoop neckline, and an ankle-length skirt. Her sandals are perhaps the most whimsical of those between her and her mother, with large white daisies affixed to the toes.

     Paul turns back to Henry, and his sigh is equally as heavy. "She has. The past couple years have been rough on her."

Beast has posed:
Henry McCoy folds his hands, looking to the other two as they're much more chipper than he is. "Welcome. It turns out that by finding me you've found a school that happens to provide a safe place for many students like Shannon. Why don't the adults come inside with me, and we can look at paper work, talk about formalities, and make sure this is the right school for Shannon, while Shannon can talk with our teachers here?"

Storm has posed:
Once everyone is settled, the adults head off with Hank to the study to do some paperwork and talk about the exact details of Shannon's residence. Ororo, meanwhile, takes charge of Shannon. She links arms with her like they're long-lost sisters and heads her into the den. It helps to ameliorate her height and that subtle, sheer royal presence she so effortlessly exudes. Ororo nods thankfully at Jubilee for clearing the area out as they find seats.

"You will find that many students share a similar story, Shannon," Ororo tells the girl. "They have been persecuted or harassed. You will be quite welcome here." She smiles conspiratorially. "Your wings remind me of Warren Worthington. He is a good friend of the school, and everyone stares at him. Unfortunately if you were hoping to be called 'Angel', he has beaten you to it."

She helps Shannon sit, then clasps hands gently in front of her stomach again. "Now. Before anything else, priorities. Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

Nightingale has posed:
     While Shannon lets Ororo lead her inside, there is a certain tension about her on physical contact, as if she might pull away at any moment. She closes her hands, finding it difficult otherwise to keep them away from the statuesque teacher who has ushered her inside, to a whole other world. She finds somewhere to sit down that gives her a little room to spread her wings out, relaxing as soon as she is able to stretch out and extricate herself from Ororo's physical guidance. "I wasn't hoping for anything, miss. Well..." Here she hesitates, and there is the ghost of a smile for the briefest of moments, curling her lips upwards. "Sometimes, my folks called me their little Nightingale, like Florence Nightingale." Her voice trails off, and she bites her lower lip, hesitating to speak further.

Storm has posed:
Ororo's lips curl into a warm smile. "That is quite appropriate, Shannon," she tells her. "I can see why that name would have appeal to you. It is quite poetic."

She touches a button on an intercom. "Kitchen," comes a voice, a moment later.

"This is Ororo, I'm in the den with a visitor. Would you please send someone with some light snacks? And a tea service, thank you."

She moves to sit opposite Shannon's seat, crossing her legs at the knee and resting her elbows atop her thigh so she can lean forward. It helps offset her sheer height and presence. "Tell me about yourself, Shannon. You're quite young, you must be.. seventeen?" she hazards. "A junior, then?"

Nightingale has posed:
     Shannon shakes her head, sending little ripples down her long, straight, light blonde hair. "Sophomore. Just turned sixteen." She keeps her legs crossed at the ankles, nudging at the heels of her left sandal with the toes on her opposite foot. Each moment that passes in peace sets her a little more at ease, although she still does lean back into her chair, drawing her wings a little closer to partially shield herself. "There's a reason they call me that. But I'm not sure how to tell you, and I don't want to have to show you."

Storm has posed:
Ororo shakes her head. Finger flick in the air reassuringly. "Shannon, please don't mistake me, but... I am, at the moment, not terribly interested in your powers," she tells the girl.

"I want to know about /you/. What you dream of doing someday. What you think of your family. You must be scared and uncertain, and while I can reassure you that everyone at this school shares some similar abilities, you need to understand that..." Her lips twist in a wryly sympthetic grin. "As a mutant, here-- you will find being a mutant is the least exceptional thing about you. In that vein-- tell me more about yourself. What do you like to do for fun? What is your favorite topic in school?"

