9887/No Ice Cream Left Behind

No Ice Cream Left Behind
Date of Scene:	03 November 2019
Location:	Wellness Office - Xavier's School
Synopsis:	Shannon and Triage enjoy ice cream until Bean arrives in need of their help.
Cast of Characters:	Triage, Nightingale, Samuel Morgan

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Triage has posed:
The day's classes have ended. Some students debated whether to haul a telescope to the back yard for stargazing. Others suggested a gathering of some sort on the front lawn. Chris didn't hear about either. Instead, while the Wellness Office was quiet, he went to the dining room to grab a bite and then returned to the office. After drawing the curtains against a growing chill from outside, he settles in a chair with his tablet, ready for an evening of his own leisure.

Nightingale has posed:
Chris isn't the only one keeping things simple. What's more simple and basic than ice cream? Remembering her fellow healer's preferences, Shannon comes in with two pints of Ben & Jerry's ice cream--one is 'Half-Baked', to include chocolate chip cookie dough and brownie bits, and the other? 'Cherry Garcia'. What could be more fitting for a musician than that? A soft knock on the door heralds her presence. "I come bearing gifts!"

Triage has posed:
Chris is sitting in one of the comfortable chairs usually reserved for visitors, enjoying his visit to a fictional world. Even a soft knock is enough to return him to the present. He instantly lowers and locks the tablet and looks to the doorway. When he sees Shannon, he grins. "Hey!" he greets her. "I thought that you'd be in the front yard with everyone else. I heard some talk of music but I figured that it was a thing for students. So ..." He sets the pad aside, stands, and eyes the containers. "I hope that you have time to sit for a while." He goes to another of the visitor's chairs, ready to wheel it across the room, near the one where he was sitting, if she accepts.

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon smiles and offers the pint container of Half-Baked ice cream to Chris, along with a spoon. "Yeah, but things like that can get real huge real fast, and I've had my time on stage for the day, thank you very much." She does indeed accept, flopping down into the visitor's chair and prying the top off of her Cherry Garcia. "Didn't feel like moping around in my dorm, just hope I'm not being too much of a pest...?"

Triage has posed:
Chris welcomes his pint with a grin and heads for the kitchenette. After a couple of minutes, he returns with two tumblers of water with just enough ice to keep them at a refreshing temperature and a roll of paper towels. He sets the tumblers on the coffee table near the chairs. "Time on stage?" he asks. "Did they have dramatic readings in English again?" He settles in his chair and puls at the lid to his pint until it is free. "And why would you mope around your room?" He glances at the door. "Is something wrong? Do you want some privacy?"

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon rolls her eyes and chuckles. "I sort of went to chill out at Evolution during off-hours again. Ran into someone named... Byron? Pretty damn good musician, and I got talked into doing a little bit of a performance. One song we both knew was 'Time Warp'." She chuckles slightly, and sighs a bit. "Felt really bad for him, though. He had something wrong with one of his feet that he said he was born with. So... there was nothing I could do. I hate it when that happens."

Triage has posed:
When Shannon signals without a word that it is nothing grievous, Chris reclaims his chair, ready to dig into the heavenly ice cream. When she starts to explain, however, he lowers the cardboard cup and the spoon, giving his attention to her. He smiles when she relates her tale until she comes to the part about Byron's foot. At that point, he also sighs and frowns. "So that's why you would mope," he guesses. "I understand. I would have felt the same. I can heal many things, but old wounds are stubborn." His eyes lock with hers for a moment. "That's why I worried so much when you asked me about that ... delicate healing. If it was something old that you took, even if it was new to you, I might not have been able to help."

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon shakes her head. "No, that part of the healing was one that... well, I was shall we say, uniquely suited to take on. I'm afraid that would have been a bit tricky for you." As his eyes lock with hers, there's something of confusion for a moment, before she lets her eyes close against whatever else there might be. "Yeah, that'd do it. It... hurts, having to admit I can't help someone."

