Jean and Haller: Fruit Salad (Backdated)
Sep. 23rd, 2025 02:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
xp_phoenix posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
xp_logs Haller works with Jean to help gauge her powers after her telekinesis returned. It gets messy.
It had been at least a few months, maybe more, since Jean had been to the quarry. The rocks crunched against her boots as she stared out over the landscape carrying a basket while wearing a plastic poncho without a cloud in the sky.
"This is vaguely humiliating," she said quietly.
"I spent a month retraining on Muir last year," Jim remarked. "At least you're not asking your dad."
"It's not my fault you were born to the supreme telepath," Jean mused. She stopped at a good spot, putting the basket down.
"But touché. My parents have no idea about half the stuff I get up to, and I'd prefer to keep it that way."
This got a smirk. "What, you don't want this taped for posterity?" asked the other psi as he set his own basket down with a thunk. He made a mock-motion to take the phone from his pocket. "We could review the footage later to gauge technique . . ."
Jean laughed, rolling her eyes. "God, no," she said.
"I feel like I'm 17 again. At least then I wasn't creating small jumps on the Richter scale..."
"It's good to see your power level's back to normal. You just need to get back the control. So . . ." Jim stooped to fish around in the basket, then rose with a cantaloupe in either hand.
"I figured we'd start with something sturdy," he said.
Jean made a face. "Well, that explains the ponchos," she said. She tilted her head thoughtfully.
"If enough pieces survive we can make fruit salad."
"We can start with the basics. Just try catching the fruit first -- catching and holding in midair I mean, not just automatically blocking. It'll test reflexes and control." Jim lobbed the first cantaloupe at Jean's center mass with decent force.
Somewhat waiting for a 3-2-1 kind of set up to ease them back in, Jean was not expecting a sudden cantaloupe being thrown at her chest and she reflexively put her hands up as the fruit shattered, sending rind, flesh, and seeds everywhere.
A moment or two passed, and Jean peeled bits of cantaloupe away from her face, staring at Haller through squinted eyes.
"Didn't realize we were doing reflexes AND control to start off with."
Jim smiled. "It's called an assessment," he said, and tossed the second cantaloupe.
Jean's eyes widened and she deflected the cantaloupe but tried to catch it before it could hit the ground. It seemed to shudder, as if having convulsions, before exploding. She gritted her teeth.
"You don't have to be glib about it," she said.
The other psi raised an amused eyebrow at her before scooping two more melons from the basket. This time he tossed them one after another, with three breaths between them: a measured interval to allow her to focus on one, then the other. Jean braced herself as Jim plucked another melon from the basket. Her poncho was already clinging with juice, seeds stuck to her sleeve.
The first cantaloupe sailed toward her. She reached with her mind, almost got it, but it jolted sideways and thudded uselessly to the dirt. Her jaw clenched. At least it didn't explode.
The second came right after. This one shivered against her hold, rattling like it wanted to burst. She forced her power around it, but the rind split and juice sprayed across her boots.
Her breath hissed out through her teeth. Fine. One more.
The third left his hand in a clean arc. She didn’t throw her arms up this time. Fingers curled into fists at her sides, she pulled in the breath, pulled in the noise, pulled in the itch of her power wanting to surge wide and wild.
The fruit jerked once, twice, then steadied, hovering right in front of her chest. For a heartbeat it threatened to twitch out of control, but she tightened her mental grip, wove it together, held.
Her lips parted, then curved, a smile caught somewhere between relief and triumph. She let the cantaloupe bob there for a second longer before turning her head toward Jim, sticky hair plastered to her cheek.
Then, without breaking her smirk, she flicked her wrist. The cantaloupe whipped across the air straight at him.
The thin man's arm snapped to the side as if to bat the fruit aside. The cantaloupe's trajectory became an arc; the melon looped around Haller and continued to orbit at top speed.
"Better," said Jack, with a smile that showed teeth, and fired the cantaloupe back at her.
Half a second later came the decorative pumpkins.
The box next to him exploded. A dozen softball-sized gourds launched themselves at Jean like giant, multi-colored pellets of buckshot. Jean barely had time to think.
“I hate you,” she blurted, no heat, just breathless irritation. Her shield snapped up, the air around her cracking as pumpkins burst against it. Seeds and pulp sprayed her boots.
Another came in fast; she batted it aside with a thought. Crap, too hard.
It ricocheted, exploded. The air shivered around her, invisible waves bending trajectories.
She caught the next two mid-flight, held them trembling in the air. They steadied.
“Enough.”
The word wasn’t angry; it was steady, a command and a reset. For the first time all day, so was she.
