Joe's Note: With me splitting chapters left and right to help make room to explore subplots that I'm surprised nobody called me on neglecting or outright ignoring in the original version, this chapter contains pieces of… I think like, Chapter 8 from Blue Belle? Maybe Chapter 9? Not sure. Over half of the word count is new and original content, though, with 2,200 of the 2,900 remaining words being significantly reworked to better match what I hope will be a significantly improved Emma/Jean romantic subplot. Which should go a long way to quelling some of my personal discontent regarding Blue Belle; that romance in particular was one of those moments where I went and did something without planning and belatedly realized that the material before that point didn't really support what I want. Ah, well, the perks of rewriting things I guess. Fix the shit you didn't do right the first time so that you can do things even better down the line.
Dedications & Thanks: To Nicholas, Alexander, Howard, Alonsis2, MJ, Christopher, Daniel, Fablesrogue, Morgan, Janne, DireSquirrel, Joseph, Jason, mpop, Riley, bloodylord, Luke, Crusifikz70, Zachary, Marc, Ziryo, Elliot, Timothy, Leigh, Chris, George, Koby, Dimitria, William, Stephane, Ken, Warren, Paul, Pat, Joel, Warren, Mitch, and Jess for sponsoring me on , and making it easier for me to spend more of my time writing.
November 8, 2013
Rosenberg Household - Living Room
Given that they'd settled into a happy routine over the past week or so, Willow had expected one of a few difference scenarios when she walked in the front door of her house. Michelle leaning against the bannister in her underwear as a silent invitation for Willow to follow her up to one of their rooms. Michelle sprawled out on her stomach on the couch with no pants on, kicking her legs idly as she watched television and waited for Willow to come home. Maybe even Michelle pouncing her and pinning her to the wall; she was getting better at taking initiative rather than needing Willow to constantly top from the bottom. Or given that today was the day that Michelle was planning to confront Tall Mystery Girl, perhaps the redhead discussing the encounter with Cordelia, Harmony, Gwen, or some combination thereof. What she found, however, couldn't even be considered the 'last thing she'd expected' because that would imply that at some point she'd considered the possibility that there would be a half-naked, eight foot tall, very strange-looking girl standing in her living room. Although she was half-naked, and so was Michelle… "So, is this your way of telling me that you've changed your mind about the whole threesome thing, or..?"
Blushing a darker shade of blue, Michelle batted at her companion's arm as the veritable giant of a girl chuckled softly, a sight that made Willow frown. Why was Michelle blue? Especially given that she was just as underdressed as their visitor? Hadn't they talked about that? "And here she didn't believe me when I told her that meek little Willow Rosenberg was secretly a raging nympho. Thanks for proving me right." That revelation made Willow's frown deepen; how was she supposed to find a permanent - or even temporary - replacement for Michelle when she was ready if everyone still thought she was the same old meek little Willow that she'd been before Halloween? "Anyway, if you haven't figured it out yet… meet Mæja the Mystery Girl. Mæja, this is Willow… which you already know because you've been creeping on her too."
Mæja rolled her eyes at that, crossing her arms over her chest defensively as she turned to face Willow. "I assure you that I haven't been 'creeping' on you, Willow. On the orders of the Allfather, I've been investigating you and Michelle along with all the others who were touched by the magic cast on Alfablót."
"As long as you do it looking like you do at school, you can creep on me all you want." Willow did her best to school her face into a suitably playful expression before shooting Mæja a wink, and was rewarded by the girl's face blushing a strange orangish-brown color. After all, irritation with her housemate aside, just because Michelle hadn't brought Mæja home with the intention of having a threesome didn't mean one couldn't be in her future if she played her cards right. But that could come after she got a few answers. Presumably Alfablót was the equivalent of Halloween amongst Mæja's people, but that still left Willow wondering… what exactly was the girl? Furrowing her brow, she looked Mæja up and down slowly, trying her best to focus on the less human aspects of the taller girl's appearance as opposed to the fact that she was half-naked and remarkably curvy. Business, then pleasure. While she definitely looked like a demon, Michelle would seem just as demonic to the uninformed and so that meant little in the grand scheme of things. Mæja was… large. Muscular. Vaguely fiery-looking. Combining that with the reference to an 'Allfather'… "Are you… a fire giant?"
