Betsy & Garrison
Jan. 7th, 2019 06:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logs “Yes, it is valid ID and I am twenty-two,” Betsy argued, steadfastly refraining from rolling her eyes while passing her UK driver’s licence to the unsympathetic bartender for closer inspection. “I would just like a G&T, please, with Sipsmith or Napue if you have those but anything would do.” She sighed and ran one hand through her hair, tugging sharply at the ends. It had been a long flight back from visiting her brothers and she desperately needed the drink.
"It's okay, Briar. I can vouch for her." Garrison said from the other end of the bar. The blonde bartender nodded and went to build Betsy's drink. "You're lucky that Harry is obsessed with collecting interesting booze. Most bars you'd be lucky to get an option beyond Beefeater or Bombay Sapphire for gin."
The telepath startled, then tried to disguise her reaction with a rather weak smile at her rescuer. “Thanks, and thanks for the tip too. Although to be honest, I’d be just fine with either of those right now.” Briar returned with her drink and she gratefully accepted it. “I just wanted something to soothe my nerves before getting back to my suite and trying to get some sleep.” She gave the other man a sharp look. “You are from the mansion, as well, I presume?” It wasn’t really a guess - being as tired as she was she couldn’t help but pick up some surface thoughts from those close by.
"Garrison Kane, Ms Braddock. I work in the city during the week, but I also run a lot of the DR sessions for training. Or I'm here watching hockey. It's a very full life, eh?" He said with a grin, extending his hand.
Betsy’s smile was a bit lopsided, but she took the offered hand and shook it firmly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Kane. So, would you happen to work with the PIs or the spies? The mad scientists mostly seem to stick closer by."
"Neither. I'm an RCMP officer who has been seconded to the FBI. I work under Fred Duncan in the Bureau's mutant crime division." He replied. "Got a badge and everything.”
“Ah. I apologise for assuming, it’s just that most of the people I’ve met here seem either work for the school or fall into one of those categories. Although I suppose having someone with more official connections is useful for that too.” Betsy rested her head on her hand and sighed. “I may not be the best company right now I’m afraid. Christmas was… taxing."
"Not a problem. Most people don't expect to run into a Mountie randomly." Kane finished his pint and waved for a refill. "Anything you want to talk about or is it a private thing from Christmas?"
“A little bit from column A, a little bit from column B, nothing that specific really. One of my brothers is not well, and it’s always difficult to see him. And I have decided I really hate flying.” Betsy used her straw to stab at the wedge of lime floating in her half-finished drink. “Well, enough about that. I hope you had a better holiday, Mr. Kane?"
"Please, it's Garrison." He said. "And yes, it was. My girlfriend is rehabbing at the mansion, so we were able to spend it quietly together."
“I’m Betsy, then,” Betsy said. Her smile was much less wobbly this time. “I’m glad to hear you had a better time than I did, and I hope she’s recovering well. People in the mansion seem to get into a lot of scrapes, but the doctors here are pretty good from what I’ve heard too."
"Part of the job. In exchange for free room and board, occasionally hugely powerful mutants will use your face as a punching bag." Kane held up both hands mimicking a scale. "I suppose it's not the worst trade off. Which reminds me, what brings you to this little corner of chaos?"
“I think I’d prefer to just pay rent,” Betsy remarked. “I quite like my face.” She sighed again, mood dimming as quickly as it had brightened. “Formally, I’m here to receive training with my telepathy. Informally, I’m starting to think it has more to do with trying to find somewhere nice and out of the way where I have less of a chance of embarrassing anyone.” She finished the G&T and gestured at Briar for another one. “One defective sibling is difficult enough to deal with, it seems.”
"There's a complicated emotional equation there, Braddock. I don't pretend to get it but let me tell you the one universal truth of this place. We are, to a person, supportive of each other. Doesn't matter the role or the person." Kane said. "So, fuck what you think people choose for you. Here, you decide things. And you have to buy me a drink for being this positive."
That earned him a rather undignified snort. “Well, it’s cheaper than a therapist at least. What would you like, another beer or something stronger? Also, how did a Mountie end up, well, here?” She waved her hand in the general direction of the mansion.
"Long story. But the shortest version is that the Canadian government thought the X-Men were a model of something going forward and the FBI were willing to take me on as an excuse to be here." Kane said, signalling for a beer. "Don't think you won't get recruited by people while you're here."
“That sounds rather more dignified than many of the other stories of how people end up here. Do you ever think of going back to Canada?” She eyed him curiously. "And I doubt that, there are much better telepaths around here than me.” Her delivery was more matter-of-fact than self-pitying.
