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The Sun Also Rises; 05/24-early morning - Moira, Sean
Topic Started: Aug 17 2014, 07:50 PM (750 Views)
Moira MacTaggert
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Why was it when, as Sean said, they all seem to be agreed, did Moira get the sense that, though it sounded just so, Emma Frost was anything but in agreement? Aye, well, paranoia perhaps. Even if the geneticist preferred to put it down to good, Scots common sense.

If the White Queen was agreeable, then something was lurking in the background you'd not spotted yet, waiting it's turn to be sprung upon you. Case in point, perhaps, was her pronouncement of Sean's idea to speak with one Hank or another or Reed or one of the sleepless souls down in the underground labs as 'splendid'.

Accompanied by such an easy expression as on her face as other woman took a seat at the table, Moira couldn't help but raise a brow. Splendid, was it? Much as a fox would pronounce a trip to the hen house to be splendid, the auburn haired woman suspected.

In good time, she did at least come to this 'important matter' she'd wandered down from bed in the wee hours of the morning to consult with Sean over. Layla Miller, then, and aye, she'd no doubt the lass might be finding herself in a wee bit of hot water with the other children. She'd sent a flying head to banish their friends, relatives, and loved ones off to some war torn dimension without even so much as a 'by your leave'.

An expected thing, that shouldv'e been, and it seemed that to Sean, at least, it was. No great amount of surprise there as Moira saw to her eggs and poked at the sausages still cooking, pondering that as Sean finally left the plate of cooked eggs to their fate by Emma. Nor any real surprise that the word he'd given Everette did little to curb resentment from the group Layla was now to become a part of. Not under such circumstances as these.

Perhaps not her place to say, but that'd never stopped the Scots woman before and it'd not do so now. Nor did what she suspected might be a big of alarm creeping into Sean's expression at the prospect when she began. She'd some experience of her own, if for no other reason than Excalibur being underfoot these last five years or so.

Magik and Feron alone could, and had been, quite the trail. And forcing such things did little good, in her opinion, unless the goal was to foster further resentment. Even the adults were taxing their coping skills. The children would likely need a bit more time, overall, before they were willing to accept the girl so much at the heart of it as one of their own.

Putting her cup to rest on the table, Emma looked from her to Sean. None to pleased, but Moira'd not expected her to be. "Ms. Miller, you will recall, is rather fond of treating time as if it were a convenient tool," the White Queen informed her, though since the girl was a precognitave and not a chronovariant, Moira doubted her fondness would make much difference. Since t'was not a tool the girl could weild and better than she coudl herself.

“Ach, nay. That’s Illyana, I’m afraid to say,” Sean spoke up, drawing Moira's attention his way to give him a wry look. Aye, and that was truth if she'd ever heard it. “Layla’s the one who thinks she’s seeing the future.” And mayhap she did at that, she'd not be the first.

"And thinks she knows what's to be done with it," Moira half-muttered to herself, turning the eggs so the one side wouldn't brown itself overmuch. It was the way of all teenagers, wasn't it? To believe they already knew all that they needed to make decisions?

There was another sort of look on Emma's face when Moira glanced back. "The longer they are left to work things out amongst themselves, the more freely I believe she will exploit it to put them against her." So now she believed the girl was somehow wanting the others to turn their back on her? The geneticist frowned. That wasn't the impression she'd had of the lass at all. She'd seemed a great deal more ignorance than intent.

“Now, why-“ Sean began as she turned her slightly perplexed expression his way, but he seemed to be about to voice the same question in her own head before he stopped to let out a breath. Giving Emma a chance to pick up again.

"I'm afraid this is not a problem that will just work itself out," she continued, "and if they can't see eye to eye on their own, my recommendation would be for a common cause of some sort to help them along." Frown still firmly planted across her face, Moira turned back to lower the heat on the sausages and take the next pan of eggs off it entirely.

“Well, that’s les-“ Sean began again, then stopped again. When she turned his way once more his head was shaking instead. “Nay, Emma.” Then, he seemed to think better of leaving it there, though it might've been more courtesy than she'd have been willing to pay Emma herself. “I’m not standing for any plan you’re making to bind them together by giving them something to hate more than they do each other,” Sean told his colleague then, and Moira's own lips pressed themselves into a thin line, eyes cutting to the platinum haired woman. So that was it, then? “I’ve seen too much of that in my life, aye, and where it leads; I’ll not go teaching it to children in my care.”

Nay, if that was what was in the other woman's head, she had to wonder again what the devil Charles was thinking. But, again, she'd wondered that about him so many times these last days it was almost a constant thought. Hadn't he done the same himself, with his own X-Men?

“A common cause, aye,” Sean added after a moment, reaching back to pick up the plate of charred sausages he’d set aside before, looking her way but not, and her lips pressed so thin that they nearly disappeared. "That’s something I’d like them to find too. But that’s better forged when it comes with talking, and with getting to know each other. Not by setting them up against some threat to scare them into it.”

Turning from the stove again, not bothering to school her expression into aught but what it was - drawn together and set - she looked back to Emma. Who'd likely protest casting her to such thoughts, but that was the way of her. It didn't mean the thoughts weren't, and hadn't been, there just the same.

"There's been enough of manipulation and maneuvering of others 'for their own good' this week to last us all a lifetime or more," Moira put out plain, arms folded and still holding her spatula. "We've seen what a great, encompassing bourach that's gotten us. Surely e'en you're not considering that a legacy worth adding to."

Even Emma Frost should be able to see past her own agenda to see the truth of that. Then again, mayhap that was exactly the reason Charles had put her where she was.
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Sean couldn't be faulted too much for suggesting they let time do the work of mending fences between Layla and her new peers. He was more inclined than Emma to expect such things to naturally work out, and she had to concede that to a certain degree, it had helped bring their crop of students to a point where they at least tolerated each other's presence.

She didn't have to concede it out loud, of course.

Besides, the older man was forgetting a rather significant difference when it came to Layla. That and how she perceived her relationship with time. As if it were some tool she was free to use to her own ends.

“Ach, nay. That’s Illyana, I’m afraid to say,” Sean replied just a bit audaciously. A joke. How... charming. He was only trying to lighten the mood, Emma supposed, not that their comfortable conversation was exactly dire. Or needed to be. They were simply discussing business over a relaxing breakfast, after all. “Layla’s the one who thinks she’s seeing the future.”

"And thinks she knows what's to be done with it," Moira added under her breath, again without the courtesy of waiting for her opinion to be solicited.

Emma sniffed, carefully keeping her expression smooth around the disdainful sound. "It's a simplistic way to describe her particular insight, but it will serve." No, Layla didn't believe she could mold time like clay, the way Ms. Rasputin sometimes seemed to think she held province over. Not that it mattered.

What the little blonde strumpet knew, and how she chose to make use of it, did. The kidnapping during the wedding was an extreme example, and one she was still convinced was in the service of that which needed to happen. As to what would happen, even the little things, in certain, creative hands, could be turned to the advantage of one who was privy to them. Even when that advantage appeared to be aimed at keeping the other students at odds with her.

The comment drew a frown from Sean. “Now, why-“ he began, before thinking better of it and silencing himself. Emma threw an arched eyebrow his way all the same. Surely the young woman's motivations in that regard were obvious. Not that it would do her any good. She was part of the Massachusetts Academy, like it or not, and she was certainly never going back to X-Factor.

This wasn't a problem that the children could be trusted to work out on their own. If Sean wanted to start with her recommendation on the matter, so be it. A common cause could be quite useful for that.

Sean nearly let out a sound of relief, as if he'd anticipated some horrific pronouncement to flow from Emma's lipsticked blue lips. “Well, that’s les-“ he said, before once again breaking off his sentence. A familiar spike of suspicion entered his thoughts. “Nay, Emma.”

Emma's other brow rose to join the first, not so much innocently as unrepentant in the offering of her own opinion. An opinion he'd specifically requested. “I’m not standing for any plan you’re making to bind them together by giving them something to hate more than they do each other,” he vowed. Not unexpectedly, and by his tone, he was not willing to change his stance on that, even a little. “I’ve seen too much of that in my life, aye, and where it leads; I’ll not go teaching it to children in my care.”

"Oh don't be so dramatic, Sean," Emma told him, taking her cup back up to sip from it once more. Really, one tiny suggestion and the great optimist was quick to think the worst. At least of her. Not that she wasn't accustomed to it, put he should really leave the mind reading to the experts.

“A common cause, aye,” he finally said, taking the plate of sausages he'd claimed credit for cooking and carrying it toward the table. “That’s something I’d like them to find too. But that’s better forged when it comes with talking, and with getting to know each other. Not by setting them up against some threat to scare them into it.”

Emma met him with a level expression of her own. "We won't have to," she assured him pointedly. "The world will do that on its own." Even Sean couldn't ignore that reality. They'd barely opened the school when that object lesson was reinforced.

"There's been enough of manipulation and maneuvering of others 'for their own good' this week to last us all a lifetime or more," Moira added, giving Emma a look that was surely meant to be severe, but Emma had weathered far worse. She'd have to do far better if she expected the former White Queen to flinch. The Scottish woman folded her arms in front of her. "We've seen what a great, encompassing bourach that's gotten us. Surely e'en you're not considering that a legacy worth adding to."

Bold words from a woman whose skeletons could destroy the world when they snuck out of the closet. "I'd take no pleasure in it, but there's little I wouldn't consider, should it prove necessary," Emma told her plainly.

Turning her eyes back to Sean, she answered his own challenge next. "There are constructive causes they could be steered toward," she suggested voice laced with a hint a challenge. "What would you suggest?"

