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Harry's Night - Part 1
After a group Danger Room session, the X-Men hit the pub.
Just don't expect to win and you'll be fine," Jim said as he handed Sooraya her tonic. He nodded over to Scott. "His secondary mutation is 'pool shark.'"
"You make it sound so tawdry when you put it like that, I prefer to think of myself as an educator. People learn the vital lesson that they shouldn't be so trusting in a bar and that hustlers exist out there plus they get to learn some helpful life skills. That seems like a small price to pay for a measly few bucks. Don't you agree Sooraya? Pool Shark, I have never been so insulted in the last....5 minutes maybe."
A broad smile touched Scott's lips, giving the lie to his mock-outrage as he paced slowly around the table, the scratching sound of the blue chalk rubbing against the cue's tip a welcome and familiar sound. No matter where he went, from Canada to the US or all the way to Europe, the pool table in a bar stayed the same. The same overhead lights shining down on it, the same worn green velvet. Some athletes had the diamond, or the grass of the playing field, Scott had the worn velvet of the pool table. It was, perhaps, the single achievement he had in life that his father might actually approve of.
"Do you want in?"
"Oh no. Even I've heard the stories about you hustling everyone." Sooraya held up her hands defensively, through her eyes glittered playfully. "I'll watch first and cheer David on. Besides, I may pick up a couple of pointers." She grinned and pulled over a barstool. "I've got the perfect view right over here."
"That's what happens when your reputation precedes you," said Jim as Scott racked the balls. He chalked his own cue, absently wondering how long it had been since he'd played. Maybe not since the last time he'd been at Harry's, he realized.
"Spoilsports."
The brown-haired man let his weight settle on his pool cue as he glanced over at the woman, shaking his head, a smile dancing across his lips.
"You know, hustling is such a strong word it's like you want to hurry me. Tell me Sooraya, why do you hate me so much?"
Dark eyes flicked away from the woman as the older man gestured to the table, taking a step back to reach for his drink.
"Why don't you go first?"
"You could at least break for her," Jim pointed out.
Rolling her eyes, Sooraya hopped off her stool, setting her tonic to the side and grabbed a cue of her own. "I see you're not gonna let me watch in peace first. I got an idea though. How about the two of us..." She gestured between David and herself. "... team up against the pool shark over there? Might make things just a little more fair."
Jim gave her a lopsided grin. "It's worth a try, but I'm not sure that's possible. Scott, maybe you should show her what we're up against."
"See, now this is what I call unfair, the two of you ganging up on me like this."
Even as he complained, the teasing litany flowing from his lips, Scott was moving around the table, his eyes fixed on the balls set up in formation. No, that wasn't quite right, he wasn't walking so much as...he was stalking, like a predator circling his prey. You could tell the moment he focused, his teasing stopping as he fell silent, bent over the table the cue making small adjustments in his hands, and then it was moving. Rushing forward so the powdered tip snapped out to hit the white ball, sending it careening forwards.
Most pool players would be happy to get a beneficial set up, or even to sink a single ball to get started.
*Clunk*
The white hit, balls scattering around the table, bouncing off the sides and one another as Scott stood, eyes still fixed on the table.
*Swish*
"2 ball, corner pocket"
The call as Scott bent down again, the white ball moving as if it was controlled by magic, by telekinesis as it glanced off the two ball sending it spinning into the pocket before it began a relentless journey across the table, striking ball after ball, sending them sliding all over the worn green felt. One after another *swish* *swish* *Swish*. the balls found their pockets, clearing away the man's side before rolling to rest by the 8-ball. A final tap, a clunk of a ball landing on another within the pocket and the man straightened, the game won.
"So, next rounds on one of you?"
"Show-off," Jim remarked.
Sooraya threw David a doubtful look before narrowing her eyes at Scott, who was racking the balls. "We can at least give it a shot." Her hand just brushed David's as she stepped towards the table, focusing her mind as she did: #Any chance Jack could give us a hand? Between this and the flight training...#
The telepath smiled a little. #Payback?# Aloud he said, "Do you know how to line up for a shot?"
Glancing from the table to her cue, Sooraya shook her head. "Not really." She confessed. #I wouldn't, but he is so damn smug... Just look at his face.# "Want to give me a hand?"
"Sure. Let me re-rack the balls here . . . okay." Very deliberately not looking at Scott, the telepath retrieved a cue and gestured for Sooraya to get in position behind the cue ball. "Okay, use your non-dominant hand like a bridge," he said, touching her lightly on the elbow to guide her hand into position. "The angle will lead your cue when you shoot." #We'll see how this goes,# he sent through their contact, #But I trust Jack will do his best.#
"So I guess I need to start out forcefully enough to break the triangle?" Sooraya peeked over her shoulder. "Let's see if I can do this without wrecking that nice green cloth." Narrowing her eyes, she gave the white ball a firm jab and the balls indeed shot in various directions.
"That's it, just line up the shot and send it in, see how it breaks," Scott confirmed, setting his cue down so he could settle on a nearby stool, fingers wrapped around the condensation covered glass mug. "Not a bad break, you know, I might almost think that you've got beginner's luck, if I believed in luck that is."
"Don't look at me," Jim said, honestly. #I haven't done anything yet.# "But you got a stripe in the corner, so we get to keep going. Ladies first? Don't worry about calling your shots if you're not confident."
"Let's see if I can get another ball in a pocket first before doing that." Sooraya studied the table for a moment, finally moving towards one of the corners. Her fingers gently brushed David's arm as she maneuvered him out of the way so she could set up her shot. #The purple stripe over there. That should be doable.#
Jim responded with a sensation of assent. #Let's find out.# This was going to be interesting. He wasn't confident he could mimic the appropriate rotation with his telekinesis, so he'd either need to redirect a hit or tap the ball with a very precise amount of force. Since Jack's approach to telekinesis was Go Hard or Go Home he hoped he'd only need to attempt the former. "How about the stripe twelve?" he asked aloud.
"Looks perfect." Throwing him a playful little grin, Sooraya leaned forward, carefully aiming her cue and gave the cue ball a firm jab. "Okay, please let that work..."
The moment she drew back the cue he immediately sensed the angle wasn't right -- the cue ball was going to glance off the side and send the 12-ball wide. Fast, he realized, not sure whether the thought was coming from Jim or Jack. Like a bullet. Fast I can do. His ring-finger twitched, and the cue ball swerved a fraction to the left.
The 12-ball sank into the pocket.
Scott's eyebrow slowly rose, arching towards his forehead as he tilted his head to the side, watching the balls rolling across the green velvet. "Not bad, one might also say that you're having some jacked up beginner's luck." Dark eyes flicked around the room as Scott took a sip of his drink, swirling the amber-coloured liquid thoughtfully. "Go on, take your next shot."
"I'll take the next one," Jim said, making note of what might have been just the slightest emphasis on jack. He walked around the table and leaned across the felt, giving his cue a few experimental slides. "14 in corner left." #We need to be careful,# he sent as he shot. #Scott's good enough to tell when a cue's angle of contact doesn't quite match.# The cue ball pocked off the 14-ball, which rebounded off the 3-ball to sink in a completely legitimate fashion. "Sooraya, next?"
"I'd like to give it another shot." Sooraya took a moment to walk around the table, studying the positions of the various balls. #What if we go for 11? Should be fairly straightforward.# "11 in the left middle pocket." She called as she set up the shot.
#All right, but keep an eye on the balls to either side. If you sink a solid it's Scott's turn.#
#I'd at least keep Scott from suspecting anything...# Sooraya drew in a breath and gave a jab with her cue, narrowing her eyes as the ball just scamped a solid, but continued on its way to the pocket. The solid ball was also rolling though and that was more worrying.
This, at least, was a less obvious intervention than steering a ball towards a pocket. Jim's pinky twitched to the side and the errant ball spun just enough to clip another, arresting its momentum before it could sink itself and end their turn.
"Good shot," said Jim. "Be careful of the solids, though." The chalk squeaked against the tip of his cue as he tried to determine whether he detected any suspicion on Scott's face, but that was a losing battle. Like pool, poker was a game Jim would never willingly confront the man.
He managed to sink the 9 and get the 15 in a good position for Sooraya, but 10 and 13 were going to be a problem. They'd ended up in a cluster of solids at the far end of the table with very little room to maneuver. Telekinesis wouldn't help if Sooraya wasn't able to manage a clean shot.
#The last two might be a problem,# Jim sent as he brushed against Sooraya's arm.
Sooraya chalked her own cue as she studied the table. "You have to make it difficult for me, don't you? I was starting to believe we might just make it." #The fifteen I can probably do, but I've no idea how to handle those last two. #
#The power of positive thinking?# suggested the telepath.
Heading to the other side of the table, Sooraya managed to sink the 15 and proceeded to study the remaining balls from various angles. #I've got an idea, but you are gonna have to be pretty deft. I can just launch the cue ball and scatter them. With some 'luck' we get the stripes in the pockets and the solids stay out of them. You up for it?#
#Let's find out. Okay, go.#
Sooraya took the shot.
The cue ball hit solidly between the 10 and 13, sending the balls careening in opposite directions and taking several of the solids with them. Jim was relieved to see 13 was actually headed for the pocket on its own accord, because the rest of the table was chaos. Jack's forehead creased in furious concentration. One hand twitched like a man rehearsing piano fingering as he nudged one ball into the side here, another ball into three others there -- a roll of his thumb placed the subtlest spin on 10 to redirect it away from a solid and towards the center pocket. 13 had already sunk, so he had to reduce the momentum on 2 before it could follow, and 10 -- yes!
"Nice job!" Jim said, awkwardly feeling as though he were congratulating himself.
"Pure beginner luck!" Sooraya grinned, a little awkward. "Now if this luck stays and we can get the 8-ball into the...'' she surveyed the table again. "... left lower corner." She carefully chalked her cue again and gave the ball the gentle push that would hopefully be enough.