When the barrage stopped, Jean was dripping orange and breathing hard. The hum of her telekinesis faded to a low, controlled thrum.
She wiped a streak of pulp from her cheek.
“Next time,” she muttered, “I’m bringing goggles.”
The quarry went still again, save for the low hum under her skin.
"Sorry," Jim said, despite all evidence to the contrary. His own telekinesis had kept him protected; he stood in a four foot by four foot void amidst the carpet of pulp and rind. "Okay, status check. How are you feeling?"
“Sticky,” Jean replied, tone even but her mouth twitching like she almost wanted to laugh. She shrugged.
“Better. Not tip-top, but at least I’m not as much worried about violently reorganizing a building’s structural integrity.”
Jim nodded. "I wasn't feeling any bleed, either. You were pushing things around when we picked up Tommy, and again with the gargoyles . . . sorry, grotesques," he corrected with a hint of amusement. He gestured to the bits of rock and gravel beneath their feet. Despite the new sheen of pulp, the stones were undisturbed. "I was pressing you, but if there'd been any telekinetic eddies this place would look like a zen garden. You also haven't spontaneously started to hemorrhage yet, which is a plus."
Glancing around at the chaos, Jean nodded thoughtfully. "I'd say so. But it would really lend to the theme with the pumpkins," she mused.
"So what now?"
"The bleed was worst under pressure, but instead of leaping right to stress-testing yourself I'd recommend incorporating smaller, non-combat exercises in the mornings or other calm times as a warm-up. Easy lifting and manipulation of small objects to get you back in the habit before you even try to engage in anything larger. Approach it as . . ." Jim hesitated, then sighed. ". . . sorry, I was about to say 'a type of meditation.'"
"Mmm, now I feel like I'm 16 again," Jean said. She looked down at herself. "Except with a juice bar."
She then nodded decisively. "It's a start. Thanks."
"No problem." He turned back towards the crate of fruit. "So now if you ever-"
A pair of ripe tomatoes smacked him on the top of the head, the juice and seeds dripping down his face and hair.
Jean smiled sweetly.
The telepath froze. Slowly, very slowly, a piece of pulp slid down the bridge of his nose and hit the ground. It went plop.
Then he went into a crouch, dipped his hand into the fruit crate, and closed his fingers around an extremely overripe plum.
"Oh, well if that's how it's going to be . . ."
It had been at least a few months, maybe more, since Jean had been to the quarry. The rocks crunched against her boots as she stared out over the landscape carrying a basket while wearing a plastic poncho without a cloud in the sky.
"This is vaguely humiliating," she said quietly.
"I spent a month retraining on Muir last year," Jim remarked. "At least you're not asking your dad."
"It's not my fault you were born to the supreme telepath," Jean mused. She stopped at a good spot, putting the basket down.
"But touché. My parents have no idea about half the stuff I get up to, and I'd prefer to keep it that way."
This got a smirk. "What, you don't want this taped for posterity?" asked the other psi as he set his own basket down with a thunk. He made a mock-motion to take the phone from his pocket. "We could review the footage later to gauge technique . . ."
Jean laughed, rolling her eyes. "God, no," she said.
"I feel like I'm 17 again. At least then I wasn't creating small jumps on the Richter scale..."
"It's good to see your power level's back to normal. You just need to get back the control. So . . ." Jim stooped to fish around in the basket, then rose with a cantaloupe in either hand.
"I figured we'd start with something sturdy," he said.
Jean made a face. "Well, that explains the ponchos," she said. She tilted her head thoughtfully.
"If enough pieces survive we can make fruit salad."
"We can start with the basics. Just try catching the fruit first -- catching and holding in midair I mean, not just automatically blocking. It'll test reflexes and control." Jim lobbed the first cantaloupe at Jean's center mass with decent force.
Somewhat waiting for a 3-2-1 kind of set up to ease them back in, Jean was not expecting a sudden cantaloupe being thrown at her chest and she reflexively put her hands up as the fruit shattered, sending rind, flesh, and seeds everywhere.
A moment or two passed, and Jean peeled bits of cantaloupe away from her face, staring at Haller through squinted eyes.
"Didn't realize we were doing reflexes AND control to start off with."
Jim smiled. "It's called an assessment," he said, and tossed the second cantaloupe.
Jean's eyes widened and she deflected the cantaloupe but tried to catch it before it could hit the ground. It seemed to shudder, as if having convulsions, before exploding. She gritted her teeth.
"You don't have to be glib about it," she said.