She glanced at the sausages with a slight smile that could be taken as approval. "And would you be a dear and bring me a plate and some silverware?" she asked, voice edging toward sweet once more. She wasn't about to pluck one of those sausages from the platter and eat them like a common savage.
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Ach, nay. Nay, he might be out of his depth a thousand times a week, doing the best he could at this job he’d volunteered for, and plenty of those times might owe themselves to the woman sitting at the island who was (supposedly, Sean sometimes thought) working with him on this, but on this one, he was fairly sure he’d caught on to the play, and not a second too soon.

Nay, he wasn’t going to stand by for whatever plan she was hatching there, in that shining trap of a mind of hers. Planning on letting those children be bound together by teaching them to hate something else more than they did each other. Jaysis, he’d seen too much of that in his life, in his own country, and in others. He’d not pass it on-

“Oh don't be so dramatic, Sean," Emma told him, sipping at her coffee like she was taking tea with a Countess, and didn’t want to be disturbed by the ramblings of a provincial. Gawd, he wished she didn’t have a knack for that. Every time, and she had a way of making him think he was the crazy one ranting.

But here, for once, at least he knew he was on solid ground, and he was pressing on, opinions be damned. Aye, a common cause was something he’d like for the children in their care to find. But not the way he knew she was thinking, even if she’d not happened to admit it yet. And just to show that he wasn’t so far gone in this argument he couldn’t keep the manners he’d learned at his mother’s table, he’d take the sausages over to her too, following the eggs. Common cause. It was a good thing, and a thing worth taking the time to forge the right way, by talking. Getting to know each other, instead of creating an outside bogeyman to scare them into it.

Jaysis, and she wouldn’t give him an inch, would she? Not even with this. Met his gaze with one of those icy, diamond-hard stares she must have perfected as a teenager, not even flickering with a doubt. “We won't have to," she assured him pointedly. "The world will do that on its own.”

Sean dropped the sausages on the counter in front of her, a teensy bit harder than he’d meant to. “Aye, if that’s the way you approach it, nay doubt that it will,” he replied, trying to hold back the sigh that was trying to creep back to the fore of his brain again. The rest of the world, no matter where he’d traveled, it wasn’t so different from a Galway bar. At least not from what he’d seen of it. Go out looking for a fight, and that’s exactly what you’d find.

“There’s been enough of manipulation and maneuvering of others 'for their own good' this week to last us all a lifetime or more,” Moira interjected, from back over by the stove. And when Sean turned back toward her- ach, she had her arms folded. Well… aye… jaysis, how could you argue with her? He certainly had neither heart nor mind to do it. Not after what they’d found this week. “We’ve seen what a great, encompassing bourach that's gotten us. Surely e'en you're not considering that a legacy worth adding to.”

Looking to her, Sean took a few steps back toward the stove. Not knowing quite what he meant to do, but jaysis, he hated seeing her like this. Hated knowing there was aught he - or anyone - could do to ease that knowledge, and how it weighed. On her, and on all of them.

Well, aye. All of them being a relative thing, as it was going. “I’d take no pleasure in it, but there's little I wouldn't consider, should it prove necessary," Emma told her plainly.

Jaysis. And here he was, in the middle of this. Cassidy, man, you ever get another chance at life, you should ask to be born with enough sense to stay well out of things that will draw you into this kind of thing. That’s what you should do, aye. But… jaysis, he couldn’t let that one go. Not with… any of it, that had been this week. It wasn’t only Moira who’d had her life turned around, and shown for a lie with all of this. Hers was the hardest, aye…

“While you go playing judge and jury about the definition of necessary?” Sean asked, turning back toward the blonde woman who was still his colleague, however much he sometimes caught himself wondering why. But jaysis… everything that had brought him here, to this Institute. All that he’d thought for himself, when he’d thought he was choosing to be an X-man…

No, but that wouldn’t mean that Emma gave him - or anyone - an inch, would it? “There are constructive causes they could be steered toward," she suggested voice laced with a hint a challenge. "What would you suggest?”

What would he suggest? What… feck. Sean could feel himself staring, giving away any kind of edge he might have won in getting her to ask his opinion by not being able to jump right on that question. What would… jaysis. Use your brain, Cassidy. Just think about what she was saying. “They’re not tugboats in a harbor, Emma,” he managed to say, glancing toward Moira. Not looking for her approval, per se… nay, jaysis, who was he kidding? Of course he was looking for her approval, but whether he got it or not, he’d say his piece here, “they don’t need to be ‘steered’. They’re human beings. Maybe we could think about treating them as such.”

Not as pawns. Not as a flock of sheep, to be pointed to where they were wanted, but as people, however young they might be.

Jaysis, and why on earth was she smiling now? ”And would you be a dear and bring me a plate and some silverware?”

She… ach, and jaysis, she had. She had. Exhaling an all-too hasty sigh that he regretted the moment it was out of him, Sean shook his head. But still, the plates will still there, right by - or near enough - to where he’d been standing, so he walked the few steps to retrieve one from the cupboard, picked it up, then headed back toward where his respected colleague was sitting. “The cutlery’s in the drawer right next to you, Emma,” Sean pointed out as he presented the plate to her, with not nearly as much grace as the moment probably deserved. “As I think you know.”

Or if she didn’t, aye, well… now she would, then.
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Moira MacTaggert
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Simplistic, was it? Well, so be it, then, it was none the less true for that. Just as Moira knew, without need of any powers of her own, that what Sean suspected of Emma Frost and her ideas of bringing together would likely only serve the opposite. Mayhap not in the short term, but certainly in the long one.

"Oh don't be so dramatic, Sean," Emma told him, lifting her cup to her lips and speaking as though no such thing could've possibly crossed her mind in the least. Moira's eyes narrowed slightly and she made a skeptical sound, but kept it to that for the moment. Like it or not, it was Sean's matter to deal with as he saw fit.

What he said, she'd no disagreement of her own for, that was certain. A common cause, that was a good and fair thing to have. A common enemy, however, wasn't a thing that needed cooking up like the sausages still in the pan. And they weren't such bairn's yet that they needed treating like they were still in their diapers. Teenagers they might be, and stubborn and set as ten bulls, but they were well old enough to not need the fear of boogeymen to set them in line.

It'd do them no kindness in the long run and they'd hardly had a chance to get past the crisis at hand. Time, and perhaps a good talking to, that would stand them all in better stead than some scheme to manipulate them into what the White Queen thought they should be on her own timetable.

“We won't have to," [Emma] assured him pointedly. "The world will do that on its own.” Moira glanced back again, green eyes narrowed under lower brows.

"Then it'll need no help from you," she pointed out before thinking better of it (though that wouldn't likely have changed the words or the saying of them) as Sean laid the sausages already done onto the counter with something just short of a clatter. “Aye, if that’s the way you approach it, nay doubt that it will,” he replied[/b] and, aye, she had an answer for all of it, did Emma Frost.

To her way of thinking, however, there'd been more than enough of manipulation and maneuvering of others 'for their own sakes' to last them all a lifetime and then more, and she'd not hesitate to say so. It was this same road that Charles Xavier had taken, thinking he knew best. The road that had brought them to this great bourach they'd been drowning in for nigh onto a week and that had turned things even more upside down than they'd been to begin with.

Would even Emma Frost, the White Queen of the Hellfire Club, truly believe that was a legacy worth adding to or continuing with?

Moira would sorely like to believe it wouldn't, but it was hard pressed she was to do it. Not standing here and hearing such words, with such calm assurance as Emma had in herself and of her own judgement. T'was no wonder, as she looked at it all in that light, that Charles had done with her as he had. No wonder, and a great deal more worrisome.

Sean looked her way, turning back and making a few steps as Moira met his eyes. Took a breath and, aye, he was a good man. She was...perhaps not all right, but would be. But she'd not stand by and let this woman muck about with more lives, nor did she think he would himself. It wasn't only her that had been affected by this thing.

“I’d take no pleasure in it, but there's little I wouldn't consider, should it prove necessary," Emma told her plainly and her eyes snapped back to the other woman, jaw clenching for a moment.

"I've little trouble at all believing that, Emma Frost," the geneticist told her. Though she did have her doubts that the woman would take no pleasure in it. It seemed she might well take a great deal, while she sat in judge of that which she deemed 'necessary'. Just as Charles had done.

“While you go playing judge and jury about the definition of necessary?” Sean asked voicing her own thoughts as he turned back. Was Emma Frost so thick headed, or so lost in her own superiority, that she could sit there and say such a thing so calmly, in the midst of this last week?

As it seemed, she could do exactly that. “There are constructive causes they could be steered toward," she suggested voice laced with a hint a challenge. "What would you suggest?” With a set and a twitch in the muscles at her jaw, Moira turned back to stab at the sausages that were, by all accounts, nearly done.

It was all too much of a game by half to her, wasn't it?

“They’re not tugboats in a harbor, Emma,” he managed to say, and she turned to meet his eyes, lips thinned in irritation, but not at him. T'was his place to deal with the woman, she'd certainly not begrudge him the duty. Even if she'd also not promise to hold her peace, “they don’t need to be ‘steered’. They’re human beings. Maybe we could think about treating them as such.”

Not pawns in some sort of game Emma was playing. Pieces on a chess board for her to move about, use to corner others into the spaces she wanted them. Was that truly how she saw the world? These children?

”And would you be a dear and bring me a plate and some silverware?” Ah, for the love of the good lord.

"Hrrmph," Moira grumbled, glaring at the sausages as Sean let out a sigh. "Have your legs fallen off then, Lass?"

But, with a shake of his head, Sean went to the cupboard and brought her one. Too accommodating by more than half, himself, sometimes and there was a bit of a glare that turned his way briefly. “The cutlery’s in the drawer right next to you, Emma,” Sean pointed out as he presented the plate to her, with not nearly as much grace as the moment probably deserved. “As I think you know.”

"Mayhap her fingers have gone the way of her legs, as well," Moira opined dryly, deciding the sausages were done and stretching over to reach for a plate of her own for those. Next, she'd be wanting him to feed her, too. Moira would surely not put it past her.