"You're almost snookered there," Scott pointed out from his position leaning against the wall as his dark eyes ran over the table, the angles running through his mind as Sooraya pocketed one of the balls, "that beginner's luck really is in full force today huh," he noted as he stepped around the table to keep a clear view of the balls as the woman lined up her next shot. He watched the way its erratic path along the table seemed to smooth out, curving almost perfectly to tap the ball out of a near-impossible position.
Or it would have.
A flash of red struck the moving ball just as the cue ball hit it, arresting its motion abruptly, sending it careening into the solids on either side as they bounced up off the tables directly towards the foreheads of Haller and Sooraya.
"Someone should have told me we were allowed to use powers."
The two balls halted in mid-air, hovered for a moment more, and then thumped back onto the felt. Jack lowered his hand.
"Now wouldn't you have felt bad if I hadn't caught that?" the telekinetic asked, his eyebrows raised in mild amusement.
Scott let his own lips quirk up in a small smile, "If you can't handle catching two pool balls then we've got a whole new rash or problems, and you know some remedial training in your future." Dark eyes flicked to the table for a moment before he looked up and grinned, "besides, you didn't think I was ready for a hero moment blasting the balls out of the air right before they hit you? For shame, do you think I have no sense of the dramatic...don't answer that."
"Duh, like you didn't already have your dramatic moment." Sooraya had to laugh and gestured at the table where several balls were still lazily rolling around. "We had you going there for a while." She added, bumping David's shoulder with her own.
The older man smirked, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the wall, gesturing to the table. "For maybe half a second until the ball started rotating differently, it was a nice little trick but I've seen too many games of pool not to know how a ball moves. We might need to get you a little more practice if you want to make it as a pool shark."
Jim sighed and held out a hand for the young woman's cue. The grey of his eyes had darkened back to their normal blue and brown. "Sorry, Sooraya," he said. "You heard Dad. No more cheating until we can do it well."
Soorarya handed over her cue and folded her arms across her chest. Smiling impishly, she shot back: "You know, sounds like a challenge to me."
Monica and Haller do a little off-campus powers training.
"Sorry again for that," Jim said, giving the younger woman a sympathetic wince. "What happened there, anyway? Does telekinesis affect you, or . . ?"
"It hasn't before?" Unconsciously, Nica rubbed at her shoulder, which had taken the brunt of her fall. "I was channeling light energy and as far as I know, TK doesn't affect it. At least, not with Jean. Maybe yours is different?"
"Only in application. I can work on a much smaller scale. I was moving oxygen and hydrogen at the time." The older man pulled at his face thoughtfully. "It didn't hurt you, did it? It just disrupted your channeling?"
"Oh, no, it didn't hurt at all. I just kind of bounced off the floor a bit." Nica hastened to reassure him. "Hey! Maybe we can work it out here! Not DR scale, but just a little version?"
Jim glanced around. The team had successfully colonized this section of Harry's, so there wasn't much danger of attracting unwanted attention. They were also equally sober, which, at a pub, he felt made them natural allies.
"Sure, I'm up for it," he replied. He cracked his knuckles reflexively. "You channel, I'll try to disrupt? A hand would probably be enough . . ."
Nica nodded with a grin and held out her left hand and concentrated. It became slightly transparent, glowing brightly, then solidified again, the light stuttering. She frowned, shook the hand like it was a malfunctioning flashlight and then concentrated harder. The light came back. "Okay, I think I've got it. Hit me."
Jim concentrated, his right eye deepening to green. It had been Cyndi's power she'd reacted to, so her form of telekinesis seemed like the most logical candidate. He'd thought to send a brief pulse against Monica's hand, but there was nothing there to contact. While they could feel mass starting around the woman's mid-forearm it seemed like a bad idea to get anywhere near that area.
"Nothin'," Cyndi murmured through him. "Okay, then let's move some air . . . whoops." He'd only meant to mildly agitate the air around Monica's fingertips, but the instinct to push into combustion was too strong. A brief puff of flame flashed between them.
"Sorry," the older man said, immediately moving back into full control. He gave Monica a worried look. "Oxygen's a little tricky for me. Did I get you?"
Monica had startled into her full light form - she shook her head. "Just a little singed. I phased before there was any major damage." She grinned at him reassuringly. "Don't worry about it - I'm pretty hard to hurt, at least physically. Let's try this again. You said you were moving oxygen and hydrogen in there, didn't you?" She unphased and fished an ice-cube out of her soda, holding it up. "Voila, oxygen and hydrogen."
Jim chuckled. "I think it would be a bad idea to try melting that, but if I can borrow your drink..?" He gestured towards her singed lashes. "I owe you a new one for the near-miss, anyway."
"Be my guest." She dropped the ice cube back in her drink and passed it over to him.
"Let's try to be careful this time," Jim said, mostly to himself. He held the glass in front of him and let his fingers trace in sinuous stroking motions; an unnecessary affectation, but Cyndi liked the feeling that telekinesis was an extension of their body. Droplets precipitated out of the glass to float between the two X-Men in a dense cluster.
"Okay. Again?"
With a nod, Monica focused again on channeling light only through her hand and slowly poked at the cluster of water. Like she had in the Danger Room, she found herself repelled in various directions, the light of her finger splitting into small beams. "Huh," she said, withdrawing and poking again, to the same result. "Hey, look, tiny rainbows." Then her expression cleared and she looked up at Haller. "It's not your telekinesis! It's the water! Because light..."
"-refracts," Jim finished, raising his eyebrows. He returned the liquid to the glass so Cyndi wasn't intruding as much in his train of thought. "That's fascinating. So you're mostly immune to physical stimuli when you're channeling, but not environmental -- wait, what about reflective surfaces? Mirrors, for example?"
"I've never actually tested that out," she mused. "But it would make sense that I'd bounce off. Apparently I'm bound by the same rules as the EM field I'm channeling? Huh. I don't know why I didn't think of that before."
"Sometimes you have no reason to make a connection without a trigger. That's one of the reasons team sessions can be so interesting." Jim swirled the drink, pleased to be talking to someone who seemed to find the practical application of mutant powers just as interesting as he did. "It might be a good thing to test in future sessions -- for instance, what would happen if you contacted Pyotr's Colossus form in that state? If you're expecting to pass through him . . ."
"Well, I have a whole new area to test and play with!" Nica was practically vibrating with enthusiasm. "Like with Colossus. I mean, when I go through stuff, I'm usually channeling x-rays, so I avoid lead, but I don't really know what sort of metal "organic steel" is in terms of properties. Sounds like we'll need to do some tests to figure it out." She looked happy at the thought. "Maybe you could help me with some of this? I mean, you seem to like playing around with powers stuff too."
Jim gave her a crooked smile. "Consequence of the kind of work I do. It's almost relaxing to think about this stuff outside of a clinical setting. Although in some areas I'm obviously a little better at theory than application."
New teammates April, Haller, and Pyotr take some time to get acquainted.
April leaned against the wall at Harry's, feeling more than a little bit out of her element. The noise was bearable only because of the latest tweaks Forge had made to her blockers and her position farther away from the nearest speakers. It gave her a good vantage point to watch her teammates in their various interactions at least - Pyotr at a table with his sketchbook and a glass that was probably filled with vodka, a few people watching sports, another group clustered around the pool tables or shooting darts.
It was interesting, watching the various dynamics. She took a sip of her madras, slowly nursing it as far from her roommate as possible so she wasn't subjected to a teasing lecture about the proper way to drink her vodka, reaching up to rub the back of her neck as it started to itch. A slight tilt of her head brought the person next to her into view just enough to guess at the name. "David, right?"
"Hm?" Jim, deep in contemplation over the prospect of ordering some sort of appetizer, turned to see a dark-haired young woman at his elbow. Recognition kicked in. "Oh -- yeah, sorry, that's me. And you're May- wait, it's April, right?" He gave her a slightly awkward laugh. "Sorry, I think I spent too much time on the dossiers before the session. My brain keeps swapping months."
"May's my twin," April replied with a small grin, wondering why he set off her danger sense. "And our birthday is in June. It's unlikely you'll ever meet her though, she's not... here. Can't say never, though, the Chapel is weird. I don't know if she'd survive the same trip, though, she doesn't have my enhancements." Black with thin streaks of blue swirled up her arm as she held out her hand to shake. "I'm the science project. It's nice to meet you in person."
Jim took her hand easily, undeterred by the swirl of color. Her skin had a strange texture, or rather lack thereof; her hand was so smooth it was almost slick. "That's right . . . you're from another dimension, aren't you? I'm still not used to that." He had the extremely middle-aged urge to say that back in his day they'd never had to worry about falling into a wormhole on their way across Institute grounds, but restrained himself. "Anyway, likewise," he said, dropping her hand. He tapped one of his temples. "I'm the crazy one."
"I'm still playing catch-up on dossiers for returning people," she replied, voice apologetic. "So brain stuff? Because I'm not sure you're the actual crazy one. I mean, Clint shoots a bow and arrow as his weapon of choice for fun. And Pyotr spends more time in the gym than is sane for anyone, really."
Jim winced inwardly. Well, that would teach him to assume. Joking about his mental health didn't work as an ice-breaker if the ship hadn't left port yet. The coke in his hand was going to be doing a lot of work to cover awkward pauses tonight.
"Um, yeah, brain stuff on a few levels," he elaborated. "Telepathy/telekinesis combination paired with a dissociative disorder. I can only use one form at a time."
"That sounds rough." April was sincere. She couldn't imagine mind-powers on top of her own set. The body sharing, dissociative disorder... well. That she could imagine a little better. "Bad enough sharing 18 years of memories you weren't present for with another body. Or sharing a body with a monster. Do you mind if I ask questions, or are the ones you're willing to answer covered in your team file?"
The telepath shifted to lean against the wall. "Questions are fine, especially since it involves the team. I'll let you know if it gets too personal." Considering how awkward this discussion could be, Jim found April's forthrightness to be something of a relief. That said, he was also placing six different pins into various parts of her statement. The information was too dense to be teased apart in a single go.