"I will, someday, but right now, I can do more good here than anywhere else." He replied, a surprising amount of honest conviction behind his words. "Also, any telepath, no matter how good is valuable. I won't say I told you so when Scott starts mentioning they've got X-Men suits in your size or Marie-Ange starts asking if you'd like to travel and incidentally if your moral compass is a bit askew.”
“I’m glad you’ve found something to believe in.” Betsy said with some intensity. She was feeling unusually sentimental, probably due to a combination of alcohol and sleep deprivation. To lighten the mood, she followed with: “And to be fair, as long as it’s not flying I do like travel.”
"You don't like flying? Oh, are you in for a rough time." Kane laughed. "This place has its own jet, you know.”
“It does? I don’t think I’ve ever seen it,” she said with surprise. “That sounds a lot more bearable than having to go through Heathrow though. To be fair, I’ve only ever flown a few times, and it’s always been intercontinental. I imagine it’s less unpleasant when you’re not stuck in a jet for eight hours or so."
"It has it's own advantages and disadvantages. But at least there's no boarding process to go through."
“I’m guessing this is related to all that running around in leather uniforms residents are to know nothing about?"
"We don't assume anyone is dumb enough to not know about it. We just don't like to provide too much information for anyone not involved. There's a basic level of security involved, but also, there's stuff that would alarm people, especially the younger teens that they don't need to deal with." He said. "I think they learned early on that trying to hide a mutant special ops team from the people who live in the room next door is pretty futile.”
“That would have been fun to watch though,” Betsy smiled. “Especially considering the concentration of spies and detectives on the premises.”
"They used to have a brownstone in the city, but came in closer after M-Day. I note they have a tendency to be out of the mansion most of the time.”
“M-Day really messed things up for us, didn’t it? I was in Muir back then and we were pretty protected from the backlash but even there, the way people looked at you… changed. And all the ones who died...” She fell silent for a moment, fiddling with her straw. “Sorry about that. I should probably go back to the mansion soon."
"It's fine. We've had years to deal with it." Kane said. "You're not going to offend me. But you also don't need to stay out for me either."
“When I start getting this maudlin, it's usually a sign that I should probably finish my drink and go to bed,” the telepath confessed. “Thank you for the conversation though, Garrison, and thanks for vouching for me. I did really need that drink tonight.” She waved at the bartender and asked for the bill, making sure to add Kane’s beer to the total.
"It's okay, Briar. I can vouch for her." Garrison said from the other end of the bar. The blonde bartender nodded and went to build Betsy's drink. "You're lucky that Harry is obsessed with collecting interesting booze. Most bars you'd be lucky to get an option beyond Beefeater or Bombay Sapphire for gin."
The telepath startled, then tried to disguise her reaction with a rather weak smile at her rescuer. “Thanks, and thanks for the tip too. Although to be honest, I’d be just fine with either of those right now.” Briar returned with her drink and she gratefully accepted it. “I just wanted something to soothe my nerves before getting back to my suite and trying to get some sleep.” She gave the other man a sharp look. “You are from the mansion, as well, I presume?” It wasn’t really a guess - being as tired as she was she couldn’t help but pick up some surface thoughts from those close by.
"Garrison Kane, Ms Braddock. I work in the city during the week, but I also run a lot of the DR sessions for training. Or I'm here watching hockey. It's a very full life, eh?" He said with a grin, extending his hand.
Betsy’s smile was a bit lopsided, but she took the offered hand and shook it firmly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Kane. So, would you happen to work with the PIs or the spies? The mad scientists mostly seem to stick closer by."
"Neither. I'm an RCMP officer who has been seconded to the FBI. I work under Fred Duncan in the Bureau's mutant crime division." He replied. "Got a badge and everything.”
“Ah. I apologise for assuming, it’s just that most of the people I’ve met here seem either work for the school or fall into one of those categories. Although I suppose having someone with more official connections is useful for that too.” Betsy rested her head on her hand and sighed. “I may not be the best company right now I’m afraid. Christmas was… taxing."
"Not a problem. Most people don't expect to run into a Mountie randomly." Kane finished his pint and waved for a refill. "Anything you want to talk about or is it a private thing from Christmas?"
“A little bit from column A, a little bit from column B, nothing that specific really. One of my brothers is not well, and it’s always difficult to see him. And I have decided I really hate flying.” Betsy used her straw to stab at the wedge of lime floating in her half-finished drink. “Well, enough about that. I hope you had a better holiday, Mr. Kane?"