Aye, it was all some sort of game to her, wasn't it? All of it.
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Honestly, the way those two carried on. If Emma couldn't read minds, she'd wonder if they expected her to go out and hire the Wrecking Crew to assault their students in the middle of the street. As if they didn’t already have enough problems with Emplate and that ridiculous pirate with the energy dragons and the seemingly neverending parade of other threats that always seemed to find their way to the Massachusetts Academy.

Which only served to reinforce Emma’s counter to Sean’s suspicion-infused preemptive veto. For all that it would, in its own way, qualify as a potential catalyst for some degree of unity between their students, original and new alike, neither of them would have to orchestrate such a thing. The world would take care of it, all on its own. It was a truth Emma found not entirely appealing. In many ways it filled her with some measure of dread and always would. But it was a truth all the same, and one none of them would profit from ignoring.

Not that it would stop the other two from trying all the same. Sometimes being the only realist in the room could be such a burden. "Then it'll need no help from you," Moira stated plainly as Sean started over toward the table with a platter of sausages in hand.

“I believe that’s what I just said,” Emma said smoothly. “Do try to keep up, darling.”

Sean brought down the sausages with more force than was strictly necessary. Because letting his temper slip would do so much to dispel Emma’s claim that he was being overdramatic. “Aye, if that’s the way you approach it, nay doubt that it will,” he said.

Ah, yes. Mind your own business and assume the world meant you no harm and it would politely follow suit. How very convenient it must be to have the luxury of such a perspective.

Next, almost inevitably, came the specter of recent events, raised by Sean and Moira almost in tandem. All but insisting that even the mere act of flirting with such a course of action would be forever defined by the misguided choices and subsequent consequences of two lowly individuals. Such a tiresomely inflexible outlook. It barely qualified as reaching the third stage of the Kohlberg scale.

Emma would not be so restrained. If she deemed it necessary, there was very little she wouldn’t do, which should come as a surprise to exactly none in present company.

"I've little trouble at all believing that, Emma Frost," Moira said, and there was no mistaking the opinion driving that comment was there?

“While you go playing judge and jury about the definition of necessary?” Sean challenged more directly, turning back to face her.

Emma weathered the accusatory look and the comment that went with it calmly, barely moving more than to lift her chin slightly. “Clearly not,” she answered plainly, “else I wouldn’t have bothered to come down here to ask your opinion in the first place.” And such a lovely example they were making. If they couldn’t see past their own notions to address the matter at hand in a rational fashion, how could they expect their charges to do the same?

And as she had come down to ask his suggestions, now would certainly be a good time for him to put them forward. It wasn’t as if all he suspected (rightly or wrongly) might appeal to Emma were the only means to provide a common cause for the children.

Moira, apparently unable to come up with a scathing remark in the face of Emma placing the ball in Sean’s court, turned away to tend to (or abuse, by the sounds of her stabbing with her utensil) the next batch of sausages. Sean himself faltered for a moment, staring at Emma as if he hadn’t expected her to return to the question.

“They’re not tugboats in a harbor, Emma,” he said, once he’d finally been graced by inspiration. Emma’s brows arched slightly. That was quite the choice of terms from the redheaded man. Sean’s gaze shifted over to Moira. The other woman met his eyes, but her expression was quite flat by contrast. “they don’t need to be ‘steered’. They’re human beings. Maybe we could think about treating them as such.”

“Speaking metaphorically, you and I would be the tugboats,” Emma retorted smoothly, waving one hand aimlessly near her shoulder. “It’s our responsibility to guide and look over them so they don’t smash into the docks, or each other.”

As lively as this discussion-turned-debate (as the so often became) was, it would be much more pleasant over breakfast. Perhaps Sean, who’d already so graciously elected to cook the meal, would be kind enough to bring plates and silverware.

Sean immediately sighed while Moira grumbled outright. "Have your legs fallen off then, Lass?"

Choosing not to dignify the comment with a response, Emma remained in her seat while Sean made the short journey to the cupboard and selected a plate.

“The cutlery’s in the drawer right next to you, Emma,” Sean pointed out as he presented the plate to her, with not nearly as much grace as the moment probably deserved. “As I think you know.”

"Mayhap her fingers have gone the way of her legs, as well," Moira drawled, making full use of their pact to speak their minds freely.

“Thank you, Sean,” Emma said to her colleague, giving him a carefully tailored smile of appreciation. “I am looking forward to the breakfast you’ve prepared.” Turning in her seat, she extended her arm to pull open the specified drawer and selected a set of silverware for herself.

“Am I to take it, then, your official stance on this dilemma is strictly hands off?” she asked over her shoulder before turning back and setting her new prizes down on the table. “No training exercise. Not even a play of their own devising to perform for everyone here to help pass the time?”
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Darling? There it went, from Emma’s mouth to Moira, and with that one wee salutation, Sean’s personal estimate of the Defcon level of the situation that seemed to have been oscillating since he’d first walked into this kitchen took another swing back into the higher numbers. Darling, and another dose of her condescension to go with it, while she sat there. Impervious as crystal to any thought of suggestion that things might be other than the way she’d chosen to see it. To himself, or to the point Moira raised, about all they’d seen and learned this week.

Nay, and of course that wouldn’t shake her, not at all. Himself, aye, and Moira too, he knew that, and felt his chest ache again when he met her eyes, wishing there was something he could do to ease that for her, knowing that there wasn’t. But Emma? Ach, nay, but it wouldn’t be weighing on Emma now, would it? Not, as she said, if she should decide it was ‘necessary’.

Christ, and he’d seen a few examples of those for himself, even in this last year. Too many to let that go, even if he did have the sense (this time, anyways) not to look back to Moira as she bit first at the former White Queen’s latest dictum. “I’ve little trouble at all believing that, Emma Frost," the geneticist told her, and no one would, but nay, this time, he had something a wee bit more direct to say to her about it. ‘Necessary’, aye, and how was that? With herself in all the roles, from jury to judge and on to the execution?

Nor did that shake Emma at all, of course. Met his gaze and what did she do but tilt her chin up. “Clearly not,” she answered plainly, “else I wouldn’t have bothered to come down here to ask your opinion in the first place.”

Drawing his brows down in an expression even he couldn’t have said was more confused or concerned, Sean set his head to one side, regarding her. “Is that what you call this then?” he had to ask. Because from where he was standing this conversation had been a lot of things, but an honest request for his opinion wasn’t among the first ranks of them.

But… aye… maybe it was just that, as nearly was usual when conversing with Emma he seemed to have found himself lost on a foggy night, not sure whether the light of words was home or marsh wisp. Was she being serious this time? And if so, was there a clue he’d missed that was supposed to tell him such? Now she was talking about ‘constructive causes’, and what he’d suggest, and…

…jaysis, she had asked him for his suggestion, hadn’t she? Right on the spot, and there he was, feeling as skewered as if he’d been those sausages he could hear Mo stabbing somewhere behind him. He hadn’t expected it - aye, and perhaps he should have been - but no help for that, so he’d just have to catch back up to thinking about what she’d actually said as best he could, and fumble toward a point that felt like it needed making. For they weren’t tugs in a harbor, these chil- these charges of theirs. Not objects needing to be steered, but human beings, and they’d earned the right to perhaps be treated as such.

Jaysis, and Mo was frowning now - though not at him, he knew that much, for the fire wasn’t in her eyes when they met his, and he’d take that as a good sign. From Emma, though… Christ, and how could he tell what she might be thinking of it? No more shaken than she had been.

“Speaking metaphorically, you and I would be the tugboats,” Emma retorted smoothly, waving one hand aimlessly near her shoulder.“It’s our responsibility to guide and look over them so they don’t smash into the docks, or each other.”

Aye well, Sean thought ruefully, and he should have known better than to make an allusion without making sure it was boilerplate logic, shouldn’t he? Heaven help him if he cast a wee touch askew with the logic of his metaphors around an Anglican. “Nay, but that’s exac-“

He didn’t get any further than that in starting to try to point that out though, for she was asking for a plate and silverware. Jaysis. Jaysis, and smiling too, as she said it. Sean had sighed before he’d had a chance to nip it away from sounding, and that Scotch noise Moira had made at the same time wouldn’t do anything to help cover it over. “Have your legs fallen off then, Lass?”

Now, who’d it been, in that old Greek legend, who’d been set to try to guide a boat down a narrow channel between two angry mon- legendary beas- myths? Odysseus, was it? Or the one with the boat, who’d ended up with the wi-… ach, Christ, no sense in wasting time trying to remember. Whoever he’d been, that Greek, Sean Cassidy wouldn’t have minded being in his boatshoes right this moment. Compared to this…

Move to get that plate for Emma, and he had Moira glaring at him - and this time, it most definitely was directed at him. Give his colleague the plate, and point out that she had aught to do but move her hand to the drawer beside her (as he had to think she knew) to get her cutlery, and there were more opinions from Moira, this time about the blonde’s fingers, and meanwhile, Emma herself was smiling like she’d been polished to shine.

“Thank you, Sean,” she said, “I am looking forward to the breakfast you’ve prepared.”

Sean felt his blank look returning, taking his brows back down to ‘perplexed o’clock’. Now what was she aiming at? She’d taken the suggestion about the drawer, at least, letting him retreat back to the (possible) safe zone nearer the stovetop, where Moira had a plate in hand for her well pricked (gah, he wished he hadn’t thought that) second round of sausages. But it was Emma, and she still had that air about her, the one when she still had more yet to say for herself.

“Am I to take it, then, your official stance on this dilemma is strictly hands off?” she asked over her shoulder before turning back and setting her new prizes down on the table. “No training exercise. Not even a play of their own devising to perform for everyone here to help pass the time?”