"Oh yeah, please tell me if I cross a line. Some people are willing to say more than others, I'm still trying to get a grip on what standard questions are appropriate. We had plenty of enhanced, even some mutants, but as far as I know nothing like this." She waved her drink at the various members of the X-Men around the room. "Do you go by the same name for each form, or do they prefer different ones? And do they have specialties, or just share your skills across?"
"We all answer to David, or Legion in the field. If you want to get specific Cyndi handles our micro-TK, and Jack handles the macro. I have the telepathy, but I prefer to keep that for therapeutic applications." He gestured towards her arms. "And you -- you're enhanced, not a mutant?"
"I meant it when I said I'm the science experiment, but as far as we could tell I'm human with the X-gene and something decidedly not human that gives me the... other form." April was visibly uncomfortable talking about it, shifting in her spot and taking a long pull of her drink. "The information got destroyed, so we were never able to fully recreate what was done. Cloning, genetic splicing, some sort of trigger that let me live when the presumed other attempts didn't." She shrugged stiffly. "And I've only been in the other form once. It's how I arrived. Stuck."
"So you're a shapeshifter?" Jim noticed the young woman's discomfort and remembered to rein himself in. "Tell me if I'm crossing a line, by the way. Sorry if I'm getting too personal, powers trauma and management is one of my areas of interest."
"No, you're... Honestly?" April shrugged again. "Probably the best person to talk to about this, if that's one of the things you do. So theoretically, yes? I've always known I could shift my arms and legs, at least up to my ankles and elbows. These days, I can shift up to my knees and top of my arm, do some basic blunt objects with my hands and forearms. Hair. Tentacles... ugh, no, I don't like calling them that, weebs make bad hentai references, but-" She shook her hair, shadowy tendrils appearing alongside wavy brown. "Yeah. That. And they react to my emotions in a limited form, mostly grabbing or smacking. I have pretty good control over them. The rest... like I said, only the once. And I couldn't communicate."
Jim nodded thoughtfully. "So, good partial control that you've been able to advance on your own, but not much experience with a total change. I'm going to assume that one time was during something traumatic . . ?"
She nodded. "Dad got kidnapped, I got very, very pissed. Bam! Monster form. Ended up in a three-way fight, then got blown through a surprise portal by a less surprising bomb. Arrived here, ended up in another fight until Wanda did something with her red magic, woke up in medical as myself again."
"I see. It sounds like before then your shapeshifting was evolving at a pace you were comfortable with, but emotional stress pushed you further and faster than you were ready to go." Jim tilted the liquid in his glass idly, listening to the cubes clink. "And now it has some bad associations, I'd guess, because the memories attached to it are so intense. You said you ended up in another fight -- was that just because you were disoriented, or did something about that form make you feel like you were out of control?"
"I was disoriented, and I came through the portal looking like a monster." April raised her eyebrow, taking another sip of her drink. "I looked like a threat, couldn't communicate, and was confused as shit. Doug tried to play charades with me, trying to communicate, but I took it as a threat."
"Understandable. But it sounds like you were still yourself, you'd just had a pretty big shock." Jim regarded the young woman with his odd-colored eyes, gauging her reactions. "If I can ask, is there a reason you haven't shifted all the way since then? Can you not, or do you just not want to?"
"I can't. What I've managed is as far as I can get it to go," she replied sheepishly. "Mr. Sydney suggested I need to get past my block to do it. I'd like to. I want to know how far I can push, if I can shift piecemeal all over like I've done, if I can keep my regular face or mouth to communicate. But I haven't had any progress at all going north of my kneecaps or across my shoulders, and my hair doesn't cover my face smoothly. I can get them to function a bit like a motorcycle helmet at best, sorta wrapping around and over but not covering my eyes or nose."
Jim nodded. "I think Mr. Sydney is probably right about a block. In this case, advancing further would probably entail figuring out what's causing the block. I can help you work on that if you like -- I usually find mixing talk with practical application can be effective."
"I would love that, if you've got the time." April beamed at him. "Just let me know when you're available, and we can find someplace hard to break. Ooh, and maybe you can meet Boris! He's Pyotr's dog."
More animals. It wasn't as if people hadn't always kept pets, but somehow it really felt like they were everywhere now. "Uh, is it larger or smaller than Garrison's wolf?" Jim asked cautiously.
"Way, way smaller," April said with a laugh. "C'mon, he's probably got a sketch somewhere in that notebook. But Boris is practically a purse dog for Pyotr, and he's... uh, not quite knee high on me? When he stretches up on his back legs his nose and front paws hit about my waist." She finished her drink, then pushed away from the wall. "He's also very well-trained, unless I leave my shoes in the middle of the floor or Pyotr leaves his paintbrushes unattended."
"Wouldn't most dogs be purse dogs for Pyotr?" Jim asked, catching sight of the large Russian sitting in a corner booth. He did indeed have a sketchbook out, and seemed quite absorbed in it. The younger man was massive even outside of his armored form: he was one of the few people at the mansion taller than Jim, and might have had nearly a hundred pounds on him, all of which was muscle.
April let out a loud laugh as they moved towards her roommate. "Many of them, yes, but Boris is... I don't know, maybe 30 lbs soaking wet? Small enough I don't get side-eyed by regular humans if I pick him up." She slid into the booth easily once they were at the table, giving David the choice to either stand awkwardly or sit at one of their sides, waiting a few seconds for Pyotr a few seconds to notice there were people around him before she got annoying.
He seemed pretty involved in his sketch, so she slid closer and hooked her chin on his shoulders. "Petya, you've got company, put the sketchbook down and say hello to our new-old teammate, yes?"
"Shto?" Pyotr said before registering that he'd been joined by someone other than the waitress that was keeping his drink topped off. "Ah, April, da! Good! You did well today." he said with a warm smile. "And hello, person I do not immediately recognize. I would stand, but booth is small and Harry dislikes it when things get damaged for what he calls dumb reasons. I am Pyotr Nicholaivitch." he said, putting his sketchbook down to offer Jim his hand. "Or, if is too much mouthful, Peter Rasputin."
"Pyotr Nicholaivitch," Jim repeated, carefully repeating the unfamiliar syllables. He accepted the other man's hand and shook it. "David Haller. Good to meet you, officially."
For such a big man Pyotr's handshake was very controlled. Firm, but not crushingly so. "Please, sit. Join me, if you will." he offered "And what do you do at the Institute, Mister Haller?" he asked as he made room at the table for either or both of them to join him. Mostly, this consisted of making sure empty or mostly-empty plates and pint glasses were moved out of the way.
"Thanks." Jim slid into the booth on the other side of April, mildly reassured that he was not the only one here banging his knees against the underside of the table. Between the men April looked like a tween seated between her two dads for a family dinner. "Broadly, I'm a counselor specializing in mutant-related issues. I'm pitching in at the community center in District X while I'm here. You?"
"When not an X-Man, am artist." he said with pride. "Sell some portraits, landscapes, a few things here and there. Doesn't pay very well but it lets me bring beauty into the world." he said with absolute sincerity. Not even a whiff of irony. "Counselor, hrm? Might know my sister Illyana then. Poor girl has been through a lot in her life. Wish I could help her more, but she will not have it." he said. "But dark words for another time, da?" he said. "We need drinks."
"I'm surprised you didn't just ask them to leave the bottle," April teased, patting Pyotr on the shoulder at the mention of his sister. She grinned at Haller. "Do not get into a drinking contest with this man, I'm half-convinced his blood has vodka, not water. Every time he convinces me to do shots I space them with a bottle of water. We learned that one the hard way." The thought of borscht still made her queasy. "Oh! Do you have any sketches of Boris in this one? I was hoping you could show one to David."
"Sure, I'd like to see your work, if you're comfortable," Jim said, not feeling it was appropriate to offer that the one time he'd attempted to feel out this version of Illyana for receptiveness to accept any kind of help had resulted only in stony silence for the rest of their overlapping stay on Muir. "I do some painting, too, though in my case it's strictly therapeutic."
"Ah! A fellow artist!" he said to David with real pleasure, then just handed his entire sketchbook over for the tall man's perusal. It was an eclectic mix - a fair number of slice-of-life and memory sketches of Illyana, some of his parents, a particularly delightful one of April first thing in the morning desperately seeking coffee, and then finally a few of Boris, most notably a sketch of him destroying one of what could only be April's shoes with a great deal of commentary in Russian.
Jim paged through with interest; it was always a pleasant surprise to meet someone with a shared hobby. Who had the last one been, Sofia? It had been some time, at least.
When he reached the final page, however, he had to stop and stifle a startled laugh.
"So . . . I guess it's time for a haircut?" Jim asked, turning the sketchbook around to display it for the other two.
April covered her mouth as she giggled, taking in the picture of David. The hair was more in line with caricatures than an actual rendering, but not as over-exaggerated as the features tended to be. "Maybe a little," she got out between giggles, "but really, sometimes hair just does that. Although in my case, the tendrils are particularly active before I'm fully awake, so of course they're one of Petya's favorite things to draw."
Pyotr just flat-out refused to be embarrassed by any of this. He just smiled at David and made a "Enhh, what are you gonna do?" gesture with his hands. "Perhaps. Seemed to fit." he said neutrally.
"Honestly can't argue with it. I haven't trimmed it since Muir and at a certain point it starts to fight back." Jim paused, thinking of something. "Actually, as long as you're doing caricatures, would you mind doing one of Scott? I think Sooraya would enjoy it. I'll buy you a drink."
Pyotr nodded as he claimed his sketchbook back. "If you could refresh our drinks, maybe get one of those platters of bar food Garrison loves so, can begin." he said, then he snagged a pencil and got to cartooning. He had an idea for what the image would entail and it began to take form rather quickly. Scott, in a decidedly chibi-fied form, standing atop the pool table holding the cue like a scepter of rulership, glaring at the other lesser pool players crowded around the table.
