2013.07.06 - Old Memories, New Face

It'd been a long day. In between trying to improve virtual reality hardware to keep up with the demands his programming was putting in, and training sessions with the young X-Men, Doug was just happy to be out of the Danger Room. 
Taking a walk around the mansion was proving to be beneficial to his eyes, at the least, seeing -people- that weren't related to work. 
First thing first, though, he had to slip that folder under the Professor's door...
From the long driveway leading to the mansion comes the unmistakeable roar of a motorcycle. Shift's motorcycle, to those with ears well-trained enough to pick out the different tones of those bikes that come through the mansion.
The African drops the Iron 883 into neutral and coasts it up around the curved driveway, leaving it not far from the expansive front entryway. There, he punches the kickstand down with his boot, kills the engine, and disappears in a cloud of thick, black smoke. His black jacket, jeans, and shirt go floating in a somewhat man-shaped, ambiguous blob from the bike, before the mutant reforms into his natural state a few meters away.
Taking a deep breath, he looks around the outside of the mansion for a moment, before slipping the cuff of his jacket back long enough to check a small wrist-borne computer worn on his left arm.
"Made good time," he murmurs to himself.
It was a busy day, indeed. For the last few hours, Elizabeth Braddock had spent all of her time attending meetings, gettting measured and weighed, perusing outfits for a future scheduled show, sucking down coffee while fielding phone calls from several different business contacts, and even getting her daily exercise in at a local gym...
This was not unusually busy, however, for the violet-haired brit. Just the usual. But it was rather stressful...
Now, however, she was scheduled to arrive at Xavier Institute again for another meeting with Charles about her personal circumstances. It wouldn't be for a good few hours yet, but she liked to be early. She could peruse the gardens or sit out on the patio and work again as she's done a few times this week now. Soon a glossy, black, standard-sized limousine pulls up just a minute or so after the incoming motorcycle makes its way up the driveway. Pulling up to the curbside, just outside the mansion gates, a rear door swings wide with a click from the inside. Whoever was inside was not about to be waited on...
...And out from that limousine, steps a dark-skinned woman with emerald green eyes and long, rolling, waves of violet hair. She's wearing a rather chic business casual dress: it's a combination of long-sleeved, navy blue, cashmere boatneck tee and black khakis with dressy little black mini-heels. She immediately closes the door behind her, not even looking back toward the car, and starts across the pavement and through the gates. With every step, a pair of silver earrings with embedded aquamarine gemstones dances energetically nearest her slim shoulders.
First order of the day, now that she was here, was to get to the Atrium proper. From there, she'd manage to figure out what to do to bide her time...
Lifting his head as he hears the motorcycle pull up, Doug pauses, finishes sliding the folder under the door for the Professor to peruse when he got back, and then stands up, heading outside to see who had arrived. Usually the cycle meant Logan, but lately he'd discovered more and more X-Men using motorcycles. 
The door swings open, and Doug greets Shift briefly. "Hey, Kwa," the blonde greets. About to speak Dangme to Shift for -his- dialect of Ghana, Doug loses track of what he was about to say, simply because there's a model that comes up. "Wow... who's that?" he mutters, for once at a loss for words. 
Kwabena is about halfway through turning and making a brisk entrance to the mansion, when the sound of another vehicle draws his ear. He stops and turns, watching with an ever rising eyebrow as the black limousine rolls up. His motions are slow and fluid, reaching for his inner jacket pocket in a tempo that is almost matched to that of the approaching car.
Out from the jacket comes a beat up soft-pack of smokes. The click of a zippo follows the closing of the car's door, and he blink-blinks at the person who emerges. There is certainly something familiar about her, and with each step she takes beyond the gates, that familiarity becomes knowing.
Really, it's the hair.
The African's head cants just slightly to the side, for while he knows who it is approaching the Institute, she couldn't seem more different. The hair is right, but the pace is off. The car and the money are spot on, but the garb isn't quite... well, sometimes...
Shift is taken from his confusion by Doug's approach. "Oh, hey, Doug," comes out in his heavily accented English, but soon enough he's turning neck back toward the new arrival in tempo with Doug's acknowledgement of her.
"I'm... not entirely sure," he admits. There is a moment where he just stares, before realizing that, you know, that might be a bit rude.