“Now, wait, I didn’t-“ Sean began, trying to answer the first part of that as the second part caught up with him and tied his tongue up in confusion again. Stopping himself, he gave his colleague a blanker look, blinking at least once as he replayed the sentences once, and then once again. A play? Had he… was she talking about some kind of godawful American sports iea again, or did she actually mean a.. play? But… nay, and why was he even trying to puzzle this out while she sat there?

With a shake of his head, and another, more rueful sigh, Sean stopped himself. “I’ve no idea where you’re driving that, Emma,” he told her honestly and with maybe just a touch of resignation. “How many times do I have to tell you that these conversations could all go smoother if you’d just say what you mean, not what catches your fancy as wit?”

Enough, or at least he’d have thought it enough, except that it didn’t seem to change a thing, but never mind that. Perhaps he’d have been better to just have gone on with his first response and never tried to stop and work through it. “I never said I’d let this go with my hands off it,” he pointed out instead, trying to get back toward what still seemed (at least as far as he could see it) like the major point of the conversation. “But before we go and tangle ourselves up in our own cleverness, why don’t we try and see how far we can get by treating them like ad-“ seeing a potential for pithy pedantry this time before he’d got quite to the end of that sentence, he readjusted on the fly, “-like the way we’d like to see as rational people? Get them in a room, and talking to each other, and we’ll see how far a wee touch of civility might get us.”

Not necessarily very far to begin with, he did know that. But with time (and patience), it nearly always did come.
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Moira MacTaggert
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As much a shame as it would be to waste good sausage, the urge to fling them - half done and with the possibility of sending the pan with them straight from the stove - did cross Moira's mind for half an instant. Darling, was it?

Aye, Emma Frost would find she could keep pace quite fine.

Spoiling of good sausages was narrowly avoided by her more practical sense but it didn't still her tongue. Not when she'd little doubt that the White Queen would take whate're measures she felt necessary, just as she'd always done. As Sean slapped the sausages down and gave his own answer, Moira MacTaggert found no help for wondering yet again what Charles had been thinking - or if there'd been any thinking at all - to put this woman o'er yet another group of impressionable youth. Even with Sean to watch her.

If there was more there than the scheming manipulator about the woman, she'd no sign of it for herself. Flippant and uncaring of anything that didn't serve her own purposes. Was this what they'd left the next generation to?

There was talk of leading and steering and tugboats and docks as Sean tried to make his own point. Emma Frost leading that point a dance with what the geneticist was sure the other woman thought to be a clever rejoinder. More interested in twisting words to suit her and sticking to her own agenda than any serious concern for the children in question.

Sean, aye, he was a good man. Too good, for he'd not give her the smacking she was clearly in need of. “Nay, but that’s exac-“ he began again, only to have the words trod upon with a request for Emma for silverware and a plate.

And had her legs dropped off, then, that she couldn't get them herself? Or was it that she considered Sean simply the hired help? And Sean with no more thought than to start for what she'd sent him after. The better part of a glare turned his way from the Scots woman as she poked one sausage. If it was with a wee bit more force than strictly necessary, that was between her and the sausage.

Next, she'd have him doing her laundry and dusting her boudoir.

There was some satisfaction when he at least told her to serve herself on the silverware, though Moira had to wonder, and had to wonder aloud, if perhaps her fingers had gone the way of her legs. Sloughing off like dead leaves and leaving her entirely helpless.

And there was a smile she didn't like the look of. “Thank you, Sean,” she said, “I am looking forward to the breakfast you’ve prepared.” Oh, aye, the lady of the manor was letting it be known she expected service. As the sausages came up, Moira considered again letting them take wing across the room, toward the table. But Sean was between here and there, looking more confused than he ought, so again the auburn haired woman managed to keep hold of the foodstuffs.

“Am I to take it, then, your official stance on this dilemma is strictly hands off?” she asked over her shoulder though it was plain he'd said nothing to suggest such a thing. Twisting words to suit her again. It was enough to make her wonder if the woman knew any other way. At least she'd not asked for that feeding Moira had half expected. “No training exercise. Not even a play of their own devising to perform for everyone here to help pass the time?”

Her own browns joining Sean's in their earlier downward spiral, she gave her head a shake, kept the sausages securely on the plate and set them upon the counter. The better to avoid continued temptation.

“Now, wait, I didn’t-“ Sean began, breaking off as his own renewed confusion seemed to catch up with him. Was Generation X in the practice of putting on stage performances? Or was this some odd sports reference the White Queen had pulled from her brain for whatever reason she thought might suit her?

Better to ponder why there were sun and clouds or where the birds learned their songs as to attempt to maneuver the workings of Emma's mind, Moira decided, leaving the sausages and Sean to his confusion for the moment to reach for more plates.

From the corner of her eyes, she caught the shake of his head, and heard the sigh that joined with it. “I’ve no idea where you’re driving that, Emma,” he told her honestly and with maybe just a touch of resignation. “How many times do I have to tell you that these conversations could all go smoother if you’d just say what you mean, not what catches your fancy as wit?”

Getting the plates, she moved to set them on the counter, mumbling, "I've an idea she prefers it so." To Sean, or to Emma as well. It made no matter to her and her own opinions were hardly ever a secret.

“I never said I’d let this go with my hands off it,” he pointed out instead, for all the good it would likely do him. “But before we go and tangle ourselves up in our own cleverness, why don’t we try and see how far we can get by treating them like ad-“ looking over as he broke off, it was easy enough to guess what he was skirting around. Playing with words to circumvent more of them being twisted around. For all the good that was likely to do him as well, “-like the way we’d like to see as rational people? Get them in a room, and talking to each other, and we’ll see how far a wee touch of civility might get us.”

Sliding a plate toward Sean to pick whatever he'd please, Moira reached for her coffee mug again, letting the breakfast be for a moment. Taking a slow sip, she set her attention onto the other woman again with keen, green eyes. "They need guiding, not jerking into line or leaving be to let run wild," she began to the other woman, knowing it would likely fall on deaf ears. "No thing ever has to be one extreme or the other."

Though she well suspected that there was only the one, with no other, when it came to Emma. And that was which ever suited her best.

"Sean has the right of it." Moira nodded her head his way briefly. "They're not brainless. Treat them as though you know that and want something more in this than to be the only one with the right of it all."

Expecting the White Queen to say what she meant in any straightforward, meaningful way wasn't likely anything anyone would see. But there might be some faint hope that she'd be willing to make the occasional concession to what was best for the children themselves above the rest.
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White Queen
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If it needed to be done, Emma would do it, which she expected would come as no surprise to anyone in the room. No more so than when it came to protecting her charges. She would be judge and jury and more if that’s what it took to spare them the same fate as her Hellions.

As far as this matter was concerned, however, Emma was not so inclined to act as the sole authority as Sean and Moira believed. Really, did they think she would have bothered to ask Sean’s opinion at all if she intended to keep her own counsel for resolving the conflict between Layla and the rest of their students?

Time and talking were all well and good, but should those prove unproductive, should their conflict only continue to grow, what then? Finding a common cause to unify them seemed a sensible enough option to explore. Cooperation, after all, could be just as effective at encouraging a dialogue as a dialogue could be at encouraging cooperation. Sean was at least in favor of the idea on principle, even if he was far too concerned with vetoing an idea which Emma had never proposed nor implied, so perhaps they could manage a discussion on that.

Or they could waste time on moral lectures and their philosophical differences on how their students were to be treated. It seemed a common fallback when Sean had no actual ideas, complete with poorly thought out metaphors. No, the students were not tugboats to be steered as Emma and Sean saw fit. The two of them were the tugboats, and their responsibility was to guide the students. To encourage them, to ensure they knew how to use their gifts properly and to protect them from whatever might threaten them, including each other.

Sean made to object, of course, but Emma chose that moment to see if he would be so kind as to bring her a plate and silverware so she could have her breakfast like a civilized human being. Perhaps this might all go smoothly if they weren’t discussing it over empty stomachs. Emma was so looking forward to the meal she’d been assured Sean deserved the credit for.

Of course that came with the requisite commentary from Moira, but that was easy enough to weather. For Emma. Sean seemed altogether increasingly nervous with every word that passed between the two women.

Well, if Sean was having trouble coming up with suggestions, perhaps Emma could provoke him into some form of inspiration. Was she to take his lack of ideas as a preference to a hands-off policy? Or perhaps she could think of some for him. There were plenty of projects available that might suit his ideals about building a better world or simply provide an innocent way to pass the time.

“Now, wait, I didn’t-“ Sean began to protest from his station by the stove before he broke off in confusion, giving Moira a look not unlike a basset hound trying to sort out a strange bit of music. Shaking that off with a sigh, he gathered enough of his wits back to speak again. “I’ve no idea where you’re driving that, Emma,” he said, sounding a bit at a loss. “How many times do I have to tell you that these conversations could all go smoother if you’d just say what you mean, not what catches your fancy as wit?”

"I've an idea she prefers it so." Moira volunteered in a muttered voice as she set plates on the counter. As if assessing Emma’s personality was the issue they were here to discuss. It would have been simple enough to give both remarks the answers they deserved, but as Sean clearly had more to say, Emma chose to bide her time for the moment.

“I never said I’d let this go with my hands off it,” he informed her, apparently having forgotten that the majority of their conversation so far had involved his opinions of things Emma had never said. “But before we go and tangle ourselves up in our own cleverness, why don’t we try and see how far we can get by treating them like ad-“ He broke off, then, clearly anticipating Emma’s response. The former White Queen’s eyes narrowed slightly at his presumptiveness. “-like the way we’d like to see as rational people? Get them in a room, and talking to each other, and we’ll see how far a wee touch of civility might get us.”