"Oooh, cheat day!" April made scooting hands at Haller, wiggling out of the booth. "Vodka, Pyotr? And for you, David? I'll go put in an order for that and a Platter."
"Just a coke, thanks." Jim slid back into the booth as April strode off to place their orders. "She seems friendly," he remarked, less certain now that he was having to find his own small talk.
"April? Da. Is lovely person. Bit lonely, I suspect, being from another dimension entirely." he said in the traditionally straightforward Russian manner. "You mentioned art as therapy. May I ask cause? If too personal, understand completely."
Jim waved him off with his half-empty drink. At least this was a good opportunity to get all his new teammates up to speed at once. "Not personal. I have a dissociative disorder. It's accommodated pretty well these days, but I had a rough couple of years when I was younger. If I seem different when I use different aspects of my powers, though, that's why."
Pyotr looked thoughtful at that. "English is not first language. Disassociative?" he asked. "I do not know this word. Do you happen to speak Russian, or can you explain?" he asked.
Jim chewed his lip. It wasn't an easy concept even in English. "I don't, but if you want I can make myself understood. I'm a telepath -- it doesn't help me learn languages, but I can transmit my meaning and use it to understand yours, if that makes sense."
Pyotr looked a touch apprehensive at that, but Jim was a team-mate and had been vetted at the highest levels. Plus, Pyotr himself was a trusting sort himself. "Da, it would make things easier." he admitted. "Go ahead."
This sort of powers application, at least, hadn't degraded during his time on Muir -- there'd been enough patients and family who'd needed assistance bridging a language barrier. Despite the less obtrusive form of mindlink, Jim was surprised to find that the younger man's shields were surprisingly porous. In stark contrast to his experience with his sister's, or at least one version of her, stray thoughts leaked everywhere. The finalized version of the caricature he was currently blocking out, the calorie count required for his next extensively researched meal plan, a dog that must have been Boris -- these wisps made it through before Jim managed to refine the boundaries of their link. Considering how superficial the connection was Jim found this worrying. Weak shields could be a significant problem in the field. Something to address another day, perhaps.
"How's that?" he asked. "You can use Russian if you're more comfortable with it."
"This is excellent!" he said in Russian. "I always think I sound like an idiot when I try to speak English. It's better now than it used to be, but..." he said with a shrug. "So what is this dissociative thing you spoke of? Mental health is hardly a specialty of mine." he said, his voice tinged with sadness and images of a tall man in a Russian military uniform flashed through Pyotr's mind. The man was smiling, reaching down to ruffle Pyotr's hair in that memory.
April caught the tail end of something Russian as she arrived back at the table, tendrils carefully depositing drinks before she carefully set the platter down. "Vodka for Mr. Blood cells are infused with it, Cokes for those of us who don't want to die of alcohol poisoning, delicious fried fats and carbs for everyone." She reached a hand out to ruffle Pyotr's hair. "Are you talking about your sibling woes? I can come back."
"Nyet. Just working on what disassociation means." he told April, but her words set up a chain of imagery in his head - a young blonde girl, full of smiles. A tractor, for some reason. The dark-haired man again, urging Pyotr Nikolaievitch to jump into Lake Baikal. A blonde woman, all disdainful sneers and taking delight at rejecting his attempts to know her as she was. Then he got himself back under control and the images faded.
Jim winced inwardly as he reached for his drink. This kind of bleed was definitely going to be a problem. Maybe it was something about the Russian's inherently agreeable nature, but the man should not have been able to broadcast through this kind of link to that extent. He made a few more quick adjustments and felt the bleed finally disappear. He'd need to pay attention to that in the future.
"I set up a psychic switchboard," Jim explained to April. "We can all speak in the language most comfortable to us and still be understood. Do you want me to patch you in? Don't worry if you're not comfortable, I just thought I'd offer. It seems rude to talk over you."
"That sounds interesting, sure. I've never been linked up to someone else's mind before." Well, there were May's memories, but that was probably entirely different. Since she wasn't aware when it was being done, in her own mind it didn't count. "Do I need to do anything? Drop my own shields, imagine a door, anything like that?"
"No, I do most of the work." Jim interlaced his fingers, trying to find a good way to put it. "It's more superficial than the sort of link we sometimes use to replace comms. Essentially, any time you speak you've necessarily focused your thoughts on a specific intent. All I do is give people access to that intent. No memories or anything like that." Or at least none that wouldn't have been filtered through him first, at least.
"Sure, patch me in then. Maybe I can help, if there's an understanding gap." April still did the mental equivalent of hastily shoving all the junk on her bedroom floor into a closet though, then grabbed a potato skin off the tower of food and bit in. "Is this going to be the weirdest conference call I've ever done? Sources say maybe." She gave David a quick, teasing grin, then turned to Pyotr's sketchbook. "How's the drawing coming along?"
Drawing smoothed out Pyotr's psychic leakage as he got into the art zone and let his mind's eye wander and transcribe what he saw onto the page. "Sketch is coming along well." he said in Russian. Pool Table-Top Scott was now scowling at the other pool-players and hand a hand up to his visor in the sketch while some of the people around the table were resolving into their friends and co-workers.
Jim nodded, now satisfied with the stability of the link. At least he could say he was preparing for field readiness. "Okay, as for the dissociative disorder . . . basically, it just means I'm not connected to my own identity or experiences in the same way other people are. I don't always feel like things are happening to me, or that I'm the person reacting to a given situation. In my case when I'm in one of those other states they function as their own independent person. It's just how I learned to make things work. Like I told April, it got hooked into my powers, so in the field you could be dealing with me or one of these other identities, depending on the situation. Does that make sense?"
"That sounds truly awful." Pyotr said with real empathy. "But yes, it makes sense. So these other identities - do they have names? How independent are they? Am I asking too many personal questions?"
Jim ignored Cyndi's offended squawk. "It's not bad, it's just different. Anyway, we all have our own opinions, but we cooperate in the field. Jack and Cyndi are the telekinetics." He gave April an apologetic nod. "Sorry for repeating myself. I should just make a PowerPoint."
"It's fine. It really does remind me a bit of the memory sharing that was done to me, so it's interesting to listen to." A brief flash of a memory flitted through her mind, a much younger version of May/Herself/Them celebrating a birthday at an age where she'd still been in the cryo chamber and unknown.
"This is very interesting." Pyotr said, marvelling in this new form of communication and expression. In his head he was already doing a little cartooning. He said he had multiples, as an amusement to himself he thought they should get a form each.
"That's one way to put it," Jim allowed. He tilted his head at Pyotr. "What about you? Anything I need to know about in the field?" He thought about the incident with Monica. "Uh, besides possibly your melting point."
Pyotr shrugged. "I'm very strong as Colossus and so far as I know I do not melt and I do not freeze. Also do not get tired and do not need to breathe unless I want to talk. You know, normal things." he said with a rather impressive shrug. "Biggest problem by far is magnet people and psis." he said with an embarrassed look.
"But he's amazing at the spiderball special," April chimed in with a grin, mind showing an image of them in training - Her, perched on the shoulders of Colossus for a moment, then being catapulted face first towards a tall building like a tiny missile. "Intense heat and sound are the worst for me." She tapped her ears, where a small, almost unnoticeable transparent blue circle sat. "Forge made these off existing noise reducers I had, and they help with the sound part a LOT. Otherwise... I'm durable but not invulnerable, and we've talked about the issues I'm having with the full shift. If I can get past those, maybe I can figure out a way to mostly keep that form but still communicate."
Jim traced a thoughtful finger against the tabletop, swirling a circle of condensation left one of the drinks. "A psychic switchboard would circumvent those issues, maybe . . . assuming it doesn't affect the efficacy of telepathy, anyway. Some powers or form-shifts will do that. My telepathy also isn't that great, to be honest. Unless I know someone very well I don't pick up on much. I didn't develop it for offensive use, anyway."
Pyotr sighed. "I know my psi problem is very real." he said. "Do you think it would be possible to develop shields that do a reasonable job of keeping bad people out of my head and don't kill the beauty in the world? Being trapped inside your head all the time, constantly hiding - it sounds exhausting." he said. But then he smiled at April. "Spiderball is a lot of fun, I have to admit. I just have to be careful not to, as they say, squish the spider?" he said.
"Being able to defend yourself isn't the same as pushing away the world. It's like your other forms, right?" Jim glanced between Pyotr and April. "Like any ability, it's something you develop so you can use it how you want, when you have to -- and have enough of a foundation that when you encounter some circumstance beyond your control you have something to fall back on."
Pyotr frowned - his "other form", as Haller put it, was as natural as breathing. It took no effort with the shape he was in, it just _happened_ whenever he wished it. Psi-screening was like the opposite of that. At least the way it'd been shown to him. Whenever he'd tried to keep another psi out, the experience had ranged from uncomfortable to actively miserable. Not his idea of a good time at all. "As you say." he said agreeably, not wanting to upset the other man or enter into an argument he was woefully unprepared to have.
"I think of it more like putting earbuds in on the train. It's polite to not make other people hear your game or music noise. A curious polite person will get your attention, and a rude person will probably try to stare over your shoulder or whatever, but they're obviously being rude," April said with a shrug. "And my meditative state is pottery on a wheel. Forming and unforming and reforming. It's very relaxing for getting to sleep. Next time maybe try guiding them through an art gallery and out the exit?"
"Or something kinesthetic," Jim suggested. "Different people have an affinity for different techniques. For example, Shatterstar is having good luck using his memory of working through various katas to form the basis of a defense. It grounds him more easily than a visual or aural foundation. So possibly something along those lines might feel more natural to you."
"It's worth thinking about." Pyotr said agreeably before reaching for some delectable fried foods. "And while this is a very interesting conversation, I believe they might be setting up for karaoke." he said. "And I'm feeling the urge to sing."
April pointed her chicken wing at Pyotr faux threateningly. "No Sweet Caroline and no America, or I'm replacing all your vodka snacks with peanut butter and jelly."
She turned to David. "He's very enthusiastic about his Neil Diamond, even if he's no Dazzler. I'm even worse, so I think I'll just judge."