Taking the initiative, Kwabena diverts course and takes a few slower steps to intercept Braddock. "Are you new?" he asks.
If it really is Betsy, she ought to recognize his sense of humor. Right...?
'Betsy' was quite accustomed to stares. Being a beautiful woman, alone, meant men would stare... women would stare occasionally... even little children would stare. But being a model, meant you got stared at all day long by everybody for any and every reason. After a while, you get rather numb to it...
That's why, as the violet-maned vixen approaches the entryway to the mansion, though she catches the pair gawking at her... a winsome, practiced, smile crosses her painted lips and her eyes become alight with friendly energy. She doesn't say anything to them, initially, however... opting instead to turn and grasp at doorknob and shut the large, oaken, door behind her.
It's when she turns around that she finds herself just a few feet from Shift, and he asks a rather peculiar question. Is she new? Has he seen her before? It seemed an easy question to answer, she only recalls meeting with Charles just a few weeks ago for the first time. Surely, it must be... yet... there's an alien feeling of recognition with this one that she cannot shake. It was almost akin to deja vu.
Her brows visibly furrow, momentarily, as wine red lips part to say something... her left hand lifts slowly to grasp at the leather strap of the purse over her right shoulder, tugging at it slowly to shift its position...
"...I... have been here for a few weeks but I don't believe we've yet met? Have we? I seem to recall seeing you somewhere..." ... And then she remembers her manners, offering a hand politely, "...Elizabeth Braddock, but you may call 'Betsy'."
Looking back at Kwa, Doug frowns. He seems to react -like- he knew her, and so Doug presumes it was one of those people who'd come aboard while he was... momentarily paused in life. Or maybe not, judging by her confusion. 
Ah well. Life with the X-Men. All the comings and goings, it was apt to get confusing indeed.
Nonetheless, Doug steps up. "Doug Ramsey," he greets, offering a hand. "Uh... can I help you, ma'am?" The glance Doug flashes Kwa is roughly equivalent to 'is there a problem?' 
Kwabena seems momentarily taken aback, so much so that he fails to acknowledge Betsy's greeting and her outstretched hand. It was the outstretched hand that really threw him off, after all. He looks at Doug, and there is no answer in his mis-matched eyes.
"Bets?" he says, looking back to the woman with a voice that matches the confusion on his face. He's about a hair away from some kind of outburst, 'where have you been, what the hell happened to you', and so forth.
Then he remembers wisdom.
Tightening his jaw a bit, Kwabena tucks the burning cigarette behind his back just a bit, then shifts to greet the woman with... a handshake. "Kwabena Odame," he answers, though his tone is a bit dry. "I believe, ah, if you pull some few records, you will find a healthy investment made in de company known as 'D&P Import Export'." He nods his head slightly. "Dat would be mine. CEO."
D&P Import Export... as in, the shell operation in Brooklyn that is secretly an X-Men Outpost. A safehouse of sorts.
Betsy's eyes shift from Kwabena to Doug, momentarily, as she awaits a reply. For his part, they didn't seem to recognize one other so perhaps this person was just someone she had met and forgotten? That wouldn't be too hard, she sees dozens of faces... sometimes hundreds... a day.
"No, I came to meet with Professor Charles Xavier this evening. But I am a bit early, so...", she begins explaining to Doug as he asks if there is something he can help with. But she stops, mid-sentence, to turn her emerald eyes in Kwabena's direction again... a touch of curiousity in her features at his awkward silence.
...But then the hand comes, and she accepts it readily. Her eyes never leave his face, however, "Pleasure to meet you, Kwabena." Her tone is soft, yet husky, touched by british accent. Yet it's not so thick that she is difficult to understand, she has been in the states a while after all. "Ah, I see. ..." She seems to pause to reflect on the business reference. Not an uncommon thing where she's from, people dropping the names of their properties. But it did seem familiar... had it come up in a meeting recently? Perhaps a sponsor working with her agency? Hmmm...
"...But, anyway, I came to Professor Xavier about... well, some confidential business. I usually mill about on this floor until he's inclined to take me. Perhaps we have seen each other here...?" And she eyes Kwabena again....