"…I am. Among other things, including a seiðkona and a valkyrie." Mæja carefully lowered herself to sit in the middle of the couch, taking up not only the center cushion but half of the cushion on either side of her, and making the entire thing look like a child-sized piece of furniture in comparison to her oversized form. "You continue to impress me, Willow; I wasn't expecting a Midgardian to recognize me, or even know what an eldjötunn is for that matter."
"I aim to please. Just ask Michelle." As Michelle's blush darkened, Willow allowed her eyes to bounce back and forth between the two of them several times before finally settling on Mæja, looking the fire giant… no, eldjötunn… up and down slowly. "So, not that I'm unhappy to come home to this, because I'm not. But why are you two in your underwear in the middle of the living room? Did I miss a memo about it being Fuck Clothes Day or something?"
Making her way over to flop down in the nearby recliner, Michelle waved one hand over her very blue body. "I've never met another shapeshifter before and evidently I'm not like any of the shapeshifting races that she's met in the other eight realms, her own included. So we were both curious about the other's powers and, well, that's not the kind of thing that you play around with while fully clothed. Or at least you don't if you're me." Michelle crossed her arms over her chest and pouted as she nodded in Mæja's direction. "Turns out that's another way that Mæja and I are different."
Really? Because unless she was mistaken, Mæja was down to just her underwear as well… and then Willow realized something that promptly made her feel incredibly stupid. In her true form, the eldjötunn was close to two feet taller than the human façade that she wore around Sunnydale High, and was just plain bigger all over. The fact that she wasn't completely naked meant that either she had magic underwear capable of growing with her, or that her clothing was a part of her shift unlike Michelle. Fascinating. At the same time? While she didn't necessarily have a problem with girls going shirtless in her house, and would be down for joining them herself… "Just out of curiosity, can we either take this upstairs or back into normal human forms? My house may not be on Main Street or anything, but we get a decent amount of traffic and those windows don't have curtains. All we need is for one person to glance over as they drive past and suddenly there's a SWAT team at my house. Or possibly SHIELD or the Avengers."
While it was clear from Michelle's expression that she saw the hyperbolic excuse for exactly what it was - an excuse - she limited herself to a petulant scowl and a roll of her eyes before acceding to Willow's request. After a fashion; while she was willing to shift back into the form that she usually wore in public, she opted to forgo the chin-length hairstyle that she used at school in favor of the full-on, impractically long Merida mess that she knew Willow disdained, presumably as some form of silent rebellion. "There. That's the best you're getting out of me. This is supposedly my home, I should be allowed to be comfortable." Whatever. At least she was human-colored.
One down, one to go. Willow's gaze drifted over to where Mæja sat, watching intently as the eldjötunn shifted back into her human disguise. The process was definitely slower and seemed to take far more concentration than Michelle's transformations, which actually made sense once Willow thought about it. Given the marked difference in size between her true form and her human form, assuming of course that mass still had to be conserved? Mæja was simultaneously altering her physical appearance, her overall volume, and the density of at least some parts of her body, the last two to a degree that Michelle hadn't yet been able to match. And sure enough, her black bra and panties smoothly shrank alongside her body to maintain a proper fit, although whether that was part of Mæja's abilities or a quality inherent to her underwear remained a mystery. Michelle wasn't wrong, comparing and contrasting the two girls' abilities would indeed make for some fascinating experiments… but not in the living room.
Her concerns assuaged for the moment, Willow pulled her tank top up and over her head, dropping it onto the floor at her feet before stretching languidly. After all, she could hardly expect Mæja and Michelle to run around shirtless for her viewing pleasure if she wasn't willing to extend them the same courtesy, now could she? Making her way over to sit next to Mæja on the couch, she threw her legs across the brunette's lap before raising an eyebrow. "So, if I'm understanding things right… you're a fire giant who's also a valkyrie who's investigating what happened in Sunnydale on Halloween for Odin?"