Just don't expect to win and you'll be fine," Jim said as he handed Sooraya her tonic. He nodded over to Scott. "His secondary mutation is 'pool shark.'"
"You make it sound so tawdry when you put it like that, I prefer to think of myself as an educator. People learn the vital lesson that they shouldn't be so trusting in a bar and that hustlers exist out there plus they get to learn some helpful life skills. That seems like a small price to pay for a measly few bucks. Don't you agree Sooraya? Pool Shark, I have never been so insulted in the last....5 minutes maybe."
A broad smile touched Scott's lips, giving the lie to his mock-outrage as he paced slowly around the table, the scratching sound of the blue chalk rubbing against the cue's tip a welcome and familiar sound. No matter where he went, from Canada to the US or all the way to Europe, the pool table in a bar stayed the same. The same overhead lights shining down on it, the same worn green velvet. Some athletes had the diamond, or the grass of the playing field, Scott had the worn velvet of the pool table. It was, perhaps, the single achievement he had in life that his father might actually approve of.
"Do you want in?"
"Oh no. Even I've heard the stories about you hustling everyone." Sooraya held up her hands defensively, through her eyes glittered playfully. "I'll watch first and cheer David on. Besides, I may pick up a couple of pointers." She grinned and pulled over a barstool. "I've got the perfect view right over here."
"That's what happens when your reputation precedes you," said Jim as Scott racked the balls. He chalked his own cue, absently wondering how long it had been since he'd played. Maybe not since the last time he'd been at Harry's, he realized.
"Spoilsports."
The brown-haired man let his weight settle on his pool cue as he glanced over at the woman, shaking his head, a smile dancing across his lips.
"You know, hustling is such a strong word it's like you want to hurry me. Tell me Sooraya, why do you hate me so much?"
Dark eyes flicked away from the woman as the older man gestured to the table, taking a step back to reach for his drink.
"Why don't you go first?"
"You could at least break for her," Jim pointed out.
Rolling her eyes, Sooraya hopped off her stool, setting her tonic to the side and grabbed a cue of her own. "I see you're not gonna let me watch in peace first. I got an idea though. How about the two of us..." She gestured between David and herself. "... team up against the pool shark over there? Might make things just a little more fair."
Jim gave her a lopsided grin. "It's worth a try, but I'm not sure that's possible. Scott, maybe you should show her what we're up against."
"See, now this is what I call unfair, the two of you ganging up on me like this."
Even as he complained, the teasing litany flowing from his lips, Scott was moving around the table, his eyes fixed on the balls set up in formation. No, that wasn't quite right, he wasn't walking so much as...he was stalking, like a predator circling his prey. You could tell the moment he focused, his teasing stopping as he fell silent, bent over the table the cue making small adjustments in his hands, and then it was moving. Rushing forward so the powdered tip snapped out to hit the white ball, sending it careening forwards.
Most pool players would be happy to get a beneficial set up, or even to sink a single ball to get started.
*Clunk*
The white hit, balls scattering around the table, bouncing off the sides and one another as Scott stood, eyes still fixed on the table.
*Swish*
"2 ball, corner pocket"
The call as Scott bent down again, the white ball moving as if it was controlled by magic, by telekinesis as it glanced off the two ball sending it spinning into the pocket before it began a relentless journey across the table, striking ball after ball, sending them sliding all over the worn green felt. One after another *swish* *swish* *Swish*. the balls found their pockets, clearing away the man's side before rolling to rest by the 8-ball. A final tap, a clunk of a ball landing on another within the pocket and the man straightened, the game won.
"So, next rounds on one of you?"
"Show-off," Jim remarked.
Sooraya threw David a doubtful look before narrowing her eyes at Scott, who was racking the balls. "We can at least give it a shot." Her hand just brushed David's as she stepped towards the table, focusing her mind as she did: #Any chance Jack could give us a hand? Between this and the flight training...#
The telepath smiled a little. #Payback?# Aloud he said, "Do you know how to line up for a shot?"
Glancing from the table to her cue, Sooraya shook her head. "Not really." She confessed. #I wouldn't, but he is so damn smug... Just look at his face.# "Want to give me a hand?"
"Sure. Let me re-rack the balls here . . . okay." Very deliberately not looking at Scott, the telepath retrieved a cue and gestured for Sooraya to get in position behind the cue ball. "Okay, use your non-dominant hand like a bridge," he said, touching her lightly on the elbow to guide her hand into position. "The angle will lead your cue when you shoot." #We'll see how this goes,# he sent through their contact, #But I trust Jack will do his best.#
"So I guess I need to start out forcefully enough to break the triangle?" Sooraya peeked over her shoulder. "Let's see if I can do this without wrecking that nice green cloth." Narrowing her eyes, she gave the white ball a firm jab and the balls indeed shot in various directions.
"That's it, just line up the shot and send it in, see how it breaks," Scott confirmed, setting his cue down so he could settle on a nearby stool, fingers wrapped around the condensation covered glass mug. "Not a bad break, you know, I might almost think that you've got beginner's luck, if I believed in luck that is."
"Don't look at me," Jim said, honestly. #I haven't done anything yet.# "But you got a stripe in the corner, so we get to keep going. Ladies first? Don't worry about calling your shots if you're not confident."
"Let's see if I can get another ball in a pocket first before doing that." Sooraya studied the table for a moment, finally moving towards one of the corners. Her fingers gently brushed David's arm as she maneuvered him out of the way so she could set up her shot. #The purple stripe over there. That should be doable.#
Jim responded with a sensation of assent. #Let's find out.# This was going to be interesting. He wasn't confident he could mimic the appropriate rotation with his telekinesis, so he'd either need to redirect a hit or tap the ball with a very precise amount of force. Since Jack's approach to telekinesis was Go Hard or Go Home he hoped he'd only need to attempt the former. "How about the stripe twelve?" he asked aloud.
"Looks perfect." Throwing him a playful little grin, Sooraya leaned forward, carefully aiming her cue and gave the cue ball a firm jab. "Okay, please let that work..."
The moment she drew back the cue he immediately sensed the angle wasn't right -- the cue ball was going to glance off the side and send the 12-ball wide. Fast, he realized, not sure whether the thought was coming from Jim or Jack. Like a bullet. Fast I can do. His ring-finger twitched, and the cue ball swerved a fraction to the left.
The 12-ball sank into the pocket.
Scott's eyebrow slowly rose, arching towards his forehead as he tilted his head to the side, watching the balls rolling across the green velvet. "Not bad, one might also say that you're having some jacked up beginner's luck." Dark eyes flicked around the room as Scott took a sip of his drink, swirling the amber-coloured liquid thoughtfully. "Go on, take your next shot."
"I'll take the next one," Jim said, making note of what might have been just the slightest emphasis on jack. He walked around the table and leaned across the felt, giving his cue a few experimental slides. "14 in corner left." #We need to be careful,# he sent as he shot. #Scott's good enough to tell when a cue's angle of contact doesn't quite match.# The cue ball pocked off the 14-ball, which rebounded off the 3-ball to sink in a completely legitimate fashion. "Sooraya, next?"
"I'd like to give it another shot." Sooraya took a moment to walk around the table, studying the positions of the various balls. #What if we go for 11? Should be fairly straightforward.# "11 in the left middle pocket." She called as she set up the shot.
#All right, but keep an eye on the balls to either side. If you sink a solid it's Scott's turn.#
#I'd at least keep Scott from suspecting anything...# Sooraya drew in a breath and gave a jab with her cue, narrowing her eyes as the ball just scamped a solid, but continued on its way to the pocket. The solid ball was also rolling though and that was more worrying.
This, at least, was a less obvious intervention than steering a ball towards a pocket. Jim's pinky twitched to the side and the errant ball spun just enough to clip another, arresting its momentum before it could sink itself and end their turn.
"Good shot," said Jim. "Be careful of the solids, though." The chalk squeaked against the tip of his cue as he tried to determine whether he detected any suspicion on Scott's face, but that was a losing battle. Like pool, poker was a game Jim would never willingly confront the man.
He managed to sink the 9 and get the 15 in a good position for Sooraya, but 10 and 13 were going to be a problem. They'd ended up in a cluster of solids at the far end of the table with very little room to maneuver. Telekinesis wouldn't help if Sooraya wasn't able to manage a clean shot.
#The last two might be a problem,# Jim sent as he brushed against Sooraya's arm.
Sooraya chalked her own cue as she studied the table. "You have to make it difficult for me, don't you? I was starting to believe we might just make it." #The fifteen I can probably do, but I've no idea how to handle those last two. #
#The power of positive thinking?# suggested the telepath.
Heading to the other side of the table, Sooraya managed to sink the 15 and proceeded to study the remaining balls from various angles. #I've got an idea, but you are gonna have to be pretty deft. I can just launch the cue ball and scatter them. With some 'luck' we get the stripes in the pockets and the solids stay out of them. You up for it?#
#Let's find out. Okay, go.#
Sooraya took the shot.
The cue ball hit solidly between the 10 and 13, sending the balls careening in opposite directions and taking several of the solids with them. Jim was relieved to see 13 was actually headed for the pocket on its own accord, because the rest of the table was chaos. Jack's forehead creased in furious concentration. One hand twitched like a man rehearsing piano fingering as he nudged one ball into the side here, another ball into three others there -- a roll of his thumb placed the subtlest spin on 10 to redirect it away from a solid and towards the center pocket. 13 had already sunk, so he had to reduce the momentum on 2 before it could follow, and 10 -- yes!
"Nice job!" Jim said, awkwardly feeling as though he were congratulating himself.
"Pure beginner luck!" Sooraya grinned, a little awkward. "Now if this luck stays and we can get the 8-ball into the...'' she surveyed the table again. "... left lower corner." She carefully chalked her cue again and gave the ball the gentle push that would hopefully be enough.