Triage has posed:
"I thought so," Chris answers, his voice gentle. "Healing you, even that last part, wasn't tricky, but old wounds ..." He shakes his head. "When I came here, I saw the professor briefly, from a distance. I ... wanted to help." He lifts the cup and frees some of the still frozen ice cream with the tip of the metal spoon. "You know how it is. It's our instinct." He nods to her. "When I learned that he'd been like that for a long time already, I moped."

Nightingale has posed:
A light frown crosses her face briefly and she nods. "That... will be difficult for me, then, if I ever do get to meet him. But I have my doubts of that ever happening." A bite or two of the Cherry Garcia is enough to soothe some of the negative emotions beginning to well up within her, providing a more pleasant focus. She lets out a soft sigh, and a ghost of a smile crosses her face. "It is. We do what we can, but sometimes, we just can't help. And that sucks."

Triage has posed:
Chris lifts the spoon to his lips. While he enjoys the cold tingle and then the sweetness, he nods. "In four years, I never met him more than in passing like that, but I read enough - little notes on missions that the staff sanitized before sharing them with us so that we could learn from them. In his way, he helped most of the X-Men to deal with various problems, and then he's helped all of the students here, including us. This place literally was one man's dream at first." He pries at the ice cream to dislodge the next spoonful. "Focus on your successes. That's what I've had to do." He lifts the spoon again for the next bite.

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon snorts a little bit. "I've tried. I've tried being proud of surviving and dealing with everything that I have, but most people see the failures. So I try to focus on the one in five I actually manage to help. Heard that first from Logan, and then the Captain confirmed it. But if I don't look at the failures, too, then I'm essentially not keeping myself grounded in reality." She touches something that's tucked away beneath her shirt, briefly, and just smiles a little bit. "I guess everything is all mixed together that way, not all success and not all failure."

Triage has posed:
"That's true for everyone," Chris confirms. "Don't misunderstand. I often think about the ones who slipped through my hands. I replay the scenes. I wonder, 'Could I have done anything better?' When you stop that, when you ignore the failures or blame others for them even though all of the evidence points to you, then you become dangerous to yourself and to others." Chris looks across to Shannon in time to see her fingers touch something. "What's that?" he wonders, cocking his head slightly in curiosity. He touches his shirt to mirror her gesture.

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon smiles a little bit. "Something to remind me to not lose hope for kindness in the most unusual places. To remember that, occasionally, one might entertain an angel unawares." She glances about this way and that, and makes sure there is noboby liable to walk in. Briefly, she draws the pendant out from under her shirt. It's small, cobalt blue, and of an odd crystalline material. There is no glow or sparkle to it otherwise, and it is formed in the shape of an angel praying. "I think you can guess where this came from," she murmurs. "It has no magic now. It's the only way I could get it restored, was if I let the spell on it be removed." She sighs a little. "You-know-who might have done some awful things, but... I want to hold out a little bit of hope for him. I imagine even his brother does."

Triage has posed:
Chris drops the spoon into his cup and then sets the cup on the table. He leans forward to study the small token. "There's always hope," he says. "As long as we breath, we have hope, and the hope pushes us to breath again." He settles again in his chair. "It's a symbol of that hope and a symbol that hurtful things can find new life with the right magic." He smiles. "In all of my years here, I haven't been to Evolution," he admits. "What's it like? I might want to pay a visit but I'd need to know what to expect."

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon smiles. "It's a pretty nice club, actually. Sam... Cannonball... is the manager there. He doesn't mind my going in off-hours to mess around with the keyboard on stage, because it helps with the sound check for the evening ahead. Plus I think he's trying to get me to perform there one day during business hours. No flipping way there! Nope." She tucks the pendant away beneath her shirt. "One man's dream, huh? Well, it's a good dream to hold on to. Maybe at least that one can come true someday..."

Triage has posed:
Chris takes a few more bites while Shannon answers the questions, but he pauses when she mentions Sam's attempts to persuade her to perform. "Would you do it if you knew that someone was there who would love to hear and see that more than a free concert from our resident diva?" he asks. He grins and his eyes sparkle with interest.