Taking a quick sip of her coffee, Emma gave Sean a patiently pleased smile, “Well, perhaps we may finally be getting somewhere,” she said. True, it was mostly a variation on the same ‘get them talking’ theme he’d been championing from the start, but at least this time it was in the form of an actual course of action.

Moira met Emma’s eyes at that moment, sipping her coffee as she regarded her. "They need guiding, not jerking into line or leaving be to let run wild," she said, and who was it who’d spoken of guiding them earlier? Well, perhaps Sean would be more open to the concept with it coming from the Scottish woman. "No thing ever has to be one extreme or the other. Sean has the right of it. They're not brainless. Treat them as though you know that and want something more in this than to be the only one with the right of it all."

Arching one delicate blonde brow her way, Emma set her coffee down and turned an unflinching look upon both of them. “As difficult as it may be for you to believe, we both want the same thing, here,” she informed Sean. “And that is whatever is best for our students. I did say we should look into other options if they can’t work things out on their own, and if you feel that can best be managed by putting them all in a room to talk through it, I see no reason not to give it a try.” Really, how difficult was that? And he wanted to talk about making their discussions smoother.

“I would suggest we sit with each of them individually first, however,” Emma continued. “To get a better idea of their concerns so that we might adequately prepare for them to meet as a group.” Emma had refereed enough clashes of will between both these students and the Hellions to know how quickly a wild card could utterly derail a progress they might otherwise achieve. Best to root out such things ahead of time.
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Banshee
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Lord and the Almighty. What was it now? Plays? Where was Emma driving this time, with her quick retorts? Sean didn’t know, and that certainly wasn’t a first time. Or even a tenth, by now. How many times did he have to tell her that these conversations could go smoother if she’d only say what she meant, and not the pieces of wit that caught her fancy? He’d never much enjoyed playing catch up at every turn in a conversation - it reminded him all too much of times with his cousin, for one thing.

There was nothing wrong with his ears though, and he could hear Moira muttering there at the counter. Jaysis, and if it wasn’t one of them jabbing at the other, then it was the other setting their needles back the other way. Not that Emma had anything to say about it this time, apparently. Not about her preference, as Mo would have it, and not about his plea either. Biding her time, perhaps. Or… well, and he didn’t know what, but if she was willing to sheathe her claws this time, he’d go right on and take the opportunity to keep going.

Before she’d had a chance to change her mind, as it were. For he should just get back to the point of this, aye, and point out that he’d never said that he thought to let this go, hands off. But first, what if they didn’t go and treat them as- as rational people, he corrected midway through the sentence. Sean saw his colleague’s thin eyebrows draw down over narrowing eyes, and guessed he might be skirting thinning ice there. She never liked being anticipated.

But he’d been working with her for a year now, and she wasn’t always as full of surprises as she liked to think herself. For now, he’d push ahead with his point anyway, and make his suggestion, as plain and straightforward as he could make it. Get the students in a room, and talking to each other, and then they’d see how far they could get with that.

As he finished, there was Mo, sliding an empty plate toward his hand. Sean took it with a quick smile for her, seeing her taking her coffee mug up, and half-wondering where the feck he’d managed to leave his own in all of this, when Emma spoke again.

“Well, perhaps we may finally be getting somewhere,” she said. With approval. And when he turned back her way, trying to still his surprise, she was smiling.

Jaysis. Maybe she still had a surprise or two up her sleeve after all. Or… well, she didn’t often go in for real sleeves, of course, but… well, he’d just leave that metaphor standing anyway.

“They need guiding, not jerking into line or leaving be to let run wild,” Moira spoke into the silence that followed, meeting the other woman’s eyes with one of the intent, measuring looks she’d always been so good at. “No thing ever has to be one extreme or the other.” That was true. For sure. Sean had half started to nod, but her next words were that “Sean has the right of it,” and just like that, he thought better of that nod, for how it would look on the other side of this.

Either that he was set on making this a question or numbers, or - worse, perhaps - that he’d need Mo to step in to fight his battles and explain his words for him. Like that, when she nodded her head his way - a kind gesture aye, but (whatever it might look like at just this particular moment), he had been doing this for a year now, and with Emma. On his own, and without needing her to play referee for his decisions. “They’re not brainless. Treat them as though you know that and want something more in this than to be the only one with the right of it all.”

Sean nodded to that, for she still had the right of it too. But he did it briefly, so as to try not to look like he was seeking her approval for his opinions. “Aye, thanks Lass,” he said, hearing that touch of stiffness creep into his voice, and not liking it much, but not knowing what he could do about it either. “But-“ what he’d have liked more than anything right now was for her to trust him to be capable of handling this for himself, and do his job (for that was what this was) without screwing it all up or needing her to do it for him. He knew he could, he’d just… like for Mo to know it too, that was all.

None of which he could figure out to say without sounding like a wee gawpin pratt though, so Sean didn’t say any of it, just looked her way and hoped that maybe she’d see that, and leave well be for just a wee space.

He was still hoping he hadn’t just gone and made that all the way back to where it had been before this morning when Emma set her coffee down, and took her point back up again, just as smooth as she ever was. “As difficult as it may be for you to believe, we both want the same thing, here,” she informed Sean, who nodded awkwardly, but not at all reluctantly. Aye, he did know that. Or he believed that, else he’d never be able to do this job. She wanted- “And that is whatever is best for our students.’ That. Exactly so. It was not the goal that they differed on, he knew that, so much as the way of getting there, and the ways they should be measuring whether they’d achieved it or no.

“I did say we should look into other options if they can’t work things out on their own, and if you feel that can best be managed by putting them all in a room to talk through it, I see no reason not to give it a try.”

“Aye?” Sean half-asked, scanning that sentence for any lurking hooks that might be waiting there to snag him, but finding none. So he nodded, getting rid of all but the last wee dregs of wariness. “Good then.”

Maybe he’d be able to snag himself a sausage or two before this was all over after all.

“I would suggest we sit with each of them individually first, however,” Emma continued though, just when he’d got to the point of convincing himself that for once, there might not be a but to her agreement. “To get a better idea of their concerns so that we might adequately prepare for them to meet as a group.”

His automatic reaction was to open his mouth to tell her exactly what he thought about that suggestion, but Sean clamped it down just as quickly as it had come, closing that great eejit trap before it could do that. For better or worse, Emma was his colleague, and his partner in this, and that meant treating her as he’d like to be treated himself, he knew that. “Ahh… well… it’s worth thinking about, for sure,” he said carefully, then shot a very brief look toward Moira, as if his eyes might somehow be able to do the business of asking her, just this once, to hold the thoughts that near any other time he’d have liked nothing better than to hear, and let him navigate through this part on his own. It was his job, after all. And he’d like to show her that he wasn’t that same flapping add-on he’d felt like sometimes in those last months at Muir.

Looking back to Emma then, Sean worked his lips together, trying to find the way to start it. Well, there was no point in being anything but truthful when you were speaking to a telepath, was there? “But if I’m to be honest with you, I don’t know if that wouldn’t only get us the opposite of what we were trying to do,” he said, stepping up to lean against the edge of the island, on the side across from her. Facing her, colleague-to-colleague.

“We’ve been a year with these kids, Emma,” he continued, not that he thought she needed that reminder, any more than he did. “Could you really say that any one of them wouldn’t take it as us prying, and get their hackles set and their guards up? Apart from Paige - and I’ll grant you, I’m sure she’d be happy to tell you anything you wanted to know, just to make you proud-“ he had to qualify that there, because jaysis knew that wee girl sometimes seemed to think the sun rose and set with trying to win some kind of grade or approval from Emma. And while he was thinking about that, “-and maybe Everett, if we handled it right. But the other four, none of them trust easily, and they’re allergic to feeling like they’re being managed, as we both know.”

Sean spread his hand to one side, meaning the gesture to fill in for all that knowledge they’d be finding over these last twelve or so months. Jubilee, Angelo, they’d grown up places where they’d learned not to trust anyone coming at them with anything that might be a personal question. Monet was closer with her secrets than a drunk with his last beer, and as for Starsmore, well, it was hard enough getting a civil word (or thought, rather) out of him even when you weren’t trying to get him to talk about himself. Try to get their concerns out of any one of them, Sean couldn’t help but think they’d only guarantee getting no single productive word out of any of them for days, whatever they tried to do after.

“And if Layla Miller’s as you say, I can’t think she’ll be any different, either,” he finished, shrugging a wee bit helplessly, and keeping his eyes on her, and nowhere else. Not that he didn’t think her heart was truly in the right place with this, of course. But with that set of methods, he was having trouble seeing that goal turn out like they wanted.
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Moira MacTaggert
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Emma Frost, Moira more than suspected, liked the complicating of things and running everyone about her around in circles. With twists of words and phrases, calculated to throw others off balance. All fine and good, the geneticist supposed, but not a thing you wanted when it came to the care and keeping of children.

Not a thing likely to keep you in good stead with these children they were leading, either.

Aye, they needed guiding, but they didn't need jerking into line or leaving to be let run wild as they pleased. Not that she'd expect Emma to listen to any of it, since it seemed to run contrary to what she had set in her head. But a thing rarely needed to be one extreme or the other.

A start of a nod from Sean, but then it arrested itself as she pointed out to the other woman that he did, indeed have the right of it. No, he'd not want to seem to be taking sides, would he? Though, in truth, there were sides that needed choosing here all the same. These teenagers they were discussing, they weren't the brainless sort, however they might act the part at times. As Sean had put it already, treating them as though you truly knew that and expected something more of them than brainlessness would serve the lot of them better than any struggling the White Queen would do simply so that she could be in the right about whatever point she chose to espouse.

This time, Sean followed all the way with his nod. Brief though it was. “Aye, thanks Lass,” he said, and there was something else in it, too, wasn't there? Something a bit standoffish and the auburn haired woman felt her brows begin to draw downward “But-“ and he left off there, as he did sometimes when he was fraught with indecision as to words or actions. And what was that about?