"You're almost snookered there," Scott pointed out from his position leaning against the wall as his dark eyes ran over the table, the angles running through his mind as Sooraya pocketed one of the balls, "that beginner's luck really is in full force today huh," he noted as he stepped around the table to keep a clear view of the balls as the woman lined up her next shot. He watched the way its erratic path along the table seemed to smooth out, curving almost perfectly to tap the ball out of a near-impossible position.
Or it would have.
A flash of red struck the moving ball just as the cue ball hit it, arresting its motion abruptly, sending it careening into the solids on either side as they bounced up off the tables directly towards the foreheads of Haller and Sooraya.
"Someone should have told me we were allowed to use powers."
The two balls halted in mid-air, hovered for a moment more, and then thumped back onto the felt. Jack lowered his hand.
"Now wouldn't you have felt bad if I hadn't caught that?" the telekinetic asked, his eyebrows raised in mild amusement.
Scott let his own lips quirk up in a small smile, "If you can't handle catching two pool balls then we've got a whole new rash or problems, and you know some remedial training in your future." Dark eyes flicked to the table for a moment before he looked up and grinned, "besides, you didn't think I was ready for a hero moment blasting the balls out of the air right before they hit you? For shame, do you think I have no sense of the dramatic...don't answer that."
"Duh, like you didn't already have your dramatic moment." Sooraya had to laugh and gestured at the table where several balls were still lazily rolling around. "We had you going there for a while." She added, bumping David's shoulder with her own.
The older man smirked, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the wall, gesturing to the table. "For maybe half a second until the ball started rotating differently, it was a nice little trick but I've seen too many games of pool not to know how a ball moves. We might need to get you a little more practice if you want to make it as a pool shark."
Jim sighed and held out a hand for the young woman's cue. The grey of his eyes had darkened back to their normal blue and brown. "Sorry, Sooraya," he said. "You heard Dad. No more cheating until we can do it well."
Soorarya handed over her cue and folded her arms across her chest. Smiling impishly, she shot back: "You know, sounds like a challenge to me."
Monica and Haller do a little off-campus powers training.
"Sorry again for that," Jim said, giving the younger woman a sympathetic wince. "What happened there, anyway? Does telekinesis affect you, or . . ?"
"It hasn't before?" Unconsciously, Nica rubbed at her shoulder, which had taken the brunt of her fall. "I was channeling light energy and as far as I know, TK doesn't affect it. At least, not with Jean. Maybe yours is different?"
"Only in application. I can work on a much smaller scale. I was moving oxygen and hydrogen at the time." The older man pulled at his face thoughtfully. "It didn't hurt you, did it? It just disrupted your channeling?"
"Oh, no, it didn't hurt at all. I just kind of bounced off the floor a bit." Nica hastened to reassure him. "Hey! Maybe we can work it out here! Not DR scale, but just a little version?"
Jim glanced around. The team had successfully colonized this section of Harry's, so there wasn't much danger of attracting unwanted attention. They were also equally sober, which, at a pub, he felt made them natural allies.
"Sure, I'm up for it," he replied. He cracked his knuckles reflexively. "You channel, I'll try to disrupt? A hand would probably be enough . . ."
Nica nodded with a grin and held out her left hand and concentrated. It became slightly transparent, glowing brightly, then solidified again, the light stuttering. She frowned, shook the hand like it was a malfunctioning flashlight and then concentrated harder. The light came back. "Okay, I think I've got it. Hit me."
Jim concentrated, his right eye deepening to green. It had been Cyndi's power she'd reacted to, so her form of telekinesis seemed like the most logical candidate. He'd thought to send a brief pulse against Monica's hand, but there was nothing there to contact. While they could feel mass starting around the woman's mid-forearm it seemed like a bad idea to get anywhere near that area.
"Nothin'," Cyndi murmured through him. "Okay, then let's move some air . . . whoops." He'd only meant to mildly agitate the air around Monica's fingertips, but the instinct to push into combustion was too strong. A brief puff of flame flashed between them.
"Sorry," the older man said, immediately moving back into full control. He gave Monica a worried look. "Oxygen's a little tricky for me. Did I get you?"
Monica had startled into her full light form - she shook her head. "Just a little singed. I phased before there was any major damage." She grinned at him reassuringly. "Don't worry about it - I'm pretty hard to hurt, at least physically. Let's try this again. You said you were moving oxygen and hydrogen in there, didn't you?" She unphased and fished an ice-cube out of her soda, holding it up. "Voila, oxygen and hydrogen."
Jim chuckled. "I think it would be a bad idea to try melting that, but if I can borrow your drink..?" He gestured towards her singed lashes. "I owe you a new one for the near-miss, anyway."
"Be my guest." She dropped the ice cube back in her drink and passed it over to him.
"Let's try to be careful this time," Jim said, mostly to himself. He held the glass in front of him and let his fingers trace in sinuous stroking motions; an unnecessary affectation, but Cyndi liked the feeling that telekinesis was an extension of their body. Droplets precipitated out of the glass to float between the two X-Men in a dense cluster.
"Okay. Again?"
With a nod, Monica focused again on channeling light only through her hand and slowly poked at the cluster of water. Like she had in the Danger Room, she found herself repelled in various directions, the light of her finger splitting into small beams. "Huh," she said, withdrawing and poking again, to the same result. "Hey, look, tiny rainbows." Then her expression cleared and she looked up at Haller. "It's not your telekinesis! It's the water! Because light..."
"-refracts," Jim finished, raising his eyebrows. He returned the liquid to the glass so Cyndi wasn't intruding as much in his train of thought. "That's fascinating. So you're mostly immune to physical stimuli when you're channeling, but not environmental -- wait, what about reflective surfaces? Mirrors, for example?"
"I've never actually tested that out," she mused. "But it would make sense that I'd bounce off. Apparently I'm bound by the same rules as the EM field I'm channeling? Huh. I don't know why I didn't think of that before."
"Sometimes you have no reason to make a connection without a trigger. That's one of the reasons team sessions can be so interesting." Jim swirled the drink, pleased to be talking to someone who seemed to find the practical application of mutant powers just as interesting as he did. "It might be a good thing to test in future sessions -- for instance, what would happen if you contacted Pyotr's Colossus form in that state? If you're expecting to pass through him . . ."
"Well, I have a whole new area to test and play with!" Nica was practically vibrating with enthusiasm. "Like with Colossus. I mean, when I go through stuff, I'm usually channeling x-rays, so I avoid lead, but I don't really know what sort of metal "organic steel" is in terms of properties. Sounds like we'll need to do some tests to figure it out." She looked happy at the thought. "Maybe you could help me with some of this? I mean, you seem to like playing around with powers stuff too."
Jim gave her a crooked smile. "Consequence of the kind of work I do. It's almost relaxing to think about this stuff outside of a clinical setting. Although in some areas I'm obviously a little better at theory than application."
New teammates April, Haller, and Pyotr take some time to get acquainted.
April leaned against the wall at Harry's, feeling more than a little bit out of her element. The noise was bearable only because of the latest tweaks Forge had made to her blockers and her position farther away from the nearest speakers. It gave her a good vantage point to watch her teammates in their various interactions at least - Pyotr at a table with his sketchbook and a glass that was probably filled with vodka, a few people watching sports, another group clustered around the pool tables or shooting darts.
It was interesting, watching the various dynamics. She took a sip of her madras, slowly nursing it as far from her roommate as possible so she wasn't subjected to a teasing lecture about the proper way to drink her vodka, reaching up to rub the back of her neck as it started to itch. A slight tilt of her head brought the person next to her into view just enough to guess at the name. "David, right?"
"Hm?" Jim, deep in contemplation over the prospect of ordering some sort of appetizer, turned to see a dark-haired young woman at his elbow. Recognition kicked in. "Oh -- yeah, sorry, that's me. And you're May- wait, it's April, right?" He gave her a slightly awkward laugh. "Sorry, I think I spent too much time on the dossiers before the session. My brain keeps swapping months."
"May's my twin," April replied with a small grin, wondering why he set off her danger sense. "And our birthday is in June. It's unlikely you'll ever meet her though, she's not... here. Can't say never, though, the Chapel is weird. I don't know if she'd survive the same trip, though, she doesn't have my enhancements." Black with thin streaks of blue swirled up her arm as she held out her hand to shake. "I'm the science project. It's nice to meet you in person."
Jim took her hand easily, undeterred by the swirl of color. Her skin had a strange texture, or rather lack thereof; her hand was so smooth it was almost slick. "That's right . . . you're from another dimension, aren't you? I'm still not used to that." He had the extremely middle-aged urge to say that back in his day they'd never had to worry about falling into a wormhole on their way across Institute grounds, but restrained himself. "Anyway, likewise," he said, dropping her hand. He tapped one of his temples. "I'm the crazy one."
"I'm still playing catch-up on dossiers for returning people," she replied, voice apologetic. "So brain stuff? Because I'm not sure you're the actual crazy one. I mean, Clint shoots a bow and arrow as his weapon of choice for fun. And Pyotr spends more time in the gym than is sane for anyone, really."
Jim winced inwardly. Well, that would teach him to assume. Joking about his mental health didn't work as an ice-breaker if the ship hadn't left port yet. The coke in his hand was going to be doing a lot of work to cover awkward pauses tonight.
"Um, yeah, brain stuff on a few levels," he elaborated. "Telepathy/telekinesis combination paired with a dissociative disorder. I can only use one form at a time."
"That sounds rough." April was sincere. She couldn't imagine mind-powers on top of her own set. The body sharing, dissociative disorder... well. That she could imagine a little better. "Bad enough sharing 18 years of memories you weren't present for with another body. Or sharing a body with a monster. Do you mind if I ask questions, or are the ones you're willing to answer covered in your team file?"
The telepath shifted to lean against the wall. "Questions are fine, especially since it involves the team. I'll let you know if it gets too personal." Considering how awkward this discussion could be, Jim found April's forthrightness to be something of a relief. That said, he was also placing six different pins into various parts of her statement. The information was too dense to be teased apart in a single go.
