The X-Project

Terry arrives at the mansion. (Backdated to last Saturday.)


Terry stepped out of the taxi she'd hired to take her to the Xavier Mansion's street address, but upon standing to take a good look at the place, she wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. The wrought iron gate was large and ornate, the wall that spread out to either side of the gate solid stone and mortar — she could even see that the driveway was exceptionally long. Its asphalt curves wound through neatly trimmed shrubbery, bracketed on either side by expansive lawns that led toward forests, before ending almost abruptly at a… well.

The driveway ended at the rather impressive double doors of a Wish-I-Was-A-Castle, which was really more like a terribly small keep — only with far fewer visible defenses. Narrowing her eyes, she pulled a piece of paper emblazoned with Professor Xavier's School for Gifted Children's letterhead out of her purse to check the address, then huffed a small sigh.

Leaning back toward the still open door of the taxi, Terry asked, "Would y'mind waiting until I've found someone t'tell me this is the place I'm meant t'be, please?"

After getting a nod from the driver, she walked toward the gates and, finding a panel, reached for the button that would hopefully get someone's attention so she could get inside and start unpacking.

"Hello at the gate!" An arm, and then a blond head of hair appeared behind one of the decorative stone ... urn-flower-sculpture things that no one had ever told Kyle the name for, and then the rest of him, balancing carefully atop the wall. "Hey hey, if you're our newbie, and can give me like fifteen seconds to replace some electronic nonsense in a security camera, we'll do the security stuff the live and in person way, and not the intercom way." He set a plastic box down on the wall and twisted the entire top off the urn-flower-sculpture-thing. "I mean unless you wanna talk to the random person in the security room today. Which is totes okay."

Tilting her head to the side, Terry automatically tuned into the sounds the man was making -- shifting fabric, inhales, exhales, the way his movement on the top of the wall caused bits and pieces of grit to fall with the faintest patter. "No," she said with a smile. "No, the in person way'd be lovely. I'm Terry, by the by. Terry Cassidy-Rourke. While you're sortin' out the electronics, I'm goin' t'get m'luggage."

"Sure thing!" Kyle busied himself replacing the burned out camera components, checking his phone for instructions several times. "You need any help, lemee know, I'll hop on down." He said this as though he wasn't literally twelve feet up, perched on top of a wall in bare feet and a toolbelt. "Kyle Gibney, by the way. Sorry about the wall yell, but I figured I'd kill two birds with this thing."

"Don't trouble yourself," she called over her shoulder, already working with the driver to get her bags out of the trunk. "I've just the bare necessities here. Everythin' else's been shipped." Two large, rolling suitcases wound up on the pavement, one topped with Terry's laptop bag, which'd been her carry-on, while the other had her purse's straps wrapped around the extended handle. "But it'll be nice to stretch out on somethin' flat for a bit. No' even business class's comfortable for an eight hour flight."

By the time the suitcases were out and the fare had been paid, Kyle was setting the top of the urn-thing back and then hopped down, landing in a neat crouch before dusting off his hands and shuffling his feet against his jeans. He pulled out a phone, tapped it a few times, and there was the quietest chime from the wall. "I hear you. Airplanes mean shoes at best, and being smushed into a seat designed for somebody about a foot shorter than me at worst, and that's just the physical stuff." He tapped at his ears, pointy ends sticking out of his hair. "Airports are loud, yo."

"Aye," Terry said, nodding along. "That they are. I've a trick t'tune 'em out, but the snoring, Lord preserve me," she continued, focused more on her bags and making sure she didn't dislodge anything as she turned to face him. She found herself looking at his chest. He had very nice clavicles.

"Well," she said, as her eyes continued upward. The rest of him looked just as nice as his collarbones had. "Seems the physical aspects o'traveling by air aren't so much a problem for me, compared t'you." Then she smiled. "It's lovely t'meet you, Kyle Gibney." Before she could stop herself, the rest of the words just came out of her mouth. "Lord, but you're a tree of a man. I'd not even need m'gear t'climb you." Terry would've been embarrassed about having said it, but it was the God's honest truth.

"Not that ima turn that down but, you know." Kyle grinned. "I probably will get Scott's version of the tea-and-lecture talk if I don't get you checked in before I do my best impression of a sequoia." He tapped at his phone a few more times, and the big double gates swung open slowly. "Kyle, you're supposed to make sure the new arrivals get settled before you tell them you know where the best five restaurants in town are, Kyle you're not supposed to meet the new arrivals and let them bungee jump off your head, he's really demanding." He shoved his phone in his pocket, resettled the tool belt around his waist, and waved a hand up the pathway. "Very fussy. Super responsible."

Laughing brightly, Terry nodded her agreement. "Well, I've a few people t'see after I'm settled, but if you'd like, maybe y'could show me one o'those restaurants. Or a good grocer. Wouldn't mind a bit o'cooking." She blocked out the vaguely irritating sound of her suitcase's wheels on the pavement, choosing to focus on the landscaping beyond the wrought iron fence. "Have to find all new brands and the like."

"Well, like maybe. There's an Aldi in town, and I think some of our other like, Europe people get stuff there? There was a whole thing about chocolate." Kyle offered. "But that's a deal, as long as you're up for it, dinner once you're settled in? Nobody should have to cook their first night after a plane flight anyway."

"Oh, Aldi sounds promising," Terry said, smiling. "And mayhap you're right about cookin'. I'd like t'have all m'fingers still attached at the end o'the day. Probably best no' t'trust m'self until after the jetlag's worn off a bit. For dinner, what d'you say about half six? We can meet at..." She trailed off as they reached the front entrance. "Well, we could just meet here."

"Dinner'd be awesome." Kyle was going to have to find pants that didn't have bits of tree on them, because newbie-redhead-Terry-Cassidy-Rourke was cute as hell, and could probably kick his ass, and if he ended up having to order industrial quantities of ear plugs, even better, but there would be zero impressing her if he tried to go out to dinner in cargo pants that actually had a pinecone in one pocket.

"I can walk you to Scott's office if you want, I gotta go right by there to drop off the busted IR sensors to the people who actually know how to build those things." He patted one of the pockets in his pants. "Installing I can do, building not so much." He paused, cocked his head like he was considering something, and then almost shrugged to himself. "Oh, yo, if the airports are loud agreeing was a powers thing, there's about half a dozen suites of rooms with high grade soundproofing already, and I can pretty much guarantee the person who installed most of it knows how super hearing can suck, because I did all but one of the installations." He grinned. "And the one I didn't do was done by the guy who taught me how to do it."

Turning her face upward so she could smile at Kyle properly, Terry said, "Actually, if you'd take me by one o'those soundproofed suites first, I can drop off m'bags and wash m'face before my very important meeting? If it's not horrifically inconvenient, o'course. I think I'd like t'track Mister Summers down on m'own. And I'll need t'find Jeanie, as well. But I can worry about that later, after I've reassured everyone I'm not goin' t'be any trouble."

"Can do." Kyle gave a ragged-clawed-thumbs up. "And, eh, we're all trouble. It just depends on what kind of trouble." He grinned. "I mean some kinds of trouble are more fun than others, right?"