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon bursts out laughing, and shrugs. "Let's face it, she's got more talent in her little fingernail than I have in my whole body. She's also had professional training and experience that I haven't got. What have I had, but maybe a few piano lessons under my belt before my mutation manifested, and a lot of time on my hands to practice after? I'm out-classed by far."

Triage has posed:
"She might have professional training and experience. She might have handlers who tell her exactly how to hit and hold each note. She might know how to strike the pose and strut and shimmy like a seductress," he agrees. "I'd still prefer to see you, because you have soul that comes from a truly broken heart, and energy that comes from landing on your butt and jumping up to go again because you won't accept defeat. To me, that's worth more than a hundred front-row tickets to see someone who was groomed and choreographed for the part." He lifts another spoonful of ice cream from the cup, and pauses. "I'd like for you to have that chance, and I'd like to see it. If you really don't want that, I understand. I only hope that I can hear you sing from time to time, even if no one else is there."

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon purses her lips and dips her spoon into the pint container of Cherry Garcia. "I do owe him one karaoke night, but a piano performance... I've done it during off-hours, but it terrifies me when there's more of an audience." A light little sigh escapes her, and for a few moments she considers what to say next. "She's suffered her share of heartbreak as well, landed on her backside, and come back up swinging. To place mine above hers would do her a disservice she does not deserve. Her hurt is every bit as real as mine, perhaps even worse. I will say no more about it, what she told me was in confidence." Shannon allows that to sink in, enjoying a few bites of the ice cream, nibbling on the sweet, frozen treat slowly. Yep. She's learned her lesson the hard way. "I could try, maybe, one day. It's... an unsettling idea. Terrifying. But I could try. I'd hoped it would be with my own music when I did, but... I suppose other music would have to do."

Samuel Morgan has posed:
    There are no great thumping footsteps. There is no shouting. No herd of frightened juniors and grade schoolers precede as they flee from the beast... Bean enters like everyone else, through the doors, followed closely and immediately by the staffer that was due to watch him today. A glance is given to Triage, and the staffer withdraws, closing the door behind him.

    For his part, Bean walks in and ignores the gathering, ignores the ice cream, and goes to sit on a stool by the beds. A bottle of mountain dew dangles from the fingers of his right hand, held precariously by the rim around its neck, occasionally transferred upwards so he can take a sip. His lips move as if he's repeating a conversation to himself, silently, eyes focused on something far away. He recoils from something in his memory, shakes his head as if in denial, and then hangs his head, hunched over.

    Given that he's still in his coveralls, and his otherwise fastidiously clean hands are still smudged with oil and fluids, he must have come straight here from the garage.

Triage has posed:
"I'm sure that she has talent and I'm sure that she's had troubles. But other people, corporate types, seem to be running that show now, and for their benefit more than hers," Chris answers Shannon. "That's the tragedy, and it seems all too common in entertainment. Someone with talent comes along, the cons spot that talent, and then start to work, slowly shifting things until the star becomes a pawn." He gouges at the ice cream again. "That's why I'd prefer to see a performance that /they/ haven't measured and polished to serve corporate interests." He looks up from his pint and his eyebrows rise. When Sam arrives, Chris watches. He nods to the 'escort' and then sets the cup on the table. "Bean? Is something wrong?"

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon frowns as she sees Bean come in, plop down in the chair, and hunch over, apparently muttering to himself. She sets her pint of ice cream down on the desk and slides from her chair, making sure her hands are visible, open, and empty as she approaches. "Bean?" Her voice is soft, and thrumming with concern. "Bean, it's Shannon. May I sit by you?" It's worrying. She hasn't seen him like this in a while.

Samuel Morgan has posed:
    Bean looks, hearing the voices, and blinks twice when he sees Shannon approach him with such obvious caution. He looks at himself in a reflective surface and frowns, then looks back over to his friend(s). "I think... I might be losing my mind."

    And with that rather dramatic declaration, Bean takes another swig from the bottle, notices it's empty, and doesn't seem to know what to do with it now. Finding a trash can nearby seems to become incredibly important.