The other psi raised an amused eyebrow at her before scooping two more melons from the basket. This time he tossed them one after another, with three breaths between them: a measured interval to allow her to focus on one, then the other. Jean braced herself as Jim plucked another melon from the basket. Her poncho was already clinging with juice, seeds stuck to her sleeve.
The first cantaloupe sailed toward her. She reached with her mind, almost got it, but it jolted sideways and thudded uselessly to the dirt. Her jaw clenched. At least it didn't explode.
The second came right after. This one shivered against her hold, rattling like it wanted to burst. She forced her power around it, but the rind split and juice sprayed across her boots.
Her breath hissed out through her teeth. Fine. One more.
The third left his hand in a clean arc. She didn’t throw her arms up this time. Fingers curled into fists at her sides, she pulled in the breath, pulled in the noise, pulled in the itch of her power wanting to surge wide and wild.
The fruit jerked once, twice, then steadied, hovering right in front of her chest. For a heartbeat it threatened to twitch out of control, but she tightened her mental grip, wove it together, held.
Her lips parted, then curved, a smile caught somewhere between relief and triumph. She let the cantaloupe bob there for a second longer before turning her head toward Jim, sticky hair plastered to her cheek.
Then, without breaking her smirk, she flicked her wrist. The cantaloupe whipped across the air straight at him.
The thin man's arm snapped to the side as if to bat the fruit aside. The cantaloupe's trajectory became an arc; the melon looped around Haller and continued to orbit at top speed.
"Better," said Jack, with a smile that showed teeth, and fired the cantaloupe back at her.
Half a second later came the decorative pumpkins.
The box next to him exploded. A dozen softball-sized gourds launched themselves at Jean like giant, multi-colored pellets of buckshot. Jean barely had time to think.
“I hate you,” she blurted, no heat, just breathless irritation. Her shield snapped up, the air around her cracking as pumpkins burst against it. Seeds and pulp sprayed her boots.
Another came in fast; she batted it aside with a thought. Crap, too hard.
It ricocheted, exploded. The air shivered around her, invisible waves bending trajectories.
She caught the next two mid-flight, held them trembling in the air. They steadied.
“Enough.”
The word wasn’t angry; it was steady, a command and a reset. For the first time all day, so was she.
When the barrage stopped, Jean was dripping orange and breathing hard. The hum of her telekinesis faded to a low, controlled thrum.
She wiped a streak of pulp from her cheek.
“Next time,” she muttered, “I’m bringing goggles.”
The quarry went still again, save for the low hum under her skin.
"Sorry," Jim said, despite all evidence to the contrary. His own telekinesis had kept him protected; he stood in a four foot by four foot void amidst the carpet of pulp and rind. "Okay, status check. How are you feeling?"
“Sticky,” Jean replied, tone even but her mouth twitching like she almost wanted to laugh. She shrugged.
“Better. Not tip-top, but at least I’m not as much worried about violently reorganizing a building’s structural integrity.”
Jim nodded. "I wasn't feeling any bleed, either. You were pushing things around when we picked up Tommy, and again with the gargoyles . . . sorry, grotesques," he corrected with a hint of amusement. He gestured to the bits of rock and gravel beneath their feet. Despite the new sheen of pulp, the stones were undisturbed. "I was pressing you, but if there'd been any telekinetic eddies this place would look like a zen garden. You also haven't spontaneously started to hemorrhage yet, which is a plus."
Glancing around at the chaos, Jean nodded thoughtfully. "I'd say so. But it would really lend to the theme with the pumpkins," she mused.
"So what now?"
"The bleed was worst under pressure, but instead of leaping right to stress-testing yourself I'd recommend incorporating smaller, non-combat exercises in the mornings or other calm times as a warm-up. Easy lifting and manipulation of small objects to get you back in the habit before you even try to engage in anything larger. Approach it as . . ." Jim hesitated, then sighed. ". . . sorry, I was about to say 'a type of meditation.'"
"Mmm, now I feel like I'm 16 again," Jean said. She looked down at herself. "Except with a juice bar."
She then nodded decisively. "It's a start. Thanks."
"No problem." He turned back towards the crate of fruit. "So now if you ever-"
A pair of ripe tomatoes smacked him on the top of the head, the juice and seeds dripping down his face and hair.
Jean smiled sweetly.
The telepath froze. Slowly, very slowly, a piece of pulp slid down the bridge of his nose and hit the ground. It went plop.
Then he went into a crouch, dipped his hand into the fruit crate, and closed his fingers around an extremely overripe plum.
"Oh, well if that's how it's going to be . . ."
no subject
Date: 2025-11-04 04:02 am (UTC)