"Oh yeah, please tell me if I cross a line. Some people are willing to say more than others, I'm still trying to get a grip on what standard questions are appropriate. We had plenty of enhanced, even some mutants, but as far as I know nothing like this." She waved her drink at the various members of the X-Men around the room. "Do you go by the same name for each form, or do they prefer different ones? And do they have specialties, or just share your skills across?"
"We all answer to David, or Legion in the field. If you want to get specific Cyndi handles our micro-TK, and Jack handles the macro. I have the telepathy, but I prefer to keep that for therapeutic applications." He gestured towards her arms. "And you -- you're enhanced, not a mutant?"
"I meant it when I said I'm the science experiment, but as far as we could tell I'm human with the X-gene and something decidedly not human that gives me the... other form." April was visibly uncomfortable talking about it, shifting in her spot and taking a long pull of her drink. "The information got destroyed, so we were never able to fully recreate what was done. Cloning, genetic splicing, some sort of trigger that let me live when the presumed other attempts didn't." She shrugged stiffly. "And I've only been in the other form once. It's how I arrived. Stuck."
"So you're a shapeshifter?" Jim noticed the young woman's discomfort and remembered to rein himself in. "Tell me if I'm crossing a line, by the way. Sorry if I'm getting too personal, powers trauma and management is one of my areas of interest."
"No, you're... Honestly?" April shrugged again. "Probably the best person to talk to about this, if that's one of the things you do. So theoretically, yes? I've always known I could shift my arms and legs, at least up to my ankles and elbows. These days, I can shift up to my knees and top of my arm, do some basic blunt objects with my hands and forearms. Hair. Tentacles... ugh, no, I don't like calling them that, weebs make bad hentai references, but-" She shook her hair, shadowy tendrils appearing alongside wavy brown. "Yeah. That. And they react to my emotions in a limited form, mostly grabbing or smacking. I have pretty good control over them. The rest... like I said, only the once. And I couldn't communicate."
Jim nodded thoughtfully. "So, good partial control that you've been able to advance on your own, but not much experience with a total change. I'm going to assume that one time was during something traumatic . . ?"
She nodded. "Dad got kidnapped, I got very, very pissed. Bam! Monster form. Ended up in a three-way fight, then got blown through a surprise portal by a less surprising bomb. Arrived here, ended up in another fight until Wanda did something with her red magic, woke up in medical as myself again."
"I see. It sounds like before then your shapeshifting was evolving at a pace you were comfortable with, but emotional stress pushed you further and faster than you were ready to go." Jim tilted the liquid in his glass idly, listening to the cubes clink. "And now it has some bad associations, I'd guess, because the memories attached to it are so intense. You said you ended up in another fight -- was that just because you were disoriented, or did something about that form make you feel like you were out of control?"
"I was disoriented, and I came through the portal looking like a monster." April raised her eyebrow, taking another sip of her drink. "I looked like a threat, couldn't communicate, and was confused as shit. Doug tried to play charades with me, trying to communicate, but I took it as a threat."
"Understandable. But it sounds like you were still yourself, you'd just had a pretty big shock." Jim regarded the young woman with his odd-colored eyes, gauging her reactions. "If I can ask, is there a reason you haven't shifted all the way since then? Can you not, or do you just not want to?"
"I can't. What I've managed is as far as I can get it to go," she replied sheepishly. "Mr. Sydney suggested I need to get past my block to do it. I'd like to. I want to know how far I can push, if I can shift piecemeal all over like I've done, if I can keep my regular face or mouth to communicate. But I haven't had any progress at all going north of my kneecaps or across my shoulders, and my hair doesn't cover my face smoothly. I can get them to function a bit like a motorcycle helmet at best, sorta wrapping around and over but not covering my eyes or nose."
Jim nodded. "I think Mr. Sydney is probably right about a block. In this case, advancing further would probably entail figuring out what's causing the block. I can help you work on that if you like -- I usually find mixing talk with practical application can be effective."
"I would love that, if you've got the time." April beamed at him. "Just let me know when you're available, and we can find someplace hard to break. Ooh, and maybe you can meet Boris! He's Pyotr's dog."
More animals. It wasn't as if people hadn't always kept pets, but somehow it really felt like they were everywhere now. "Uh, is it larger or smaller than Garrison's wolf?" Jim asked cautiously.
"Way, way smaller," April said with a laugh. "C'mon, he's probably got a sketch somewhere in that notebook. But Boris is practically a purse dog for Pyotr, and he's... uh, not quite knee high on me? When he stretches up on his back legs his nose and front paws hit about my waist." She finished her drink, then pushed away from the wall. "He's also very well-trained, unless I leave my shoes in the middle of the floor or Pyotr leaves his paintbrushes unattended."
"Wouldn't most dogs be purse dogs for Pyotr?" Jim asked, catching sight of the large Russian sitting in a corner booth. He did indeed have a sketchbook out, and seemed quite absorbed in it. The younger man was massive even outside of his armored form: he was one of the few people at the mansion taller than Jim, and might have had nearly a hundred pounds on him, all of which was muscle.
April let out a loud laugh as they moved towards her roommate. "Many of them, yes, but Boris is... I don't know, maybe 30 lbs soaking wet? Small enough I don't get side-eyed by regular humans if I pick him up." She slid into the booth easily once they were at the table, giving David the choice to either stand awkwardly or sit at one of their sides, waiting a few seconds for Pyotr a few seconds to notice there were people around him before she got annoying.
He seemed pretty involved in his sketch, so she slid closer and hooked her chin on his shoulders. "Petya, you've got company, put the sketchbook down and say hello to our new-old teammate, yes?"
"Shto?" Pyotr said before registering that he'd been joined by someone other than the waitress that was keeping his drink topped off. "Ah, April, da! Good! You did well today." he said with a warm smile. "And hello, person I do not immediately recognize. I would stand, but booth is small and Harry dislikes it when things get damaged for what he calls dumb reasons. I am Pyotr Nicholaivitch." he said, putting his sketchbook down to offer Jim his hand. "Or, if is too much mouthful, Peter Rasputin."
"Pyotr Nicholaivitch," Jim repeated, carefully repeating the unfamiliar syllables. He accepted the other man's hand and shook it. "David Haller. Good to meet you, officially."
For such a big man Pyotr's handshake was very controlled. Firm, but not crushingly so. "Please, sit. Join me, if you will." he offered "And what do you do at the Institute, Mister Haller?" he asked as he made room at the table for either or both of them to join him. Mostly, this consisted of making sure empty or mostly-empty plates and pint glasses were moved out of the way.
"Thanks." Jim slid into the booth on the other side of April, mildly reassured that he was not the only one here banging his knees against the underside of the table. Between the men April looked like a tween seated between her two dads for a family dinner. "Broadly, I'm a counselor specializing in mutant-related issues. I'm pitching in at the community center in District X while I'm here. You?"
"When not an X-Man, am artist." he said with pride. "Sell some portraits, landscapes, a few things here and there. Doesn't pay very well but it lets me bring beauty into the world." he said with absolute sincerity. Not even a whiff of irony. "Counselor, hrm? Might know my sister Illyana then. Poor girl has been through a lot in her life. Wish I could help her more, but she will not have it." he said. "But dark words for another time, da?" he said. "We need drinks."
"I'm surprised you didn't just ask them to leave the bottle," April teased, patting Pyotr on the shoulder at the mention of his sister. She grinned at Haller. "Do not get into a drinking contest with this man, I'm half-convinced his blood has vodka, not water. Every time he convinces me to do shots I space them with a bottle of water. We learned that one the hard way." The thought of borscht still made her queasy. "Oh! Do you have any sketches of Boris in this one? I was hoping you could show one to David."
"Sure, I'd like to see your work, if you're comfortable," Jim said, not feeling it was appropriate to offer that the one time he'd attempted to feel out this version of Illyana for receptiveness to accept any kind of help had resulted only in stony silence for the rest of their overlapping stay on Muir. "I do some painting, too, though in my case it's strictly therapeutic."
"Ah! A fellow artist!" he said to David with real pleasure, then just handed his entire sketchbook over for the tall man's perusal. It was an eclectic mix - a fair number of slice-of-life and memory sketches of Illyana, some of his parents, a particularly delightful one of April first thing in the morning desperately seeking coffee, and then finally a few of Boris, most notably a sketch of him destroying one of what could only be April's shoes with a great deal of commentary in Russian.
Jim paged through with interest; it was always a pleasant surprise to meet someone with a shared hobby. Who had the last one been, Sofia? It had been some time, at least.
When he reached the final page, however, he had to stop and stifle a startled laugh.
"So . . . I guess it's time for a haircut?" Jim asked, turning the sketchbook around to display it for the other two.
April covered her mouth as she giggled, taking in the picture of David. The hair was more in line with caricatures than an actual rendering, but not as over-exaggerated as the features tended to be. "Maybe a little," she got out between giggles, "but really, sometimes hair just does that. Although in my case, the tendrils are particularly active before I'm fully awake, so of course they're one of Petya's favorite things to draw."
Pyotr just flat-out refused to be embarrassed by any of this. He just smiled at David and made a "Enhh, what are you gonna do?" gesture with his hands. "Perhaps. Seemed to fit." he said neutrally.
"Honestly can't argue with it. I haven't trimmed it since Muir and at a certain point it starts to fight back." Jim paused, thinking of something. "Actually, as long as you're doing caricatures, would you mind doing one of Scott? I think Sooraya would enjoy it. I'll buy you a drink."
Pyotr nodded as he claimed his sketchbook back. "If you could refresh our drinks, maybe get one of those platters of bar food Garrison loves so, can begin." he said, then he snagged a pencil and got to cartooning. He had an idea for what the image would entail and it began to take form rather quickly. Scott, in a decidedly chibi-fied form, standing atop the pool table holding the cue like a scepter of rulership, glaring at the other lesser pool players crowded around the table.
"Oooh, cheat day!" April made scooting hands at Haller, wiggling out of the booth. "Vodka, Pyotr? And for you, David? I'll go put in an order for that and a Platter."