Nightingale has posed:
     Oddly enough, what might have seemed to some a stinging rebuke, instead drew the first full smile from Shannon that had appeared on her face since the family's arrival. "So weird is the new normal here, huh? I kind of like that." Her laugh is short, but genuine, the smile reaching her eyes and lending a lighthearted little twinkle. She seems a little more animated as the ice is broken, and for once, she's actually -normal- somewhere. "Music... I love to play and write music. Mythology, I've loved that since forever, especially Greek myths." Slender fingers come up to tuck a few stray silken strands of hair away behind her left ear, and her wings relax their defensive curl around her body. "I've been homeschooled, but I love history and science. I think I kind of surprised mom when I tried to re-create a section of the Bayeux Tapestry for a project. It didn't come out well, but hey, I tried."

Storm has posed:
Ororo beams and claps her hands once, softly. "How wonderful! A student of arts," she proclaims, happily. "I am very pleased to hear that. I admit I am not a strong scientist," she says. "I run the gardens here. It is always good for keeping students busy, particularly when they are in trouble. But we do have a music group," she adds. "I enjoy the drums. I cannot dance as well as Miss Braddock-- she is one of our other instructors-- but I enjoy the sound of music and the singing. If you ever wish to discuss mythology, of course, you're quite welcome to come talk to me. I am the history teacher, but the line between myth and fact is far less clear than some might realize."

A student slips in with a rolling tray that looks most of a century old. "Thank you, Bart," Ororo tells the young man. He goggles at Shannon, then ventures an adolescent grin at her. Gawking, awkwardly flirty, a little shy. Ororo hisses once at him and scowls, then with a bemused grin shoos him out of the room.

Tea is steeped and she delivers a little plate to Shannon with both hands, the motion curiously carrying a little casual ceremony. "Do you like tea? I have Earl Grey, it is a favorite of the Professor's. I like rooibos, myself, and I think there is some green jasmine in there as well."

Nightingale has posed:
     "Rooibos? What's that?" Oh, Bart's attempt at flirting isn't lost on Shannon, her cheeks turning bright pink, with the hue moving slowly but surely to the tips of her ears. Though a smile is offered in return, delicate little plate suddenly becomes a -lot- more interesting, giving her an excuse to turn her attention elsewhere without being rude. There were a few simple sugar cookies on the plate, their lightly golden surface aglitter with a light dusting of crystalline sweetness. "Thank you, miss. It was a pretty long trip here from Connecticut." Silence reigns for a minute or two while she finishes one of the sweet treats, eyes lighting up as she listens. "Drums? Which one's your favorite? I had a friend at camp who had a doumbek she brought with her, and she'd play it by the fire at night. I'm not that good, though. Mostly I just play some piano and flute, and write stuff on the computer."

     Something else gives her pause for thought, her smile fading and her brows knitting thoughtfully. "How much less clear do you mean, miss? I mean about myths and reality and things." She tilts her head slightly to one side as she listens intently.

Storm has posed:
"I like playing the ngomba. It is a simple drum, made from animal hide. You hold it between your knees," Ororo explains. "It's played with the hands. Not complicated, but wild, and primal."

She sets tea steeping, answering Shannons' question by brewing her a cup to try for herself. "As for myths, you need to take a long view of human history. Many New Englanders, for instance, are descended from Scandinavians. Lord Thor of Asgard was a myth until a few years ago," she points out. "Whole history books have been rewritten thanks to that new knowledge. The Asgardians are far from the only ancient visitors we've had. At some point we have to ask, where is the line between the misunderstood, and the incomprehensible?"

Nightingale has posed:
     "Oh, so a little bit like the djembe? You get someone who's really good at playing those, it can almost sound like the drum's talking." The sweet, slightly menthol-like scent of the rooibos tea begins to waft through the air on wisps of steam from each cup, the water inside each slowly turning a red-tinged terracotta color. Shannon leans forward slightly, flicking her hand above one of the cups slightly towards her face, to get a better sense of the aroma without getting too close. Though her smile returns briefly, it's a more pensive sort, as she turns her gaze towards Ororo once again. "Even in myths, gods and heroes sometimes really caught he... umm, heck. Do you think any of us who are different like that will ever really be accepted?"