Triage has posed:
Chris stands and follows Shannon both in direction and actions. With hands raised and empty palms outward, he asks, "What happened?" When Bean attempts to drink from the empty bottle, he invites, "Give that to me, Bean. I'll toss it for you. If you need something to drink, I'll get it. Take a few deep breaths. Focus, and tell us what happened. Above all, know that we're here to help you."

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon settles down on the bed next to Bean's and reaches over to gently touch his shoulder. "Hey. Talk to us. What's going on?" If Bean does not pull away, she extends her wing for a gentle hug. "Something's got you rattled pretty bad, I haven't seen you like this for a while."

Samuel Morgan has posed:
    "I'm not going to hurt you." There's an edge of frustration and, yes, anger in Bean's voice, noting that yet someone else is approaching him as if he's a wild animal or a dangerously unpredictable psychopath... It's at that time that he accidentally crushes the plastic bottle in his right hand, which had curled into a fist without his notice. "Oh."

    Quietly, he hands over the remains of the bottle to Chris, and runs a hand through his hair. The hair that's markedly longer now, and getting a bit unruly. "I think I did something that hurt someone, emotionally. At least, that's what someone says. And I'm trying... trying to-to figure out... how. What. Where. When." Wing hug... he really needed that right now. He looks like any other forlorn kid, utterly baffled by something and having no idea how to handle it. Not knowing how to handle something is not a welcome feeling in someone quintessentially self sufficient. "I don't think... but I did... so... Every word. In my memory, every word, to the last inflection." He looks at Shannon and Chris with wide open eyes, clearly on the verge of panic. "My memory is wrong."

Triage has posed:
Chris accepts the crushed plastic bottle from Bean. With a glance to Shannon, he crosses the room to drop the trash into the bin. "Take your time, Bean," Chris repeats. "Did anything unusual happen before you said whatever troubled this other person?"

Nightingale has posed:
When Bean does not pull away, Shannon turns it into a full-on hug, drawing him as close as he will allow. "I'm sorry, Bean. I know you won't hurt me, but I see you're hurting and upset. If I made you feel otherwise, would you be willing to forgive my mistake?" She hums a soft, lilting melody for a minute or two, one that she wrote herself; Bean might recognize it, even if nobody else in the room does.

"Your memory's sharp as a tack. What happened? Who was hurt emotionally?" She smiles gently, not releasing the hug. "Take a few deep breaths and take your time. It's okay."

Samuel Morgan has posed:
    The melody is familiar, and Bean smiles for a moment, remembering... he remembers the smell of the kitchen that day, the people he passed in the hallway on the way over... now he tries to remember who all he passed between the garage and the wellness center, and his memory for once is coming up with a blank. The smile fades, and he seems to shrink into himself.

    "Firing range, danger room. She picked up a pistol, held it wrong, totally wrong. She said, can you teach me? I looked and... she was doing it on purpose. Deliberately. I told her I wouldn't, no, not while you're deliberately mishandling a weapon." Now he looks over to Shannon, earnest and almost desperate to be heard. "That's dangerous. You should never, it's dangerous. Could kill someone."

    Then he's looking ahead, lifting his hands and looking at them. "I told her that I wouldn't teach her until she learned it was dangerous. Today... today she-she said, I'd insulted her. That she was only trying to teach me social interaction skills, that it was an opportunity, but I insulted her. I-I-I... can't remember doing that. Remember not doing that. I can't... I don't know..."

Triage has posed:
Chris returns from the trashcan, still listening to Bean's recollection. "Who was she, Bean?" he asks. "Perhaps she misunderstood. Perhaps we can talk to her and untangle this."

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon nods slowly. "Yes, that's right. You never touch a weapon unless you're prepared to deal with the aftermath. And you -never- do it without proper training." She continues to hum and rock Bean in the hug gently. "Who said you insulted her?"

Samuel Morgan has posed:
    "She said it was training. But I'd already done my training, I don't like the training, the talking at the dinner table, the-the-the family stuff, the social stuff. I don't like it. I get it wrong, always get it wrong." By now Bean is babbling, although his thoughts still seem to revolve around this one incident, or at least his perception of it. "The training is private. I didn't ask anyone to come down there, they shouldn't have been down there. She knows so much about social things. Makes it look so easy. Andrea. She's Andrea. So many tips for social things, things I'd done wrong, so very wrong."