"Please, it's Garrison." He said. "And yes, it was. My girlfriend is rehabbing at the mansion, so we were able to spend it quietly together."
“I’m Betsy, then,” Betsy said. Her smile was much less wobbly this time. “I’m glad to hear you had a better time than I did, and I hope she’s recovering well. People in the mansion seem to get into a lot of scrapes, but the doctors here are pretty good from what I’ve heard too."
"Part of the job. In exchange for free room and board, occasionally hugely powerful mutants will use your face as a punching bag." Kane held up both hands mimicking a scale. "I suppose it's not the worst trade off. Which reminds me, what brings you to this little corner of chaos?"
“I think I’d prefer to just pay rent,” Betsy remarked. “I quite like my face.” She sighed again, mood dimming as quickly as it had brightened. “Formally, I’m here to receive training with my telepathy. Informally, I’m starting to think it has more to do with trying to find somewhere nice and out of the way where I have less of a chance of embarrassing anyone.” She finished the G&T and gestured at Briar for another one. “One defective sibling is difficult enough to deal with, it seems.”
"There's a complicated emotional equation there, Braddock. I don't pretend to get it but let me tell you the one universal truth of this place. We are, to a person, supportive of each other. Doesn't matter the role or the person." Kane said. "So, fuck what you think people choose for you. Here, you decide things. And you have to buy me a drink for being this positive."
That earned him a rather undignified snort. “Well, it’s cheaper than a therapist at least. What would you like, another beer or something stronger? Also, how did a Mountie end up, well, here?” She waved her hand in the general direction of the mansion.
"Long story. But the shortest version is that the Canadian government thought the X-Men were a model of something going forward and the FBI were willing to take me on as an excuse to be here." Kane said, signalling for a beer. "Don't think you won't get recruited by people while you're here."
“That sounds rather more dignified than many of the other stories of how people end up here. Do you ever think of going back to Canada?” She eyed him curiously. "And I doubt that, there are much better telepaths around here than me.” Her delivery was more matter-of-fact than self-pitying.
"I will, someday, but right now, I can do more good here than anywhere else." He replied, a surprising amount of honest conviction behind his words. "Also, any telepath, no matter how good is valuable. I won't say I told you so when Scott starts mentioning they've got X-Men suits in your size or Marie-Ange starts asking if you'd like to travel and incidentally if your moral compass is a bit askew.”
“I’m glad you’ve found something to believe in.” Betsy said with some intensity. She was feeling unusually sentimental, probably due to a combination of alcohol and sleep deprivation. To lighten the mood, she followed with: “And to be fair, as long as it’s not flying I do like travel.”
"You don't like flying? Oh, are you in for a rough time." Kane laughed. "This place has its own jet, you know.”
“It does? I don’t think I’ve ever seen it,” she said with surprise. “That sounds a lot more bearable than having to go through Heathrow though. To be fair, I’ve only ever flown a few times, and it’s always been intercontinental. I imagine it’s less unpleasant when you’re not stuck in a jet for eight hours or so."
"It has it's own advantages and disadvantages. But at least there's no boarding process to go through."
“I’m guessing this is related to all that running around in leather uniforms residents are to know nothing about?"
"We don't assume anyone is dumb enough to not know about it. We just don't like to provide too much information for anyone not involved. There's a basic level of security involved, but also, there's stuff that would alarm people, especially the younger teens that they don't need to deal with." He said. "I think they learned early on that trying to hide a mutant special ops team from the people who live in the room next door is pretty futile.”
“That would have been fun to watch though,” Betsy smiled. “Especially considering the concentration of spies and detectives on the premises.”
"They used to have a brownstone in the city, but came in closer after M-Day. I note they have a tendency to be out of the mansion most of the time.”
“M-Day really messed things up for us, didn’t it? I was in Muir back then and we were pretty protected from the backlash but even there, the way people looked at you… changed. And all the ones who died...” She fell silent for a moment, fiddling with her straw. “Sorry about that. I should probably go back to the mansion soon."
"It's fine. We've had years to deal with it." Kane said. "You're not going to offend me. But you also don't need to stay out for me either."
“When I start getting this maudlin, it's usually a sign that I should probably finish my drink and go to bed,” the telepath confessed. “Thank you for the conversation though, Garrison, and thanks for vouching for me. I did really need that drink tonight.” She waved at the bartender and asked for the bill, making sure to add Kane’s beer to the total.
