xp_logs | Scott and Jean-Phillipe: Powers Training

Jean-Phillipe and Scott have a powers training session. Due to the fact that Jean-Phillipe is death to electronics, they train in the gym. Where Jean-Phillipe is death to a target, the wall, the floor, and Scott's hairdo.

He still didn't particularly like doing this outside of the Danger
Room, but comfort level was important, and Jean-Phillippe seemed to
prefer more 'normal' surroundings. Well, that and you don't want to
have to be repairing the Danger Room anytime you let him near it,
Scott thought as he continued to set up the targets. They'd cleared
the gym for this, like they had the last few times. Scott didn't want
any accidents.

The sheer nervousness these training sessions brought on had
Jean-Phillipe badly wishing for a cigarette, just as it had each of
the previous times he'd come down to the gym. But he was saving the
idea of a smoke as a reward for afterward. He pulled on his ear lobe
anxiously as he walked into the gym. "Bonjour Monsieur
Summers."

"Jean-Phillipe," Scott said amiably, glancing back over his shoulder
at him and then turning his attention back to the target. There were
several different sizes and shapes, set at different distances from
where Jean-Phillipe would be standing. It was an old training
strategy, one that tended to work particularly well with young men,
Scott had always noticed. Give them an opportunity to try and show off
their marksmanship, and most tried very hard to do just that.

With Jean-Phillipe, directing his power was a secondary concern at
best. But Scott had noticed long ago that control in one area often
began to translate into control in another.

The urge to make small talk and put things off a bit longer was
strong. But Jean-Phillipe recognized the impulse as a delaying
tactic, and so he sighed and moved over to where Scott was standing,
which gave him a clear field of view to all the targets. Picking the
closest and largest target, he raised both arms and hesitantly sent a
weak bolt of electricity arcing towards it.

"Not bad," Scott said in that same level, pleasant tone as he tracked
the direction of the electrical bolt. "You're directing it better than
you were even a couple of weeks ago. Remember what I said about the
rate of progress being less important than its existence."

Jean-Phillipe gritted his teeth. Scott had been reminding him of that
for weeks, but it was frustrating to not feel like he was truly making
progress. He shook off the grumpiness with difficulty, then turned to
the next target. His fingers flexed as he discharged the energy, and
the bolt barely hit the edge of the target. He muttered darkly in
French at the outcome.

"Tensing up or getting angry is just going to make it harder." Scott
had been reminding him of that for weeks, too. "You can actually
inhibit yourself if you're not careful. Remember what I said about how
much of this operates at the subconscious level."

Ironically, Scott's reminders about tension and anger were simply
serving to increase Jean-Phillipe's anxiety and tension, and his next
bolt was too weak to reach its target, arcing downward and lightly
scorching the hardwood floor. "Merde!"

"Jean-Phillipe, stop for a second." The level of patience in Scott's
voice never altered. "You're winding yourself up - I think, maybe
because you're trying too hard to restrain yourself. It's okay to push
it just a little." Scott waved a hand. "That's why I clear the gym, so
that you don't have to be anxious about accidents." A smile slipped
out before he could quite help himself. "I mean, I'm all for you not
electrocuting me, but you'll also note I'm not standing anywhere near
the targets."

It took a bit for Jean-Phillipe's breath to slow to a normal level, as
it had been speeding up without his realizing. The urge for a
cigarette to calm his jangled nerves was even stronger now. "It is
ironic, I think," he told Scott. "On the one hand, I very much
appreciate your patience, but on the other, it almost contributes to
my stress, that no matter what I am doing, you are calm." He
chuckled. "Not that I am wanting you to yell at me or the like,
just..." He shrugged in very Gallic fashion.

"I save the yelling for X-Men," Scott said a bit wryly, "and even
then, I use it advisedly. I used to yell a lot more than I do now."

"Fair enough," Jean-Phillipe replied with a nod. "Mostly, it is that
this is very difficult," he admitted. "So many things to concentrate
on and keep track of."

"Has it occurred to you that you might be trying too hard?" There was
no edge to Scott's voice, just honest curiosity. "There's an
instinctive aspect to this - it's why there's no single way to train
energy-projectors. Especially those who generate the energy
involuntarily."

Jean-Phillipe snorted. "I am certain I am trying too hard. But I am
at a loss for how to change that. I have tried meditation with Ms.
Munroe, and all it seems to do is make it impossible for me to sit
still."

Scott tilted his head, studying the target. "What are you thinking?"
he asked. "I mean, what exactly goes through your head when you're
taking aim?"

"Mostly, fear of doing it wrong, I think." Jean-Phillipe exhaled
slowly. "Of hurting someone because I cannot master this. And once I
begin, it is difficult to simply tell myself to stop thinking about
it."

Scott looked back at him quickly. "Well, that might be part of the
problem," he said. "You're thinking about the consequences of doing
it, of the implications of doing it wrong. Not about how to do
it."

"Hm. Perhaps you are right," he replied thoughtfully. "I had not
considered it that way." He squared his shoulders. "I think perhaps
we have done enough talking and it is time to try again?"

Scott had to admit that he liked working with older students. They
tended to be more diligent. Instead of answering, he just waved a hand
at the targets again in invitation, taking a half-step back and out of
the way.

Stepping back to his position, Jean-Phillipe raised his hands again,
biting his lip in concentration. He took a deep breath and held it.
He looked at the target he had failed to hit earlier, and his hands
crackled with pent-up energy. When he released the energy, his face
showed immediately that it had been too much. "Damn!" he shouted,
trying to reach out as if to pull the energy back. As the bolt
shattered through the target and several feet farther into the wall
behind it, all of his reserves discharged in a single coruscating
blast. Much of it grounded harmlessly into the floor, but the rest
spilled off in visible arcs in every direction. He sank to his knees,
completely drained.

Scott had stumbled backwards as well, catching himself on the wall.
He'd caught some of the spillover as well, and it took a moment for
him to catch his breath and regain his composure. Okay. Not so bad.
I've gotten in the way of worse. His stomach was churning, and his
muscles were twitching, and he was fairly sure he didn't want to see
what his hair looked like right now, but he was okay.

"Jean-Phillipe?" he asked, his voice a bit unsteady as he
straightened. The kid wasn't flat on his face. Also good. "You all
right?"

Jean-Phillipe's metabolism was used to maintaining a certain level of
charge in his system. Suddenly depleted of his reserves, his stomach
rebelled and he vomited loudly onto the floor.

Aw, hell. Well, it wasn't as if this sort of thing hadn't
happened before. "Head between your knees," he said, approaching
Jean-Phillipe somewhat

After emptying his stomach, Jean-Phillipe retched and dry-heaved a few
times before managing to sit back on the floor and put his head
between his knees as Scott had told him. "I...appear to have
miscalculated," he joked weakly.

"Chin up," Scott said bracingly. "No damage done, and if you don't
puke your guts up at least five times in this process, then I know
that you're not trying hard enough." He offered the younger man a wry
smile, and then, after a moment, a hand up.

Jean-Phillipe took the hand after a moment's hesitation. With no
reserves, at least there was no danger of inadvertently zapping
anyone. He wobbled a bit as he stood, and brushed himself off
unsteadily. "Would it be acceptable if we were done for the day?" he
asked. "I am feeling a bit drained."

"I actually thought we'd continue, to see if I could get you to throw
up again," Scott said with a perfectly straight face.

"I sincerely hope that was an attempt at humor," Jean-Phillipe
replied, too exhausted to be irritable.

"Quite," Scott said, steering him towards the door. He'd make sure
Jean-Phillipe got back to his suite. "Charles would frown on that sort
of thing unless it was a very, very special case."