"Verily. While those of us who move in certain circles are well aware of the magic users here on Midgard, the sheer magnitude of what Heimdallr sensed coming from your town got the Allfather's attention." Mæja eyed Willow's legs curiously for a few seconds before eventually shrugging and settling her hands atop Willow's leather-clad thighs. "Princess Thrúd was unable to get time off from her mortal guise's job and nobody in Asgard truly trusts Amora… for good reason, mind you. As one of only two seiðr-using valkyries familiar with Midgard, it therefore fell to me to investigate what had transpired and report back to the Allfather. Finding the taint of an Olympian hanging over your town was definitely unexpected, to say nothing of the results of the spell. Two of your classmates were possessed by the spirit of a singular woman, another was reunited with her long-dead grandmother, a third appears to have become host to the manifestation of an idea, and…" Trailing off, Mæja gestured to where Michelle had shifted to throw her legs over one arm of the recliner as she braided a section of hair just to the left of her face. "Well, you're familiar with one of the more interesting cases. Intimately so, it would appear."
Willow chuckled lowly at that, glancing over for a moment at where Michelle seemed to be pointedly ignoring the proceedings before returning her attention to Mæja. "You're not wrong there. Oh, and obviously you know that I'm another of the people who was affected by the spell on Halloween. If you're interested, I'd be very willing to let you conduct a… very detailed, in-depths examination of me. After all, I'm sure the Allfather would want your investigation to be as thorough as possible, right?"
Reaching over, Mæja fisted one hand in the waistband of Willow's pants and lifted the redhead up off the couch. From a position that provided little to no leverage, without any visible sign of strain. Impressive. Kinda arousing, too; she still wanted to try being a proper bottom at least once and who better to put her in her place than a super-strong fire giant? "While I'm not necessarily against the idea of enjoying a bit of merry sport with a pretty young woman… according to several of my past lovers, I tend to be a bit rougher in bed than most." Okay? And? Not doing anything to dampen her interest. "This came from fellow valkyries, who are easily as strong as I am. You, on the other hand, are a Midgardian. Surely you can understand my concern..?"
So in other words, Mæja was worried that she might wreck the bed… and possibly Willow herself. While full-on hip breaking snu-snu was a bit extreme even by the redhead's recently - and significantly - relaxed standards for bedroom behavior, what was life without a little risk? Surely she could impress the idea of a safeword upon Mæja and tap out if need be? Willow tapped her fingers against Mæja's wrist, waiting until the brunette dropped her back down onto the cushion before offering the girl a coquettish grin. "I'm friends with the Slayer; YOLO kinda comes with the territory." Moving closer, she threw a leg across Mæja's hips and straddled the girl's lap before chuckling at the confused expression on the brunette's face. "So, you're 'familiar' with Midgard but evidently not that familiar. YOLO means 'you only live once'. It's like 'carpe diem' but for stupid people."
"I feel like Sunnydale is the town that YOLO forgot." That drew Willow's attention away from Mæja and over to where Michelle was finishing up her work, securing the end of her braid with a hair tie before looking up to meet Willow's curious gaze. "You know, because of the vampirism? And occasionally necromancy and good old-fashioned mad science, like that thing with Chris's brother Daryl."
Fair enough. Willow turned her head back and forth, looking from Michelle to Mæja and back before finally letting her gaze settle on the redhead as she nodded in Mæja's direction. "I feel like I'm making some headway here. Should I be flirting for two, though, or are you planning to sit this one out? And before you answer, remember that this is literally an out of this world opportunity that you'll probably never get again."
Michelle opened her mouth to respond, paused, closed it, thought for a few more seconds, and then gave it another try. "I can barely keep up with you, and you want to know if I want to have a threesome with you and a fire giant who's worried that she'll break a human in bed? Pfft. Thanks but no thanks, Will. Although before you drag her upstairs… Mæja. We kinda got distracted before by each other's powers, and then Willow showed up. I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that you're more powerful than most of Earth's magic users, and probably have even more powerful friends. Janus's spell. Can it be reversed?"
