A Trunkful of Cheer

Characters: Ororo Munroe Jean Grey
Rated: PG-13
Summary: Ororo Munroe comes to the Sanctum Sanctorum bearing gifts for its X-Man in xile.
OOC Date: Sat Dec 23 21:04:28 2017
IC Date: Sat Dec 23 17:24:00 2017
Where: Sanctum Sanctorum - Greenwich Village

It's December 23 and even though the days are so short now, rain and fog have further added to a distinctly un-Christmas-like atmosphere — really more of a 'Jack the Ripper' type vibe than anything else. Ororo Munroe has reached out to Jean Grey, her comrade who's secretly not dead, and asked if it would be possible to visit her at the Sanctum Sanctorum where Jean is hiding out.

The gloomy skies might be why Ororo actually drove in. Then again, she could cut through the fog however she liked by flying, so who knows? In any event, she's managed to find a spot within sight of the Sanctum Sanctorum to park. This is perhaps a Christmas miracle in and of itself.


The area surrounding the Sanctum may or may not be enchanted such that there's always a free space for a visitor; only the Sorcerer Supreme could truly know.

As her fellow mutant leaves her vehicle, a black coat and scarf-clad Jean elects to brave the fog and post up on the Sanctum's stoop. A fold-up table and two simple chairs have been arranged beside the door, cracked to reveal a pair of steaming mugs. It may be a bit before Ororo's actually visible, but faintly glowing eyes are pointed in her direction well before then; as soon as she is, a gloved hand shoots up to offer a wave. The presence of mugs full of cider is about as seasonal as the premises seem to have gotten: there are no lights, wreathes, or snowpeople anywhere to be seen.


The reason for the car becomes obvious once Ororo exits. Ororo is dressed in a dark coat, belted at her waist, that goes down to her ankles. She doesn't actually NEED protection from the cold, but it's something that helps her to not stand out as a mutant. (Her mohawk helps her stand out, but in other ways.) From the trunk of the car, she takes out a large bag.

As Ororo comes closer, the true nature of her visit reveals itself. It's not just "a bag" — it's a gift bag. A big one. With boxed and wrapped gifts in it. "Merry Christmas, Jean," is Ororo's greeting, though she glances around at the decor of the Sancrum's front face: "In case you forgot."


Red brows steadily rise as a climate-appropriate Ororo and her bag of presents fully resolve from the fog. The waving grows more energetic, until the weather sculptor's within a few steps of relative warmth— at which point Jean flees the porch to briefly - but tightly - throw her arms around the taller woman.

"Merry," her eyes flick to the bag and widen in shock at its colorful contents, "Christmas— uh." As her eyes rise, she begins walking backwards while beckoning Ororo to follow. A tight, almost bemused, "Uh, wow," is breathed out as she takes her time in checking behind herself for tripping hazards.

She doesn't think to say, "I definitely remember, but I figured this wasn't really my place to Christmas up," until she's made it back near the door, at which point she brings her gaze back to Ororo and flashes a smile. "How've you been? How's everyone else been?"


Santa Storm returns the hug as best she's able while still carrying the trove of gifts. "I am only teasing," she says, about the lack of Christmas decorations. "Better to go without than to overdo it, regardless." She follows Jean, and return the smile, though in her usual serene, understated way.

"Things are well. There are three variations of Logan living at the school now. The Logan we have all come to know and love, and two female versions, distinct from one another. So things have not become any less strange or unpredictable," Ororo says with a grin. "Though, speaking of the school — I have wrestled with telling the other X-Men that you are alive, that you are well. Obviously, I want to do it. But I wanted to tell Scott first, before the others — and unfortunately, he is so tangled up in away missions that I have not even been able to get a hold of him. So I will start telling the others. I say this now mostly to warn you that there is now a non-zero chance that Logan will attempt to drag you back to the school by your belt. And now there are three of him."


Ororo finds her load lightening once she's at the Sanctum's threshold. As Jean pulls the doors shut, the bag - unless the goddess is insistent on maintaining her grip - wriggles free, replaced by one of the mugs as it commences orbiting the pair loitering before the most magical non-branded place on Earth.

"Honestly, I'm just surprised it's taken this long for some of his— daughters? To start popping up," she remarks with a grin of her own— which fades in short order once her quasi-dead status comes up. She simply nods along, then, wincing at the mention of Scott.

"Thanks," she murmurs, head bowing. "And, y'know. Sorry for burdening you with having to figure out how to approach this, uh. Situation. Wanda, too, but one channel of guilt at a time." The bag hitting the table punctuates her apology. "Are they— " She pauses a moment, pondering. "I mean, how 'Logan' are they, one to 'grrr bub beer and snikting'? Are they settling in okay?"


Ororo releases the bag when telekinesis gives its gentle tug. A decade of living around TK powers has trained her well in that regard. She similarly accepts the mug, and cradles it in both hands.

Ororo has a sip of her cider and is thoughtful and quiet for a moment. "Not daughters. Clones, I believe. One certainly is, the other, I do not know. The latter is very… beer and snikting, from what I have heard. The one I know to be a clone is younger. Young enough that she is a student, in fact. She is… nervous, I suppose is the right word. It is very interesting to see her in the context of the Logan we know — to wonder if he was like this when he was still in the thrall of teenage hormones and emotions."

The bag on the table is big, but not overstuffed — there are boxes that are clearly clothes-sized, and a bottle of wine poking its neck out of the top like a little flag. Ororo sets her mug down to open her coat — underneath she has on wide-legged, high-waisted dark slacks, and tucked into that high waist, a white button-up blouse. "Do not apologize, by the way. I have carried burdens in my lifetime, and this hardly compares to some of those."


