Emma's Flat, Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn. [Feb 2nd, Afternoon, Marvel Time//Friday Afternoon, Fandom Time.]

[icecoldfrost]

Emma had...drunk. A lot. And had only her mutant metabolism to thank for not having alcohol poisoning. Hallelujah, genetic awesomeness. The only thing saving her from an epic hangover was using up the vast majority of the hot water in the building, more coffee than God, and eating an entire box of frozen waffles. Candy had already departed for her own apartment, to shower and finish sleeping off last night's revels, leaving Emma and Jono alone to talk shop.

"So, are you going to tell me why your brain feels like swiss cheese - more than usual - or do I get to guess?" Emma crammed the last bite of waffle in her mouth in a manner that should not be physically possible before pointing her fork at Jono. << You promised. >>

[OOC: For that dude!]

Comments

[icecoldfrost]

"I need to learn how to do that," she said, frowning down at her hands. "I know I can, in theory, but it's not like I have anywhere to learn anymore."

[furnaceface]

"And it's different, actually doing it in the flesh, than running over the hypotheticals of it in your head," Jono agreed, nodding thoughtfully. "It's like once, I had a friend whose powers let him copycat those of other mutants around him... And he used my powers to fly, the bastard. All I managed to do was melt some bloody snow."

There was a fond note in Jono's voice, there. He missed Ev. He'd been a good man.

He spoke of far too many people with that same sort of fondness, these days.

"Funny, I only just remembered that now... So much has happened since. I miss flying." He tilted his head at Emma. "Can't get to the island often, can you?"

[icecoldfrost]

"When I go to the island, it's either a disaster and I don't have time to try new things in a scientific manner because we're fighting for our lives, or I haven't seen Jack in months and we're not getting out of bed for anything less than another invasion," she replied wryly. "Besides, my experimentation with my powers tended to be frowned upon, unless I was with Kerrigan. Something about people whining 'Emma don't zap people it's rude,' it gets tiresome enough that you just stop doing it."

[furnaceface]

Jono was silent for a moment, lips pursed thoughtfully, and for a moment, he was just... Him. Flesh and blood, whole. The fire peeled itself back to a dull roar, there, but not a force of destruction. Just a force of Jono.

"Don't suppose there's anywhere around here that you could safely give it a go?"

[icecoldfrost]

"The sewers, but it's harder to get down there these days, and while Hank can walk me through the theory, again, not a psi," she said, and her smile was hard. "Of course, I can always show up on Xavier's lawn and knock on the door to ask why I was left alone to starve and try not to fry anyone's brain by accident, but I doubt that would go over well. Oh! Or confront the other mutants in the Hellfire Club that yes, I know and they know and we all know who knows and can we stop pretending so I can get some practical work in?" Emma raised an eyebrow at Jono. "I don't give a shit about safe. I'm a mutant; nowhere is safe. But I do need somewhere useful."

[furnaceface]

"Useful," Jono echoed, nodding faintly. "What about Glacia, then? Not all the bloody time or anything, but people are hardly going to bat an eye at somebody throwing powers around in the backyard to Karla's estate. You or me. And it moves double-time compared to Fandom and the like, so you could get twice as much practice time in."

A beat.

"We could. I wouldn't mind seeing if I could figure out that flying trick, myself."

[icecoldfrost]

Emma gave Jono a look that clearly said she thought he'd lost his brain. "Right. Because you figuring out how to fly when you've already sprained your brain is the best idea ever."

"Which, we came here to fix." Emma shut her eyes, and a gray, smooth, platform rose out of the starfield serving as 'down.' "We can talk about how me in Glacia with baby-mad Glacians is a terrible idea later. Built any sandcastles lately?"

[furnaceface]

"I've had worse ideas," Jono replied, shrugging his shoulders and tilting his head at her. "... Sandcastles, luv?"

So, that'd be a no.

[icecoldfrost]

"So that's a no," Emma confirmed. "Look, I don't suggest using a psychic semblance of a sandcastle for your actual walls, unless you plan on burying some poor bastard alive in your brain, but it works great for making patches."

Emma's white suit coat vanished, leaving her arms bare, and she dug her hands into the sand. "Look at this way - our brains are the castle. The ambient psionic noise of every day? That's the low tide. And when we do something stupid, that's high tide. So, what do you do? You dig your trenches to divert the water so you can shore up the walls in peace. It's a rather zen method of basic mental maintenance, and can take the place of trying to mediate while actually getting shit accomplished."

For the record, Emma was terrible at mediation.

[furnaceface]

Jono crouched down low, watching Emma's hands run through the sand. Zen... he could always use more zen. And sandcastles were a wonderfully simple, delightfully tactile sort of solution.

... He was pretty certain that burying somebody alive in his brain would end horribly. Both for that poor bastard and for himself, eventually.

"Sandcastles," he murmured, nodding faintly. "Temporary safeguards you take to protect what's there, knowing that something big is going to wash it mostly away soon enough. The important thing is that it doesn't wipe away what you need. Just what you left there for it to find first."

[icecoldfrost]

"Exactly. And it gives you the time you need to shore up your crumbly bits." Emma grinned and dumped a lump of wet sand in front of Jono. "This is your brain. This is your brain because you have fried the shit out of it. I'll start digging trenches, you... make that look like something that isn't runny dog shit."

[furnaceface]

Ah...

Jono's brain certainly looked like a crumbly lump of sand, to him.

"Right, I'll just..." Pat at it, or something. Make himself comfortable in the sand, and focus on the mess that he was supposed to fashion something out of. Building sandcastles, she said. So, sandcastles he would build. "Try to put this back together, then."

Runny dog shit, indeed.