It took no longer than a moment more's look at him for it to filter into her brain still addled from too little sleep for all the things pulling at it. Aye, and so it was just as she'd said, then. Emma Frost would waltz in, with her newest immediate need and do exactly as she'd meant to do. Fling whatever wrench into the works as she could.

So be it, then. She'd hold her peace and leave it in Sean's hands, to deal with as he pleased. T'was his job and his school and that he'd kept any wits about him at all this long, if this was the normal way of things, was testament enough that he was well capable. Even if she hadn't known that long before now or before Emma Frost.

A short nod back to him and Moira fell silent, sipping at her coffee as she listened to the back and forth. Emma trying to insist on her perfect reason-ability and the agreement that the main concern was what was best for the students. Aye, well, it was something, though she suspected the definition of 'best' might differ from her to Sean.

And then that no more than barely agreed to before there was talk from her of taking them all in, one by one, to quiz before sitting them down together. Something likely certain to complicate things more, rather than less, but it was Sean's to handle and welcome to it, Moria MacTaggert decided. He could, and did - in that way that he had of coming at it with as little offense as any tongue could muster - and as he did so, explaining to the White Queen (though little good she thought that would do him), why was she standing about instead of at least feeding herself the breakfast that was cooling to lukewarm even as she thought it?

Turning and still keeping half an ear toward what was said, Moira looked for the eggs. Now where- Ah, there. Taking her plate and fork, she picked off a bit of those, eyes sliding sidelong toward Sean, leaning against the island counter toward Emma, Muttered briefly to herself before arresting that and putting her attention on the sausages. Moving to them next as she heard Sean say, “-and maybe Everett, if we handled it right. But the other four, none of them trust easily, and they’re allergic to feeling like they’re being managed, as we both know.”

And as well they should be, Moira mused, also to herself. They'd all seen the results of Emma's 'management' on that poor Jones girl. And on Warpath. Times she wondered if that incident, and the others like it, had flown from the minds of everyone else about.

Her own plate done, she reached for Sean's. No need to let the breakfast go to waste while he did what he could to talk sense with Emma. He had his hands filled with that, and she could easy enough fill him a plate.

“And if Layla Miller’s as you say, I can’t think she’ll be any different, either,” [Sean] finished with a shrug as Moira set the sausage on the plate beside the eggs she'd portioned him and reached over to set it on the counter next to his elbow. The Miller girl, she'd be every bit the same and then some, from what Moira had heard and seen herself.

Every bit the handful that Illyana and Feron were and could be, and possibly then some. But she held her tongue on that as well, saying only a quick, "The breakfast won't be getting any warmer," to him by way of reminder before turning back to her own plate.

It wasn't a breakfast, or time, she'd expected or intended to share with the White Queen, but even by her own accounting she likely should've expected just that all the same. The good lord knew, if this was the other woman's idea of running things when it came to the students, mayhap there was even good reason.
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White Queen
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Yes, yes, Emma's definition of what qualified as best for the children, or the proper way to see to it most likely differed from that of Sean and Moira. That was hardly something Emma needed to pry into their thoughts to know was there. Quite the opposite, in fact. Their opinions were radiating off of them so strongly the former White Queen was tempted to erect a psychic barrier around herself just to keep from catching stray thoughts by accident.

Of course she and Sean saw things differently. That should come as a surprise to absolutely no one. For all that their tendency to quarrel, they recognized that they both did their jobs well and (sometimes begrudgingly) conceded that their approaches, while often diametrically opposed, usually turned out to be equally valid. It was a temperamental, but still functional system that kept each of them in check when they really needed it.

A properly mediated group discussion was a perfectly reasonable suggestion, however. Emma had no objections in that regard. It was textbook conflict resolution.

“Aye?” Sean said, sounding like the last thing he expected from Emma in all this was agreement, and perhaps still not completely ready to believe she was being sincere. After a short bit he gave a nod and added a curt, “Good then.”

Splendid. They may very well be making some progress, after all. In that spirit, perhaps Sean would be agreeable to yet another textbook method. It might be wise to speak with their students prior to the meeting, so as to prepare themselves for the issues likely to be raised. The last thing they needed was for one of them to unexpectedly blurt something out which could set off the others and turn the entire thing into an episode of Jerry Springer.

Then again, it would appear Emma's estimation of Sean's response was overly optimistic. His mouth was quick to open, but snapped shut just as quickly, with no sound made in the interim. Well, she supposed he deserved some credit for exercising some civility in composing whatever response he meant to give.

“Ahh… well… it’s worth thinking about, for sure,” he began, much too carefully. His tone and delivery indicating that he didn't consider it worth thinking about at all, apart from being opposed to it. The quick look he directed at Doctor MacTaggert did positively nothing to disabuse Emma of the notion that a very large 'but' was lurking behind his attempt to sound reasonable. Moira, apparently taking her cue, turned her attention back to the breakfast they were preparing.

Sean's blue-green eyes returned to Emma, who sat watching him, composed as ever as she waited for him to drop the inevitable other shoe. “But if I’m to be honest with you, I don’t know if that wouldn’t only get us the opposite of what we were trying to do,” he finally said, taking up a spot at the other side of the kitchen island from her, leaning against it. And here she thought she was supposed to be the cynic of the two of them.

“We’ve been a year with these kids, Emma,” he said, a fact of which she was perfectly aware, but which was apparently crucial to the point he wished to make. “Could you really say that any one of them wouldn’t take it as us prying, and get their hackles set and their guards up? Apart from Paige - and I’ll grant you, I’m sure she’d be happy to tell you anything you wanted to know, just to make you proud-“

Emma's brow made a slow climb as he spoke and beneath the counter, her free hand tightened against her knee, but her expression remained smooth and unchanging. She gave little notice to Moira as she bent across the counter to place some eggs on her plate. “-and maybe Everett, if we handled it right. But the other four, none of them trust easily, and they’re allergic to feeling like they’re being managed, as we both know.”

Her co-headmaster made a sweeping gesture with his hand, and Emma understood the meaning behind it well enough. By then, Moira had finished filling her plate and had moved on to Sean's. He was careful, though, ever so careful not to take his eyes off Emma. “And if Layla Miller’s as you say, I can’t think she’ll be any different, either,” he said, giving that final thought a shrug that seemed to suggest he meant no harm by raising these concerns.

Were that true, Emma might think he had a personal road to Hell halfway paved by now, after all that.

After nearly a week of foiling Paige and Jubilee's defiant attempts to conduct rescue missions, of telling all of them to be patient, to let those better qualified handle matters, and on top of all that, to accept the agent behind all the recent chaos as their newest peer, Emma was rather inclined to think they might appreciate someone willing to show a genuine interest in them for a change. A timely reinforcement that their concerns did, in fact, matter could do wonders for both their attitudes and morale. Approach them with respect and don't take sides. Make it about what they wanted Emma and Sean to know and nothing more, rather than what they thought their teachers wanted to hear. It was practically standard documented procedure. One with proven results.

Emma was quite aware of how their students responded to management, and knew as well as Sean their issues with trust. How unexpected, then, that after a year, his assessment of that, too, seemed to be at odds with Emma's.

Would they have peeled back half so many layers M wrapped herself in if not for the private talks both Emma and Sean had taken the time to initiate? Jonothon's very first victory after joining the school had taken the form of a great act of trust, and even after Ms. Edgington betrayed him for revenge, he was still willing to trust his first love. Angelo may have grown up amidst the street gangs of the Barrio, faking his own death after developing his powers, but he'd only chosen to enroll in the school at all because Dr. McCoy had taken the time to speak with him, and he'd been the first and most devoted friend to Artie and Leech after they'd been taken on.

As for Jubilee, what was it she'd said last Christmas Eve to everyone, Emma included? Ah, yes. "All I'm sayin' is, we should be able to tell each other anything. Even things we never told another person. Ever."

Ms. Miller was more likely to be an issue, but only if it was a cross purposes with whatever agenda she might have at the moment. Past that, the girl seemed to take an almost perverse joy in the sound of her own voice, especially if she could show off the many ways in which she 'knew stuff.' All of them, for that matter, were usually more than willing to speak their minds about almost anything. In a case like this, with no personal secrets at stake, there was little reason to expect that to change.

Likewise, of the many, many times their students had resisted efforts to manage them, Emma had never known them to respond so negatively to attempts at peacekeeping or peacemaking. Even when Jubilee and M's feud was at its worst, they were still willing to admit that they didn't necessarily want to be at each other's throats, and still cared about the other's well being.

Emma could raise any or all of those points, but she was less concerned with countering Sean's logic than with why he had chosen that line to begin with. She wasn't entirely sure which possible explanation was more disappointing. A.) That he was at best exaggerating his argument, at worst making the entire thing up, presumably out of a preference to outright veto Emma's suggestion, rather than challenge it with an open mind, or B.) That he seemed to honestly believe that, if these were genuine concerns, she would have failed to take them into account, or care, if she had. Neither boded well for his true opinion of her motives, her instincts or her competency as an educator.

"Of course," she said sweetly, schooling her expression into a smile normally reserved for investors and visits from the Board of Education. She gently set her cup down on the table, eyes never leaving his. "Must have slipped my mind." Humoring him. It didn't bloody matter whether he realized that's what she was doing or not. It was clear enough what she could expect from him were she to continue to argue or offer any new suggestions. Another round of the same, which would only be a waste of both their time and of no benefit to their students whatsoever.

Composure, Emma. She would not be made a fool of because of this. Least of all by one of the few men she'd come to feel legitimate respect for, and the only person since joining the Hellfire Club she'd been willing to permit herself to be even the slightest bit vulnerable around. She wouldn't even be angry with him. If she should be angry with anyone, it was perhaps more suitably directed at Charles Xavier.