While Willow had absolutely, positively no desire to go back to the shy, nervous, babbling wreck of a girl that she'd been before Halloween? She could understand why the idea would appeal to Michelle. Kinda. At the risk of sounding like a total bitch, now that she had the additional perspective and experience that her other self's memories provided? Xander wasn't much to write home about, either physically or in terms of his life. Michelle was much better off the way she was, in Willow's humble opinion… which was in no way influenced by the fact that she didn't want to lose her - currently only - sexual partner.
Mæja shook her head, causing Willow to let out a breath that she hadn't been aware she'd been holding. "No. While all magic alters reality to some degree, what Janus has done to you and the others is a foundational change that… no. Anyone on Asgard with the power and knowledge to do such a thing would refuse. And if they didn't, you would be a fool to trust them."
"Well fuck. Which means that if someone pops up offering to turn me back into who I was before this, they probably need to be slayed. Good to know." Shifting into a proper sitting position on the recliner, Michelle hopped to her feet and clapped her hands together. "And on that note? I've had a complete reversal of opinion because I suddenly find myself in desperate need of serious avoidance coping. So… how exactly is this going to work? Because not only is this my first threesome, but while it's pretty obvious at this point that Willow is down for the rough stuff? I'm a tiny bit more vanilla than her."
That made Willow peer back over her shoulder at Michelle with an incredulous look on her face. "I'm sorry, what? With some of the shit we've done together, I can confidently say that you're about as vanilla as that carton of chocolate ice cream in the freezer."
"Yes, and if I'm chocolate ice cream?" Michelle tossed her head, letting straight blonde hair ripple downward from her roots to her tips before shifting her face into what appeared to be a mix of Gwen, Harmony, and Aphrodesia. Considerate of her, Willow mused, especially given that at this point she was eager enough that she wouldn't have protested if Michelle turned into her identical twin sister. "You're like… chocolate fudge brownie ice cream with chocolate sauce on top. And chocolate sprinkles."
November 8, 2013
Chase Household - Kitchen
"So… you and a shapeshifter. Visiting Claire together. Anything you want to share with me, daughter dearest?"
Pausing in the kitchen doorway, Cordelia fixed two misspellings in her next text to Harmony before sending it off and looking back over her shoulder at where her mother was perched on a stool at the kitchen island, watching as one of the servants made dinner. "Wow, you almost sounded like a concerned parent there for a second. Are you feeling okay?"
Miriam Chase née Lockner looked up at the ceiling and mouthed a few silent words before making a beckoning gesture. Then came a sharp spike of pain in Cordelia's left ear as her three earrings decided to try and get up and go for a walk. Son of a… why couldn't they make attractive earrings for adults out of plastic? Gritting her teeth, Cordelia stalked over to the island to alleviate the pain, throwing herself onto the stool next to her mother. "Would you rather I be a helicopter mom? Harass you about where you're going when you want to leave the house? Tell you that your skirt is too short? Grill you over every charge that comes through on your credit card? Wave a paper copy of each month's phone bill in your face and demand that you tell me who each and every single non-Sunnydale number that you've called or texted belongs to?"
"Well no, but-"
"Good, because I don't want to be my mother either. That being said, I think I have a right to be concerned when I find out that my daughter is spending time with the right hand of a dangerous terrorist. Even if that terrorist is your grandfather. Especially because that terrorist is your grandfather; I know exactly how insane my old man is." The stool she was sitting on turned ninety degrees to the left and Cordelia found herself staring into a pair of green eyes identical to the ones she now possessed. "But that's neither here nor there, while someone actually is here. Why is Raven in Sunnydale, Cordelia?"