    He blinks again and lowers his hands, leaning against Shannon in that hug. "Very wrong. But I didn't know, how could I know, I didn't know. Training was over. We were ... what were we... pistols. M92f Beretta. Double stack, fifteen rounds, hollow point, 9 millimeter. Thumb safety. She had the safety off with the magazine in. Unsafe. Very unsafe."

Triage has posed:
Chris frowns thoughtfully, concentrating while Bean talks. "I want to be sure that I understand this, Bean. Was Andrea teaching you social skills? Where does the weapon fit?" Then he nods to Shannon. "Never pick up the weapon unless you've learned how to use it and handle it properly," he says. "Was Andrea mis-handling the pistol, Bean?"

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon schools her expression into a mere quirk of the eyebrows as she listens to Bean, keeping it as neutral as possible. However, her wings tense behind her, half-extended and ruffling, like a bird defending one of its own. "Social situations can be tricky, even when you've grown up more used to them. Andrea's made social mistakes, too. I offered to teach her how to play the flute and she seemed glad about it at that moment. She was buying a new flute and everything, and offered to buy me one as well. I tried to say no as nicely as I could, because I like the one my mother passed down to me. But I'm not certain if she listened. I've made social mistakes, too, and plenty of them. Still do, and probably always will." She tilts her head slightly, peering over at Chris.

Samuel Morgan has posed:
    The questions are causing the jumble to untangle, for everything to start going back into some form of logical order. A deep breath. Deep breath. "Was doing my social training. Simulations, have to do them, it's important. Don't like them. It was the dinner table simulation, dinner with guests. It didn't go well... failed it just as Vi and Andrea came in. Warren asked if I wanted to run through it again, but, but, with people around... no... didn't want to. So, he changed the room to a general training room. Gym, weapons... Andrea told me what I'd done wrong. In detail. Great detail. I needed to clear my head. Decided to do pistol practice"

    Now his eyes squint as if he's closely examining his own memory. "Andrea picked up a pistol as well, decided to join me at the targets. Vi... Vi showed off her mag-slinging. Wish I had a cool power like that, it's amazing. She didn't like the pistols. I knew she wouldn't, so I fired a quick series at the target to be done with it. And then, then, then Andrea picked up the loaded pistol with the safety off, pointed it out of the bounds of the target range, fired... bad shots, very bad shots. One eye closed, never close an eye when shooting a pistol. But she was using the isometric stance, proper balance, proper grip. No reason those shots should have gone wide. It was on purpose. I could see it. She asked if I would teach her. I said I wouldn't, not if she was going to deliberately miss, deliberately make mistakes. It's unsafe."

    And he recoils again, as if slapped, as if what comes next is utterly incongruous with what he's been remembering. "Today she said, said that she was teaching me social interaction. Make conversation on a topic you know well, pick up social cues, emotional cues. But the training was done, I didn't know, how could I know, I didn't know. I told her no, no, no. Dangerous. Very dangerous. She said, said that... that I insulted her, hurt her feelings. But I don't see... don't remember..."

Triage has posed:
Again, Chris listens while Bean explains the situation. Then, with a sigh, he suggests, "Perhaps someone else should talk to Andrea. She might have misunderstood something or something else might have happened."

Nightingale has posed:
"Whoah, wait, Warren was here? You lucky! I've heard that name ever since arriving here, but haven't been able to put a face to it yet!" Briefly, Shannon's smiling, though the tale of Andrea's action's concerns her visibly.

Taking a deep breath, she nods, wrapping her wings back around Bean. "I can't pretend to know what was going through her head. Maybe she really thought she was trying to help you. Sometimes, it can be a little tricky to know how best to handle any given social situation, and sometimes, there is no right answer possible. Social interactions are sometimes very simple and basic, and other times are far more nuanced. I'm no expert, though."

She pauses, pursing her lips slightly. "Would you like me to leave a message for Kitty, see if we can get her input on this soon, maybe have you talk to her about this as well?" She smiles and tries to look Bean in the eyes. "Kitty and I may have butted heads a few times... but I really do think she cares, and if she's not sure how to help, she'd likely know who to ask."