"The breakfast won't be getting any warmer," Moira said to Sean, then, having delivered his plate. Emma, of course, would be expected to serve herself, but that only served to punctuate a welcome break in the discussion.

"It would be a shame to let it go to waste," the blonde woman replied, taking up her plate and fork and rising from her seat to wander over to the eggs and sausages. It would be terribly rude to reach across for any of that, after all. "We'll save the rest of the discussion for our next meeting," she informed him, just in case he had any designs to pick it up again here in the kitchen.

Turning toward the platters, Emma set about fixing up her own plate, first adding some eggs, then moving on to the sausages. "Oh, I've been meaning to ask, Sean. Have you been able to spend any time with your daughter, yet?" she asked, offhandedly. He wasn't going to have a better chance than this to reconnect with her, after all. She had to wonder if he'd finally worked up the nerve to do it.
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Banshee
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How d’ye do it, Cassidy lad? Here you are, with two women who not only couldn’t be more different the one from the other than the land was from the sea, but who’d he’d not be surprised to find would sooner tell you that the wet one was the dry than agree with each other, and yet still… still, ye manage to find yourself a path that was nearly bound to annoy both of them at once.

Sean wished he had an answer for himself to that. Truly, he did. All he had, though, was a conviction (right or not, he didn’t know) that this was the way he had to go at this moment. So there it was. In the space of only a moment, here he was, not only trying to tell Mo with a look that he’d appreciate her keeping silent on this, but also explaining to Emma that try as he might, he couldn’t agree with her suggestion. Not as she’d said it.

Aye, as like as water and stone these two were, but he could still guess that neither of them were happy with him now, for all neither said a word. Was it almost worse that way? Nay, Sean decided, near as soon as he’d considered the idea. Moira might be conspicuously attending to the eggs, and Emma might be silently considering him, or maybe her own thoughts, but ominous though either of those could be taken to be, he still wouldn’t be inclined to trade them for the kind of verbal flagellation he knew (personally) either one of them was more than capable of.

Except that the silence stretched on, especially (he thought) from Emma’s direction. And aye, that did make him uneasy, for this was hardly the time he’d expected for her to forgo an opportunity for an argument. He’d disagreed with her, aye. They’d done it before, and they’d do it again, and Sean liked to imagine that that was something healthy and real, not some artificial case of taking turns to capitulate, just to give the appearance of equality.

“Of course," she said finally, after what felt to Sean like an age of waiting. Honey and pleasantries in each note too, and they didn’t disappear as she continued, “Must have slipped my mind.”

And what was he supposed to make of that, then? “That doesn’t sound like you,” Sean observed, as neutrally as it was possible for a body to manage, because he truly didn’t know what to make of that answer. She wasn’t forgetful, and she certainly wasn’t usually of a habit of politely deferring to his objections, so…

“The breakfast won't be getting any warmer,” Moira interjected, and… jaysis, after all of that, she’d fixed him a plate with sausages and eggs, which she was now pushing toward him. Sean essayed a smile her way, though he wasn’t at all sure how it would be received at this point, and reached it, forgoing cutlery in favor of taking a sausage in his hand direct.

“It would be a shame to let it go to waste,” Emma added. Jaysis, now why was she getting out of her seat? After all that, the sausages she’d had him bring her weren’t to her liking? What was he supposed to do?

Nay, he decided, resolving to let it past, and focusing on his own sausage, which he lifted to his lips and took a bite of. It was a bite worth savoring, the more because he’d barely managed to swallow it before his colleague’s vocal chimes were casually lacing the air one more time. “We’ll save the rest of the discussion for our next meeting," she informed him. Sean nodded, feeling more than a wee bit grateful. Aye, he’d appreciate not having to try to do this now, with Moira here, being all too aware of what she might think of him at every move he made. That was a kindness, for sure, from Emma, and all the more for being an unexpected one.

And whether it would do what he’d been told to his arteries or not, this sausage was certainly delicious. He’d risk another bite-

”Oh, I've been meaning to ask, Sean. Have you been able to spend any time with your daughter, yet?" [Emma] asked, offhandedly.

Sean started, in spite of himself, reaching one hand up toward his head to fulfill a reflexive urge to run awkwardly through his hair, and only narrowly managing to avoid the disaster that would have ensued given that the hand that had chosen to do that was the one still holding a forkful of sausage. Suddenly, Emma wanted to know about Terry?

“Aye,” he said, belatedly pulling the hand holding the fork out of the range of his hair before it could become a disaster, but smiling a little in spite of himself, albeit a wee bit cautiously, “here and there.” Not as much as he might have liked, no, but with the amount of any day he managed to spend running between one thing and another with their charges, and those not always overlapping with the spaces in her own busy days that Terry was willing to allot him, that couldn’t really come as a surprise.

“She’s doing very well for herself,” Sean added, feeling the need to continue, carefully blotting out from his own mind any consideration of the matters that had unavoidably filtered up, as they must in a place like this, about any kind of those matters that might have concerned the time she’d been spending with Kylun. Those were her own business, and - as she’d been at pains to point out to him, time and again - her own life, and as such, not his business. He knew that. And aye, she had her friends, and a role in the team she'd joined that she was proud of, so of course he was proud too, and aye, happy for her.

Maybe now he was learning to accept that - to put aside the wishes and dreams he’d had about the little girl he’d imagined for his own years ago, and realize that after all, his daughter was a woman grown, with her own life, and the right to choose for herself how much she wanted her father to be part of that.

“I hear that she might be thinking of joining you in Muir soon,” he added though, taking advantage of the turn in conversation to turn his attention to Moira, with the opportunity that afforded to speak to her again. Regardless of what that might say about his little girl and Kylun (a nice young man, to be sure, but there was nice and there was nice enough for a man’s daughter), it might still be a relief to know she’d be outside of whatever that man Cable was playing at with the team he'd put together.
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Moira MacTaggert
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A pause, from Emma Frost of the kind that simply had Moira wondering what new devilment the woman might be drudging up from the depth of her brain. Moira could only think that was the only thing it might be. Not that the other woman might be thinking any of that over as worth consideration or listening to.

Nay, not the White Queen.

“Of course," said she, with a cloying sweetness that was nothing if not suspicious. At least to Moira's mind and her eyes cut that way briefly as the other woman added an equally suspiciously pleasant, “Must have slipped my mind.”

Oh, aye, of course it had.

Holding her tongue, still (though she'd make no apologies for the soft, abrupt huff of breath that chose that time to break free), Moira occupied herself with putting food to plate as Sean commented, “That doesn’t sound like you,” as casually as he could manage to make himself sound. Aye, and that was a fact, not one that made her wonder less what ideas for working around or over to do as she pleased Emma might have rolling about in her skull.

Those words she left unspoken as well, taking the plate of food the step or two toward the counter and sliding it in beside Sean's elbow. It'd not be getting any the warmer for waiting. If it was discussion he was after, he could do it around his breakfast.

Sean sent a smile her way that had a brief hint of an answering one flickering on her own lips as she picked her coffee up again and considered her own meal. A thousand wonders they hadn't been invaded by more than Emma so far, once the scent of food cooking scattered through the house.

She'd have liked to have said that luck was with them this morn, but the other woman now getting up to poke about in the rest of the food as she said, “It would be a shame to let it go to waste,” when there were good sausages already in front of her, gave the lie to that thought.

"I'm pleased we're of the same mind about that," Moira told her, as neutrally as Sean had himself, then put her attention back to her coffee and her own plate, now that her heart's desire for the tacit approval of Emma Frost had been met. Och, and what a morning it was shaping up to be. Why was it she'd ever had the thought of a quiet cup of coffee and a bit of peace and quiet?

More time in this house than she could count should've taught her better long ago.

Picking at her eggs with her fork, the geneticist glanced back toward Sean as Emma proposed tabling the discussion for their next meeting. It didn't take knowing him for so long to read the relief in Sean's nod of agreement. Well, he'd managed to come out with his skin more or less intact this last year with the woman, Moira could do naught else but trust that he'd continue to do the same. And that he'd not be manipulated into doing whatever self-serving thing the White Queen got into her head was for everyone's 'own good' simply to appease her.

Aye, he was a good man, and not a stupid one. Sometimes too willing to try to keep the peace by half, but he'd keep the welfare of those children in the front of his head regardless. That was a thing she knew and had no reason to doubt. Whatever schemes Emma might spring on him. If she hadn't learned the truth of it yet, Emma Frost would find Sean Cassidy to be as stubborn and unmovable as the day was long when he saw the need.

If she, herself, didn't care for the way the woman did whatever she could to separate him from any influence but her own (a thing she knew Sean himself didn't, and likely wouldn't, entirely see), well, there'd simply be a need on her part to make certain Emma didn't accomplish that.

”Oh, I've been meaning to ask, Sean. Have you been able to spend any time with your daughter, yet?" That from Emma, which seemed to Moira a curious question. Mayhap as off-handed as it appearance suggested, but it seemed safer to consider everything suspect at this moment.

“Aye,” Sean answered, seeming to...be about to stick his sausage onto his head? Moira shook her head fondly and considered that it might, perhaps, be somehow beneficial to his follicles, “here and there.” There was a comment there, on the tip of her own tongue, about the difficulty of not bumping into anyone and everyone in this house, given any amount of time about, but Moira held that in and filled her mouth with more egg instead. “She’s doing very well for herself,” Sean added as one way of putting it, but she'd not say that, either. Especially in front of Emma.

Though stopping to consider the bourach made earlier in the week from household gossip where Rahne and that Sassenach Wisdom were concerned, the auburn haired woman decided that it was as well not to bring up idle gossip. Besides, Kylun was a fine man and both of them grown adults.