Storm has posed:
"I have a hypothesis about that," Ororo says, and moves to take her seat again. Cream, sugar, and honey are left near Shannon. Ororo prefers not to pollute hers, it seems, and sips it with the cup balanced on her fingertips. "The gods were overthrown not because they were differnt, but because they lied to humanity about what they were. Thor will never die of old age, but he can still be slain. He is still impermanent. Would it not be more the betrayal if he said he controlled fate and time and crops, and let people pray to him for those things? Or that they prayed to an uncaring and distant god, not knowing that god lived on a realm so far disconnected from Earth that those prayers were never heard?"

"If you do not style yourself as a goddess, then I think you will not run into any issues, my dear," Ororo assures Shannon. "If you do, then be prepared to deliver some miracles on demand."

Nightingale has posed:
     Shannon cradles her cup between her hands, letting the warmth seep into her palms. The honey, cream, and sugar are ignored for the time being, while she simply lets the rooibus steep just a little bit longer. "So the gods probably weren't gods at all, just really long-lived mortals. Kind of makes you wonder about Zeus and some of the stuff he pulled." Rolling her eyes a bit, she lets out a soft laugh, and shakes her head. "Yeah, right. Me, a goddess? Is there something in this tea I should know about?"

Storm has posed:
"Only if you added something," Ororo grins. "I don't like sullying my tea with sweeteners. Tea needs no help being tea."

"As I said. It's just a hypothesis," Ororo says. "Maybe the gods exist to give us something to aspire to. Who knows," she remarks, with a flick of her fingers. "I might write a book about it sometime. Get published. But it would cut into my gardening," she admits. "And I have some peach trees I am trying to coax back to life, and that is taking much of my time."

"You must be curious about the school," Ororo says, leaning back against the chair behind her. "We sit on forty acres. There are classes for all grade levels, up through college. A dozen or so permanent faculty are on staff, and a handful more of part-timers come through for temporary positions. Jean Grey is currently the Headmistress of the school; Professor Charles Xavier is the owner, and our chief philanthropist. We have... perhaps fifty or sixty students during active enrollment, in a variety of ages. Most of them are juniors, or seniors," she assures Shannnon. "You will not be alone in your cohort."

Nightingale has posed:
     "Finally, someone with some sense! I don't get why mom puts a whole bunch of stuff in her tea. It's gross." Maybe this wasn't going to be so bad after all. With the subject matter lightened for the moment, the lines between Shannon's brows fade, and she takes a cautious sip of the rooibos. "Oh wow. You're right. This doesn't need anything."

     Indeed, the tow-headed teen was curious about this new place, caught between stealing quick glances around the den, trying to peek out any windows there might be to look at the grounds, and keeping her attention politely on Ororo. Now this was someone she could learn to respect, and as the minutes marched on, she continued to grow more at ease around her. "College, seriously? What classes do they have here? What about theater, and what's the music group you were talking about?" It's not hard to see where one of her true passions lies, though she is quickly brought up short, struck to momentary silence. Her voice drops a notch in volume, her wings drooping ever so slightly. "I'm used to being alone now. It's okay."

Storm has posed:
"Most AP courses, some freshman and sophmore studies. Combined with placement, correspondance, and online exams, it's quite possible to sustain your education for years," Ororo explains. "We're all doing continuing eductaion. I'm working towards an Master's, in fits and starts. Others follow their own paths."

She finishes her tea and rises, offering Shannon a hand up. "Come, let's walk around the grounds a bit. I'm afraid you won't feel very alone here for long. The students are quite closely knit and they tend to welcome new friends... effusively. You might find they won't leave you alone, in point of fact."

"But if you ever feel overwhelmed, or just need somewhere quiet to sit and enjoy a proper cuppa, my rooms are upstairs," Ororo reassures Shannon. "I don't mind the company, and I know how easy it is to be homesick. My door's always open."

Nightingale has posed:
     Shannon finishes her cup of tea, setting the empty vessel aside and accepting the hand up; whatever gifts she might not have mentioned, do not seem to be in immediate evidence. A smile lights up her face, and it's almost as if her entire body heaves a sigh of relief. "Thanks for the heads up. Guess there's a lot to get used to. Keep that door open, though, and you might not get rid of me!" she jokes, actually giggling. There was a lot to see, a lot to explore, in this place it seemed likely she'd call home for the foreseeable future. Perhaps there was hope after all.