Samuel Morgan has posed:
    There is a nod. It's a tiny one, but it seems to grow with every repetition, until it's a very clear nod saying that, yes, perhaps it would be best to speak to Kitty. Bean doesn't know what else to do. And then, carefully, as if he doesn't want to give the impression that he's springing up to attack someone, Bean stands, arms wrapped around himself, hunched over. "I'm confused... I'm scared... What if my memory... what if what I remember isn't real? How can I know what's real? How can you tell?"

Triage has posed:
"In many cases, Bean, we know what is real by comparing our experiences against others," Chris answers. "If you're afraid, you can stay here and wait for Kitty." He nods to Shannon and then adds, "We'll tell her that you need to talk to her, unless you want to do that."

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon smiles softly to Bean. "I'll let her know to bring some hot cocoa when she's able to make it. And let me tell you, Bean, that woman can make some seriously goooooooooood cocoa!" Releasing the hug just long enough to slip her phone from her pocket, she taps out a message and sends it off to Kitty. "Told her you needed a 'hot cocoa moment'. When she and I had a pretty big talk the other day, she brought the cocoa, so now that's kind of a code for a 'hey, can we talk' sort of thing."

Samuel Morgan has posed:
    This time there's a shake of the head that's quite pronounced, quite easy to understand. "No. No nono, no. I'm going... going upstairs, to my room. Safe there." And as he starts to go, Bean suddenly turns around and manages a brittle smile for both Shannon and Chris. "Thank you. For believing me. You're... thank you." Having said that, he hurries out, escorted by an increasingly worried looking staff member.

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon lets her shoulders slump and her wings droop as Bean leaves the room in his current state of mind, running her fingers through her hair. A heavy sigh escapes her, and she glances up at Chris. "Think I'm the one that needs a hug now," she murmurs, visibly agitated and shaken.

Triage has posed:
"I hope that Kitty can untangle this," Chris adds, watching while Bean leaves. "I have a feeling that both he and Andrea might have misunderstood each other." Then he turns to face Shannon. "Every day brings challenges. Some are greater than others. This one was in a different league." He reaches to touch Shannon's arm.

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon sighs softly and leans over to hug Chris, wings drooping. "There are times I don't always understand Andrea, but I've seen her have some really good moments, too. Hopefully, Kitty and some cocoa can help sort things out. I'm not frightened -of- Bean, I'm scared -for- him. He's one of the best friends I've got and it looks like whatever happened, really did a number on him. And it hurts that right now, he needs more help than I can give." Tears trickle down her face. "It really hurts when those I care about are hurting like this... and I hate feeling so helpless."

Triage has posed:
Chris hugs Shannon and rubs that spot between her wings. "I don't think that Andrea or Bean is at fault here. I suspect some misunderstanding. Something snapped," he answers. "Andrea probably meant to help him to learn about helping others by purposefully playing ignorant. Normally, it can be a good tactic. In this case ..." He shrugs. "Everything about bean screams 'soldier.' Soldiers learn from the beginning how to handle their weapons so that it becomes instinctive, second nature, to them, like healing for us."

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon nods slowly, calming some from the backrub. "He's come so far in the time he's been here, and... it's frustrating and saddening to see something like this set him back. Maybe she meant well, I don't know, I'm not inside her head. But even if it was meant well it sure backfired, and I hope Kitty's cocoa can work its magic."

Triage has posed:
"We can hope and pray," Chris murmurs, still rubbing Shannon's back to calm her. "Our ice cream probably melted and it's late. We should rest and see what tomorrow brings."

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon cracks a small smile, glancing over to the desk to find that the ice cream has, indeed, melted. "I'll just drink mine, then. It'll still taste good." Even in the worst of times, the most unlikely of people and situations, one could sometimes find a silver lining. Perhaps there was hope after all.

Triage has posed:
Chris grins. "No ice cream left behind!" he agrees. Stepping back from the hug, he goes to the kitchenette to fetch more paper towels.