T'was a shame, though, that fate, with no little help from Black Tom Cassidy, had conspired to separate Sean and Theresa so much of her life. For his sake, she wished it could've been otherwise, even though she'd seen Terry as something of a rival at the time the truth had come out. A symbol of something she could never give Sean, however much she might wish otherwise.

“I hear that she might be thinking of joining you in Muir soon,” Sean added, turned her way now and jolting her out of her own, useless thoughts of things past and things that couldn't be changed. And well that it did.

"So Kurt tells me," Moira answered, looking up to him and pausing with her eggs on her fork and halfway off her plate. "I don't know that there's a firm decision yet, but the consideration seems to be there." And if anyone could manage yet another, unexpected addition to the team, it would be Nightcrawler. Good man and good leader and she was proud of him as she was all of Excalibur.

"I'd no idea when we came that we'd likely return with twice as many as we brought," she added, smile etching it's way slowly onto her face again. "But that seems to be the way of it and we've more than enough room to spare. Terry's as welcome as the rest, if it's what she decides."
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White Queen
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Freedom Fighters
The discussion, at least for the moment, had gone as far as it was likely to under the circumstances. Hardly anywhere at all, as it turned out. Calling it a discussion at all seemed generous. It barely counted as one of their frequent disagreements. A dissection. That was perhaps the best term for what this had quickly degenerated into. Emma was not about to waste her breath just to have every word picked apart for flaws, real or imagined, which would then be presented to her as if she should have been aware of them the entire time.

Very well. If Sean wanted to talk to Emma as if she was incapable of assessing the likely effect of her suggested course of action, she could perhaps placate him by playing along. Best to nip it in the bud before it eclipsed what was already a dreadfully premature morning.

It did appear that her acquiescence caught Sean by surprise. As well it should. Along with an incredulous huff from Moira's direction. “That doesn’t sound like you,” he said. Fancy that.

Keeping her expression pleasant, Emma allowed a faint edge to slip into her voice as she said, "Oh, don't be silly, Sean. This isn't about me." Unless he was trying to make it about her, in which case he'd best be more plain about it. It would be a disappointment, to sure. Emma would much rather focus on the welfare of their students, but at least there would be no question about where he preferred stand at the moment.

Moira's timely reminder that there was breakfast to be eaten provided a welcome opportunity to divert the conversation away from the subject entirely. They mustn't let it go to waste after all the hard work she and Sean had put into it. "I'm pleased we're of the same mind about that," Moira replied noncommittally.

"It is rather rare, isn't it?" Emma said as she rose from her seat. She'd almost expected the only opinion they shared was their mutual disgust with that crude, uncultured spy who had by somehow managed to seduce Katherine. Ignoring the look Sean gave her, she set about putting some eggs on her plate. Such an aggravating man sometimes. How did he manage to get under her skin the way he did?

Later. They could talk, or they could squabble, later. That much he agreed to readily enough, nodding with evident relief around the bite of sausage he'd taken. For now, a change of subject was in order, and Emma decided to ask whether Sean had been able to spend any time with his daughter over the past week or so. She could hardly expect they hadn't, but it was sometimes difficult to know what to expect when it came to those two.

Sean gave a start and appeared to come close to stabbing himself in the head with his own sausage. Was it really so hard for him to picture her taking a mild interest in his life outside the school?

It was certainly a more welcome topic than her relationship with her siblings.

“Aye,” he said, smiling and moving his hand out of the way with an awkwardness that bordered on charming. “here and there.”

"Splendid," Emma remarked, gracefully sliding back into her seat. She added a few sausages to her plate from the platter Sean had set out earlier for her. Sensing that Sean had yet more to share, she said nothing more.

“She’s doing very well for herself,” he continued, sounding proud, but also seeming to hold back. Could he be thinking of some of the rumors that had been circulating about his daughter? Or was it perhaps concern over the mercenary nature of the team she'd risen to a leadership role in? “I hear that she might be thinking of joining you in Muir soon,” he added.

Well, well. That was an interesting bit of news Emma hadn't come across yet. Emma arched one eyebrow as she took a bite of egg.

It seemed to catch Moira a bit unexpected as well, the older woman pausing halfway toward lifting another forkful of eggs to her mouth. "So Kurt tells me," she said. "I don't know that there's a firm decision yet, but the consideration seems to be there."

Emma pierced one of her sausages with her fork and took a thoughtful bite. There was plenty of time for them to work that out, however the ultimate decision went, given how long they planned to stay.

"I'd no idea when we came that we'd likely return with twice as many as we brought," Moira continued, smiling as she spoke. Apparently the four transplants from the other dimension were beginning to grow on her. "But that seems to be the way of it and we've more than enough room to spare. Terry's as welcome as the rest, if it's what she decides."

"At this rate we'll be seeing new faces on every team," Emma remarked, her fork poised to take another scoop of egg. "Speaking of which, I couldn't help notice how often our young guest from the Power family talks of wishing to be an X-Man." She looked across the table at Sean, meeting his blue-green eyes with placid curiosity. "How would you feel about speaking with her parents to see how they would approve of offering to enroll her in our school? If she's interested, of course."

She might not be a mutant, but who was to say they had to cater exclusively to those born with their powers? The X-Men certainly didn't.
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Banshee
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Angry Guys - Admin
Christ, she was at it again.

Or was she? Was it paranoia, or some last scraps of what had once passed for his preservation instincts that had him turning over what had the surface of a simple question about his daughter, looking for some kind of verbal tripwire? Not to mention just about smearing a sausage through his own bloody hair, which might have been a new low for awkward. Even for him.

But there had been the glib smile, while she did that thing where she twisted his words around to a meaning they both knew they hadn’t had. And that perfectly polite back-and-forth exchange with Moira over the breakfast, and jaysis, that was a type of interaction that you couldn’t hope to ever understand if all you had was a brain built with Y-chromosomes to try to do it, he was sure of it, and…

…now, out of the blue, she was asking him about Terry.

Jaysis. Well, the best he could do would be to answer and hope, wouldn’t it? Aye, he’d seen her over the last few days. Here and there, as it were. And she was doing very well for herself, and that was something that he could be truthful about, and proud, and if there were parts of her business he’d prefer not to have to think on, aye, well… at least he’d not had to go through finding out his daughter had got her head turned by a Black Air operative.

Though it had given him a start, all the same, to hear that about Moira’s wee slip of a girl who’d been, through her mother, a part of his life for years or not. Resigned or not, there were some agencies… aye, well. Enough said on that, especially since it had turned out not to be Rahne at all, but Shadowcat, who’d been doing that turning, and there he had even less business.

Aye, nothing at all would be more than enough said about that. So he’d stick with Terry, and take the opportunity that presented itself to speak to Mo, with news he’d caught that had been a pleasant surprise. She might be joining Excalibur on Muir, that was the rumor.

“So Kurt tells me," Moira answered, looking up to him and pausing with her eggs on her fork and halfway off her plate. "I don't know that there's a firm decision yet, but the consideration seems to be there.” Sean nodded, and didn’t bother trying to mask the smile that came as he met her eyes. Both for Terry, and for the pleasure of getting a moment, however brief it might be, that felt like an ordinary conversation between them once again.

“I’d no idea when we came that we'd likely return with twice as many as we brought," she added, smile etching it's way slowly onto her face again. "But that seems to be the way of it and we've more than enough room to spare. Terry's as welcome as the rest, if it's what she decides.”

“Well, I’ll admit I’d feel easier knowing she was around people I know I can trust to look out for her…” Sean began, realizing only after the words had slipped out of his gawpin eejit of a mouth that they were far and away from being the well-advised ones he should have chosen. He shook his head quickly, as though that somehow might have a chance of erasing them, which of course it didn’t, and had to then move on to looking (with sincere pleading) from one woman to the other. “Ah, jaysis,” he sighed, “And I’d be more than grateful to you both if neither of you ever let her find out I said that.”

Better their relationship might have been doing this last year, aye, but that was exactly the kind of thing he’d always end up saying that’d have Ter doing exactly the opposite, just to prove a point to him about herself, wasn’t it? Jaysis Cassidy, you do this to yourself. Nay, you do.

“At this rate we'll be seeing new faces on every team," Emma remarked, her fork poised to take another scoop of egg. Which was something he should likely be doing from his plate too before too long, or they’d be cold, aye - ah, there was his fork, and Sean got to the point of swapping it for the sausage he’d been holding all this while as his colleague continued along her point, “Speaking of which, I couldn't help notice how often our young guest from the Power family talks of wishing to be an X-Man.”

“Christ…” Sean mused aloud, half his attention occupied with trying to use the fork to break away a mouthful of the eggs, “After this week? Anyone think to check her head for bruising?” There’d be plenty and enough metal flying round that tent for a minute or two, thanks to Lorna. Maybe it hadn’t only been Alex who’d been caught by it? Nay, probably not… but after all and everything that had happened, or at least that they’d found out about this week… well, you wouldn’t have thought it was an advertisement, would you?

He’d caught himself wondering a time or two since Sunday if he’d ever truly wished to be one himself, to be honest. Or if - all those years ago - he’d only traded being Factor Three’s puppet for being someone else’s, with no more free will about his choices than he’d had in that time. But… aye, well, enough said, for it would do no one any good to try to hash that over now. Emma had the look she got when she was coming around to a point, didn’t she? Best to focus on that, for like as not he’d need his wits about him for that, whatever it might be.

“How would you feel about speaking with her parents to see how they would approve of offering to enroll her in our school? If she's interested, of course.”

It took a good deal of Sean’s self control to keep his eyes from straying toward Moira then. Instead, he took his time to think before he spoke, and fed himself a mouthful of egg, taking his time to chew it slowly and thoroughly. “There’s seldom harm in speaking to anyone,” he agreed, once he’d swallowed the morsel. “Were you intending to be speaking there with me, or no?”

He’d not caught that, from her question, and it might be something worth clarifying before he said anything further, might it not?
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