"It's all right. The Professor is out at the moment," Doug responds, running a hand awkwardly through the back of his hair as though he were still a teenager confronted with a supermodel. Which, in a sense, this was. Smiling politely, Doug nods. "If it's confidential business, we won't disturb you. Certainly the Professor has confidential business with a good number of us. Kwa and I certainly are part of that business at times. But you'll excuse my manners. Won't you come in?" the young blonde offers, as he steps aside, and bows, motioning towards the entrance "Please, enter." 
Waiting for Betsy to enter, the young man quickly murmurs in Dangme, "< Kwa, what is it? You keep staring at her like... well, she's a -supermodel. That where you've seen her before, right? >" 
Agreement to Doug's assessment comes in the form of a subtle nod of acquiescence, more a tipping of the head than anything. Usually he's the cordial one in these sorts of encounters, but his mind quite too preoccupied with the myriad of questions swimming about in the ether.
"Perhaps." It's an answer, but there are the subtlest tones of complaint audible in his voice. However, his body language suggests that she pay it no mind. Not for the moment, at least.
As they turn to move toward the mansion, Kwabena deftly conceals the cigarette as such that Betsy wouldn't have noticed it with her physical eyes. His hand simply disappears into smoke, which serves to snuff out the embers, leaving a half-smoked and very well put out cigarette in his grasp when that hand reforms.
When Doug speaks in his own native language, Kwabena frowns. "< She's an old friend. Very dear. But she does not remember. >" The words are quickly spoken in the very same Dangme dialect, and though he knows it to be rude, perhaps Betsy has become familiar in her confidential dealings with the Xavier Institute?
In an effort to stave off any awkwardness, Kwabena clears his throat a bit and speaks up as they enter the mansion. "I am one of de instructahs here," he explains, casting a look toward Betsy once more. "Survivahl, Criminal Studies. I have de unfortunate pleashah of teaching de oldah students about de way a criminal mind works, so dat dey are bettah prepared should dey encounter such people."
Betsy's smile warms a bit at Doug's subtle expression of shyness, the hand stroking his hair nervously was a thing she's seen all tooo many times before. "Yes, I know as much.", she replies, "I usually take my time here, waiting for him. This place... is rather comfortable. And oddly familiar, it reminds me of home somehow." She shifts her purse strap again, looking about the atrium and taking in its occupancy idly. It would seem it were mostly just them, for the now. "...It's a rather nice break from the busy atmosphere that saturates every other second of my waking life." She chuckles, after having said this, and follows Doug's invitation into the manor ... allowing them to fall behind for the exchange.
It's as they do so, however, her eyes narrow privately... and she begins to mull through her own thoughts even as she walks steadily forward with a clicking of heels. Betsy was not the type to be invasive with her powers when she didn't have to be, but this rather suspicious situation has left her with some question marks she almost couldn't resist digging for the answers to...
...She would be patient, however, she decided. If he were a resident of the manor, there would be time to explore it later. If he weren't... it was a trifling curiousity not to be concerned with.
Her eyes sweep the foyer, slowly, catching on the hallway that lead out toward the back gardens. For a moment or so, she stands there eyeing the well-lit corridor considering whether to take Doug's invitation not to be bothered and simply depart due to the fact that the pair seemed rather occupied with one another.
But then, Kwabena's voice comes and she lifts a neatly trimmed brow slowly.. turning her head to gaze in his direction. "...Hm? Really? Criminal Studies? That's quite an interesting subject." A subject she was all too familiar with, as a still registered S.T.R.I.K.E. member. "Some would say that's an odd subject to teach to just any person, but understanding the minds of others - especially dangerous persons - is always a good tool to have."
Nodding in response to Kwa's words, Doug gives a light shrug as if to say, 'Deal with it later, if she's here for the Professor, there's time'. And actually, given the young man's facility with language, that -was- precisely what he was saying with that shrug and the look he flashes Kwa. 
Entering the hallway shortly after Betsy, the young blond smiles. "It's quite useful. I'm a field instructor for the advanced students, myself. Outreach program, you see." 
Glancing at Betsy once more, meeting her eyes with a curious look, Doug asks, "And you, ma'am? Are you here to be an instructor as well?" 
And a quiet nod of agreement is given to Doug. There would be time, indeed.