"I can barely picture Logan being nervous at any age," Jean says with arching brows. The cider's nothing particularly special, but she did at least add couple of spices while it was heating up. "She must be…"

Her eyes close as she trails off. A beat and a slight shudder later, they open as her head shakes and she scans over the bag. "I'm glad she found her way to— the Institute," she says as presents wriggle their way free to form a pile beside the bag. "Both of them. I can only imagine where they might've come from before making it there." Her eyebrows stay high as the bag slouches towards emptiness and her teeth find her bottom lip not long after she finishes speaking. That nothing's actually been opened yet isn't keeping her from trying to come up with a preliminary sketch of what repayment might look like.

"Anyway, there's a non-zero chance of you getting another apology before this is all behind us," she notes after a little while, "but, for now: thank you, I mean it. I wish that I could have gotten— I dunno, actual gifts for you and Wanda both, but I had to kinda improvise." Another beat as she scans the table, then looks back to Ororo. "You, Wanda— everyone." Sighing, she she takes a break from the bag, gesturing as she tries to express, "I'm still a little…"

A beat of wobbly hand gestures later, she concludes, "… but I still wanna— like, it's about to be Christmas, I can't just— not— see you guys, that'd be extra shitty. We have a whole secret base to keep things from getting weird with the students, anyway."


The gifts inside the boxes are mostly utilitarian things — a backpack, a coat with pockets, warm socks, that sort of thing. There's also a sweatshirt in there with the Xavier Institute branding on it, which is a less than subtle gesture. Still, overall the theme of the gifts is "stuff Jean can use."

"What do I need?" Ororo asks, as she shrugs her coat completely off and folds it to set it on the back of a chair. "Do not worry yourself with thinking of gifts to get me. You are alive. You are here. That is a gift more precious than anything that can be bought." Ororo says things like this with supreme confidence and ease. She believes in those sentiments that much, apparently.

"It is my fault for waiting too long," Ororo notes, as far as seeing the gang. "I should have acted sooner, and perhaps been able to arrange some kind of… Christmas get-together, if you are of a mind to allow it. If that does not work, there is always New Year's. —ah," Ororo says, reaching into her coat and taking out a small case. "I almost forgot."

Ororo hands the case over to Jean. It's a small jewelry box, and inside is a bracelet that looks like it's silver, but… something is off about it. It doesn't look like normal silver. A charm bears the telltale 'X' symbol in relief. "This one requires explanation, which is why I separated it out," Ororo notes. "The bracelet itself is vibranium — nearly indestructible. But the trick is in the charm attached to it. It is a distress beacon. Use it if you need it. We will come."


For now, Jean leaves the boxes be once they're stacked; it's only the 23rd, after all! The unwrapped case is a different matter, however, its contents prompting a bright smile as Ororo begins her explanation.

Just as the charm leaves its bed, it freezes, green eyes snap towards blue, and unpainted lips fall agape as the air rushes from the telepath's lungs. "Vib— " she begins to echo while holding it a bit farther from herself than she was a moment ago. "Ororo, this'— " Whatever she may have wanted to say next stays sitting on the tip of her tongue as her mouth continues to move, briefly. It's then sealed shut as she squints over the bracelet for a beat before finally resuming its removal, much more deliberately, now. "So this' what you guys use, now, huh?" she wonders, grasping for an explanation that doesn't involve adding rare metal accessories to her running Yuletime tab. She slips her fingers beneath the bracelet before it's all the way out of the case, removing it manually so she can squint at it from up close before finally trying it on.

"As far as, uh, gifts go: I already did the thinking," she murmurs while clasping. "They already exist! As sweet of a sentiment as 'your life is a precious gift' is." She glances up with a smile as she summarizes. "They're just. Y'know. Cheap. I can just— I should— I will come by to drop them off; don't worry about it. I can figure out the logistics. This resurrection stuff may not be the worst you've ever dealt with, but that doesn't mean we've gotta throw arranging a holiday gathering into the mix too."


"Considering the type of distresses we find ourselves in, I wanted to make sure to give you a signal to us that could not be easily destroyed," Ororo says, as Jean examines the bracelet. Her smile is a subtle but sly one. "Lucky for you, I was owed a favor." Who owed Ororo a favor and why, she does not explain. A mystery for another holiday, perhaps.

Ororo nods once to Jean's talk of figuring out logistics. "Feel free to 'knock on my door' if needed," she says, reaching up and gently touching her own temple — inviting Jean to send a thought her way. "The logistics end of your plans will certainly go easier with someone who is actually on-site, after all."


The explanation'll bring Jean's attention from the bracelet to Ororo, lingering for a while as questions and protests try to elbow their way out of her mouth. Getting to the point of clasping it shut winds up taking far longer than it ought to, the redhead seemingly concerned about somehow damaging her indestructible gift. Once it's on, her arms fall; after a little bit of fidgeting, they wind up behind her back— where the fidgeting continues for a little while longer before she finally clasps her hands together.

"Sure, of course," she replies to the invitation with a nod and a small grin. "My inside goddess. Mostly, I just wanna make sure that - if anyone winds up bleeding profusely, or getting possessed, or something while I'm en route - I know what I'm dealing with. And, I guess, that there's a drink and a snack or two on hand— for our Logans, if nothing else."

Back to: Logs Page.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License