"Just a coke, thanks." Jim slid back into the booth as April strode off to place their orders. "She seems friendly," he remarked, less certain now that he was having to find his own small talk.
"April? Da. Is lovely person. Bit lonely, I suspect, being from another dimension entirely." he said in the traditionally straightforward Russian manner. "You mentioned art as therapy. May I ask cause? If too personal, understand completely."
Jim waved him off with his half-empty drink. At least this was a good opportunity to get all his new teammates up to speed at once. "Not personal. I have a dissociative disorder. It's accommodated pretty well these days, but I had a rough couple of years when I was younger. If I seem different when I use different aspects of my powers, though, that's why."
Pyotr looked thoughtful at that. "English is not first language. Disassociative?" he asked. "I do not know this word. Do you happen to speak Russian, or can you explain?" he asked.
Jim chewed his lip. It wasn't an easy concept even in English. "I don't, but if you want I can make myself understood. I'm a telepath -- it doesn't help me learn languages, but I can transmit my meaning and use it to understand yours, if that makes sense."
Pyotr looked a touch apprehensive at that, but Jim was a team-mate and had been vetted at the highest levels. Plus, Pyotr himself was a trusting sort himself. "Da, it would make things easier." he admitted. "Go ahead."
This sort of powers application, at least, hadn't degraded during his time on Muir -- there'd been enough patients and family who'd needed assistance bridging a language barrier. Despite the less obtrusive form of mindlink, Jim was surprised to find that the younger man's shields were surprisingly porous. In stark contrast to his experience with his sister's, or at least one version of her, stray thoughts leaked everywhere. The finalized version of the caricature he was currently blocking out, the calorie count required for his next extensively researched meal plan, a dog that must have been Boris -- these wisps made it through before Jim managed to refine the boundaries of their link. Considering how superficial the connection was Jim found this worrying. Weak shields could be a significant problem in the field. Something to address another day, perhaps.
"How's that?" he asked. "You can use Russian if you're more comfortable with it."
"This is excellent!" he said in Russian. "I always think I sound like an idiot when I try to speak English. It's better now than it used to be, but..." he said with a shrug. "So what is this dissociative thing you spoke of? Mental health is hardly a specialty of mine." he said, his voice tinged with sadness and images of a tall man in a Russian military uniform flashed through Pyotr's mind. The man was smiling, reaching down to ruffle Pyotr's hair in that memory.
April caught the tail end of something Russian as she arrived back at the table, tendrils carefully depositing drinks before she carefully set the platter down. "Vodka for Mr. Blood cells are infused with it, Cokes for those of us who don't want to die of alcohol poisoning, delicious fried fats and carbs for everyone." She reached a hand out to ruffle Pyotr's hair. "Are you talking about your sibling woes? I can come back."
"Nyet. Just working on what disassociation means." he told April, but her words set up a chain of imagery in his head - a young blonde girl, full of smiles. A tractor, for some reason. The dark-haired man again, urging Pyotr Nikolaievitch to jump into Lake Baikal. A blonde woman, all disdainful sneers and taking delight at rejecting his attempts to know her as she was. Then he got himself back under control and the images faded.
Jim winced inwardly as he reached for his drink. This kind of bleed was definitely going to be a problem. Maybe it was something about the Russian's inherently agreeable nature, but the man should not have been able to broadcast through this kind of link to that extent. He made a few more quick adjustments and felt the bleed finally disappear. He'd need to pay attention to that in the future.
"I set up a psychic switchboard," Jim explained to April. "We can all speak in the language most comfortable to us and still be understood. Do you want me to patch you in? Don't worry if you're not comfortable, I just thought I'd offer. It seems rude to talk over you."
"That sounds interesting, sure. I've never been linked up to someone else's mind before." Well, there were May's memories, but that was probably entirely different. Since she wasn't aware when it was being done, in her own mind it didn't count. "Do I need to do anything? Drop my own shields, imagine a door, anything like that?"
"No, I do most of the work." Jim interlaced his fingers, trying to find a good way to put it. "It's more superficial than the sort of link we sometimes use to replace comms. Essentially, any time you speak you've necessarily focused your thoughts on a specific intent. All I do is give people access to that intent. No memories or anything like that." Or at least none that wouldn't have been filtered through him first, at least.
"Sure, patch me in then. Maybe I can help, if there's an understanding gap." April still did the mental equivalent of hastily shoving all the junk on her bedroom floor into a closet though, then grabbed a potato skin off the tower of food and bit in. "Is this going to be the weirdest conference call I've ever done? Sources say maybe." She gave David a quick, teasing grin, then turned to Pyotr's sketchbook. "How's the drawing coming along?"
Drawing smoothed out Pyotr's psychic leakage as he got into the art zone and let his mind's eye wander and transcribe what he saw onto the page. "Sketch is coming along well." he said in Russian. Pool Table-Top Scott was now scowling at the other pool-players and hand a hand up to his visor in the sketch while some of the people around the table were resolving into their friends and co-workers.
Jim nodded, now satisfied with the stability of the link. At least he could say he was preparing for field readiness. "Okay, as for the dissociative disorder . . . basically, it just means I'm not connected to my own identity or experiences in the same way other people are. I don't always feel like things are happening to me, or that I'm the person reacting to a given situation. In my case when I'm in one of those other states they function as their own independent person. It's just how I learned to make things work. Like I told April, it got hooked into my powers, so in the field you could be dealing with me or one of these other identities, depending on the situation. Does that make sense?"
"That sounds truly awful." Pyotr said with real empathy. "But yes, it makes sense. So these other identities - do they have names? How independent are they? Am I asking too many personal questions?"
Jim ignored Cyndi's offended squawk. "It's not bad, it's just different. Anyway, we all have our own opinions, but we cooperate in the field. Jack and Cyndi are the telekinetics." He gave April an apologetic nod. "Sorry for repeating myself. I should just make a PowerPoint."
"It's fine. It really does remind me a bit of the memory sharing that was done to me, so it's interesting to listen to." A brief flash of a memory flitted through her mind, a much younger version of May/Herself/Them celebrating a birthday at an age where she'd still been in the cryo chamber and unknown.
"This is very interesting." Pyotr said, marvelling in this new form of communication and expression. In his head he was already doing a little cartooning. He said he had multiples, as an amusement to himself he thought they should get a form each.
"That's one way to put it," Jim allowed. He tilted his head at Pyotr. "What about you? Anything I need to know about in the field?" He thought about the incident with Monica. "Uh, besides possibly your melting point."
Pyotr shrugged. "I'm very strong as Colossus and so far as I know I do not melt and I do not freeze. Also do not get tired and do not need to breathe unless I want to talk. You know, normal things." he said with a rather impressive shrug. "Biggest problem by far is magnet people and psis." he said with an embarrassed look.
"But he's amazing at the spiderball special," April chimed in with a grin, mind showing an image of them in training - Her, perched on the shoulders of Colossus for a moment, then being catapulted face first towards a tall building like a tiny missile. "Intense heat and sound are the worst for me." She tapped her ears, where a small, almost unnoticeable transparent blue circle sat. "Forge made these off existing noise reducers I had, and they help with the sound part a LOT. Otherwise... I'm durable but not invulnerable, and we've talked about the issues I'm having with the full shift. If I can get past those, maybe I can figure out a way to mostly keep that form but still communicate."
Jim traced a thoughtful finger against the tabletop, swirling a circle of condensation left one of the drinks. "A psychic switchboard would circumvent those issues, maybe . . . assuming it doesn't affect the efficacy of telepathy, anyway. Some powers or form-shifts will do that. My telepathy also isn't that great, to be honest. Unless I know someone very well I don't pick up on much. I didn't develop it for offensive use, anyway."
Pyotr sighed. "I know my psi problem is very real." he said. "Do you think it would be possible to develop shields that do a reasonable job of keeping bad people out of my head and don't kill the beauty in the world? Being trapped inside your head all the time, constantly hiding - it sounds exhausting." he said. But then he smiled at April. "Spiderball is a lot of fun, I have to admit. I just have to be careful not to, as they say, squish the spider?" he said.
"Being able to defend yourself isn't the same as pushing away the world. It's like your other forms, right?" Jim glanced between Pyotr and April. "Like any ability, it's something you develop so you can use it how you want, when you have to -- and have enough of a foundation that when you encounter some circumstance beyond your control you have something to fall back on."
Pyotr frowned - his "other form", as Haller put it, was as natural as breathing. It took no effort with the shape he was in, it just _happened_ whenever he wished it. Psi-screening was like the opposite of that. At least the way it'd been shown to him. Whenever he'd tried to keep another psi out, the experience had ranged from uncomfortable to actively miserable. Not his idea of a good time at all. "As you say." he said agreeably, not wanting to upset the other man or enter into an argument he was woefully unprepared to have.
"I think of it more like putting earbuds in on the train. It's polite to not make other people hear your game or music noise. A curious polite person will get your attention, and a rude person will probably try to stare over your shoulder or whatever, but they're obviously being rude," April said with a shrug. "And my meditative state is pottery on a wheel. Forming and unforming and reforming. It's very relaxing for getting to sleep. Next time maybe try guiding them through an art gallery and out the exit?"
"Or something kinesthetic," Jim suggested. "Different people have an affinity for different techniques. For example, Shatterstar is having good luck using his memory of working through various katas to form the basis of a defense. It grounds him more easily than a visual or aural foundation. So possibly something along those lines might feel more natural to you."
"It's worth thinking about." Pyotr said agreeably before reaching for some delectable fried foods. "And while this is a very interesting conversation, I believe they might be setting up for karaoke." he said. "And I'm feeling the urge to sing."
April pointed her chicken wing at Pyotr faux threateningly. "No Sweet Caroline and no America, or I'm replacing all your vodka snacks with peanut butter and jelly."
She turned to David. "He's very enthusiastic about his Neil Diamond, even if he's no Dazzler. I'm even worse, so I think I'll just judge."