There's a different kind of awkwardness that comes to Kwabena's smile when the woman compliments him. It's the disconnected sort of feeling that comes when you're speaking with someone you've literally been through hell together with, at the hands of a megalomaniac, and yet, here you are, speaking like strangers.
He's forced again to remind himself that, should she be suffering from some acute case of amnesia, or what have you, it would be imperative that he not intentionally disassociate herself from he recovery.
"Thank you," speaks the Ghanaian earnestly. "Dey always say; de best offense is a strong defense. Criminals just think differently dan law abiding citizens. Same with addicts..."
And no, he can't help but give Betsy a pointed look. "Dictators."
Quietly chiding himself for that slip, he draws a deep breath and provides a smile. "It is a good thing for de students to undahstand." He diverts then to Doug's inquiry, looking toward the slightly younger mutant before echoing that question with raised eyebrows.
"Oh, no luv.", she shakes her head, letting an english slang term roll off her lips for the first time, accompanied by another practiced smile. Her silken, violet, mane sways ever so gently as she expresses it... and a hand lifts to brush a lock from her eyes as she continues, "I'm..." A pause comes as she inwardly contemplates something. "Well, I suppose I -do- have something I could teach. But I am primarily donating my time to the school, to help in any way I am able. It was Professor Xavier who approached me... but we have yet to fully discuss my role here." She thinks, briefly, back to meeting Jocelyn a day prior... she certainly had wondered about what that one could do with some instruction from her...
	...Then her focus shifts from Doug to Kwabena, "Yes, I agree. There's no better preparation for surviving in the world than knowledge. Strength and good health can only carry one so far." She falls silent, again, on the tail end of that statement and lifts a finger to mess about with her hair in thought. Looping a silken curl about the index finger of her left hand, she toys it momentarily as she reflects on something Kwabena said. Dictators...?
	The confusion might be written upon her face, clearly, for a moment or two before she comes out of it again to try and salvage the conversation despite the awkward pause, "...So, do you gentlemen live here? I know some of the staff and students do. I opted out, honestly, because I have an apartment in the city proper. But, I admit, if I did not I would most certainly be inclined to stay. It has a rather... quaint atmosphere."
Doug's gaze shifts to the curl being played with, and a smile almost forms before he catches himself, and glances back at Kwa, eyebrow arched as if to say 'See, she'll be around.' 
Bringing a finger to his lips, the young blond strokes them briefly before nodding. "I moved back in here a short while ago, I'd been gone since I... well, graduated." 
Eyes shift towards the rest of the building, before he casts a glance at Kwa. "Well, the mansion's had to be repaired many different ways, thanks to the numerous... people we had visiting here," the young man says, smiling softly as if there were a private joke in there... 
Doug gets a little grin from Kwabena, short lived of course, but the arched eyebrow seems to be enough to set him at ease. Then he goes on to laugh out loud with agreement. "Yes, I'm afraid we've had some few, ah, incidents."
To Betsy he turns next, feeling finally a bit more comfortable with small talk. As if such a thing could really be comforting in the long run. "I do stay here most of de time, howevah I also have a small place in de city. A home away from home. It was where I lived before coming here."
There is a momentary pause as Kwabena considers, once again, whether to bring up his old friendship with Betsy. He has to silently chide himself for such impatience. She meant more to him than she might know, especially... now. So, instead, he looks toward Doug.
"Doug, I've been meaning to tell you. Dere is a young girl who just came to us. Seventeen. Very troubled. From Honduras." A beat is given, for if Doug had yet had a chance to read his X-Men After Action Report, he'll most likely be able to fill in those blanks. "She only speaks Spanish, so, Doctah Grey and I will be asking for your translation services soon."
He glances back toward Betsy, offering an apologetic smile. "I do apologize, Miss..." Pause. What does he call her now? "Betsy. For intruding pleasantries with business. Howevah, I'm afraid dere is some few affairs I should be attending to."
He leans just a hair closer to her, but stops before reaching out, staying his hand instead. "Welcome back."
Betsy takes note of the comment about visitors, her eyes tracking toward Doug momentarily as a knowing smile suddenly crosses her lips. That confirmed that he was X-Men member, then. She mrrs, a soft rumbling coming from inside of her throat almost akin to a purr as she replies, "Yes... Charles has told me that you get some rather /interesting/ visitors here. It's always off-putting to have wild uninviteds rampaging about in a place you'd otherwise consider a sanctuary." Last time she was here, they had actually gone over a roster of frequent 'visitors' and she recognized quite a few. ... Then, it occurs to her... Dictators. "...Doom." His surname slips out, albeit somewhat softly, as she recalls a particular page. Victor Von Doom, a man very well-known to S.T.R.I.K.E. Is that what Kwabena was referencing..?
Suddenly, she looks about... realizing she created a rather awkward situation with that slip. And she attempts to rectify the situation immediately, "...Er, that is... those fools are the harbingers of the doom of civilization." She shakes her head softly, silken hair dancing all about, and she clutches her head in mock annoyance, "...They seem to multiply by the day."
And as the exchange between the two of them occurs, she says nothing. Simply opting to listen, and observe. The bit of discourse between them further cements her belief that both were in the know about the actual situation here at the manor. Thus, she makes a mental note, in the future to be more open with them.
To Kwabena, she dismisses his apology with a simple wave of her hand and another friendly smile, "Do not apologize for such trifles, I am a guest. ... And yes, of course. I understand. It was a pleasure meeting you both." She affords them both glances, even though she is only certain at this point Kwabena seems to be departing. Then she glances at him again, "Do take care." and there is a softness there might communicate that though to her they were strangers, she surely felt they could be fast friends...
The knowing smile is met with a similar one in return, as Doug, in turn, has a suspicion confirmed. Now it only remains to know what -she- had up her sleeves, so to speak. Metaphorially, at least - just about the whole world probably already knew literally. 
Tilting his head at Kwa, Doug wonders briefly -how- Kwa seems to know her, while she didn't... there must have been -some- situation here. Something to ask about later - certainly Professor Xavier might have... ah. 
Nodding briefly, Doug nods towards Kwabena. "I'll be happy to help when you need me. Though, ah..." For some reason, he'd have thought Professor Gray would have had been able to smooth communications with her own particular ability. On the other hand, this -was- a case where his language ability would come in handy. "... er, never mind. I'll be happy to help." 
And then belatedly, Doug smiles, offering a hand. "Pardon my manners, I didn't introduce myself. Doug. Doug Ramsey." 
There is a moment where Kwabena's mis-matched eyes seem to ice over. The mention of Victor Von Doom brings the touch of a very dangerous emotion to his demeanor, and that would be vengeance. His jaw tightens, his hands flex as if they were to ball up into fists, but his self control prevents it.
A second passes and its gone. Neither of them could know just what damage was done in those dark dungeons, least of all Betsy, in the state she seems to be in. Thus, the dark emotion bleeds out of him with ease, for not only is he well aware of the dangers such thoughts provoke, but he also remains helpless to do anything about it.
For now.
"Thank you," he offers to Betsy, before glancing back Doug's way. "Good, I am glad to hear dat. I'll be sure to fill you in on some few details in short ordah."
And then, he bows his head to both, issues a simple farewell greeting in the Dangme language, and is fast moving off toward the centre of the mansion.
Betsy readily takes the offered hand, soft fingers curling about the body as thumb crosses about the base of thumb. She grasps it, but gingerly, and gives it a light and courteous shake. "Think nothing of it, luv.", she intones deeply again, "You've afforded me plenty of courtesy aready. I should imagine you have more important things to do than to entertain a woman like me...", there comes a coy, almost flirtatious, smile and then... after a moment... she releases the hand and withdraws from the handshake. It's hard to say how genuine this coy smile is, given how accustomed she is to shmoosing with other people, but she was certainly being friendly anyway!
"With that said, she deems it necessary to begin wrapping things up. Affording an energetic yet courteously subdued wave to Kwabena as he departs, her smile widens a bit more... putting on display her immaculate teeth momentarily... before returning to their neutral state as her emerald green irises sweep across the foyer and then -up- a touch at Doug's face. "Well, it's about this time that I make my way back to gardens for a bit of quiet. Care to join me...?" And, without waiting too long or the response, she starts down a hallway at the back of the foyer that leads to the rear grounds with him eagerly in tow as discussion continues - albeit a bit more privately now!
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