Attempting to turn and face forward again, Cordelia rolled her eyes as the stool once more rotated itself so she was facing her mother. "Maybe she likes the food at La Playa Azul as much as us?" Her mother just stared at her, completely unamused, until eventually Cordelia cracked with an exasperated sigh. "It's not Raven. Not exactly. The Raven we know is in either Los Angeles or Washington D.C. right now, pretending to be a senator. There was this whole magical 'turn people into their costume' thing on Halloween, and it turned someone I know who was lame enough to dress as a senator into a mini-Raven. A boy… into mini-Raven." Miriam's eyes widened in disbelief, making Cordelia snicker before nodding in confirmation. "Yeah. And to make things even worse, she has some of Raven's memories. Not sure how many, but enough to go from zero to action hero when I attacked her thinking she was Raven. So even if I didn't have a really good use for Michelle? I'd still need to be nice to her. Oh, and as long as we're talking about it? The whole Halloween magic thing is where my makeover came from. If you noticed. Or care."
Miriam continued to stare at Cordelia for a few more seconds before shaking her head, flicking her hand and turning Cordelia back around to stare at where Maria was preparing their dinner. "You know, I'm really starting to hate this God forsaken town. First it was a vampire attack while Melody and I were enjoying a girls' night out, and now this. I told Robert it was a bad idea to move to the Hellmouth, no matter how good a deal the house seemed at the time…"
November 9, 2013
Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters - Emma Frost's Office
Westchester, New York
'If they ever make a movie about us, I hope it's while Lil Jon is still popular so he can do a song for the soundtrack.'
'Pass. Not that I'm necessarily adverse to having some rap on the soundtrack of my life, but I'd prefer an artist with lyrics a tad classier than 'grab his dick, it's yours, bitch!'.'
'…this is your completely unsubtle way of telling me to shield better when I have a song stuck in my head, isn't it?'
'Perhaps. Speaking of having poor shielding, though…' The door in front of Jean Grey abruptly opened and the redhead stumbled forward a step before managing to release the doorknob still tightly grasped in her hand. Straightening up, she stifled a groan at the smirk Emma was shooting her way. 'Darling! So nice of you to… drop in.'
Before Jean could even try and defend herself, five identically dressed blondes looked up from where they sat around the long wooden table that had somehow made its way into Emma's office since the redhead's last visit. 'You didn't really need the pause there, Mother. If Mom had fallen through the ceiling or something, then perhaps that sort of dry wit would be-'
Emma let out a noisy sigh before rolling her eyes and gesturing for Jean to enter. 'Ah yes, children. Can't live with them, can't enjoy guilt-free child labor without them.' What? Jean frowned as she followed the blonde, eyes darting over to where the girls were wielding red pens as they worked their way through tall stacks of papers. 'Correcting papers, reading my incoming mail and picking out which form letter is an appropriate reply, that sort of thing. It's a win-win situation in my opinion: they can earn money to buy things beyond what I see fit to provide them with, and I don't need to sully myself with such menial labor. It also discourages them from doing things I disapprove of by forcing them to work hard for their rebellion. Win-win-win perhaps?'
Despite the fact they'd taken to calling her 'Mom' after finding out that they were tangentially related to her through their half-sister Rachel, the quintuplets were very much Emma's daughters and so Jean didn't really feel comfortable trying to parent them. At the same time, there was at least one problem with Emma's idea that the redhead could see. 'Aren't the girls in every single class you teach here?' Emma merely raised an eyebrow at what was essentially a rhetorical question before turning away and beckoning for Jean to follow her as she made her way back over to her desk. 'Then shouldn't you be worried about them cheating when they grade their own work?'
'…honestly, woman, are you a telepath or aren't you?' Emma shook her head despondently as she settled into her desk chair. 'Yes, my daughters are going to cheat on the work they're correcting using the answer key that I am telepathically providing. While I'm sitting right here watching them to boot.' Well when she put it like that… 'Elizabeth darling, I think that press release is as perfect as it's going to get. If you'd like to stay a bit longer, I have another project you can work on.'
Elizabeth? Who was Emma… a folder in a very familiar shade of purple floated past Jean's elbow, and she jerked away in surprise before peering back over her shoulder. Somehow, she'd managed to miss that there was not one, but two non-Frost girls sitting at the table: Monet St. Croix and Betsy Braddock. The latter of whom was evidently allowing Emma to call her by her real name, despite Betsy refusing anyone else at Xavier's that particular privilege. Interesting. 'You sure? That's actually both the Frost International multijunction photovoltaic cell press release and the Op-Ed you're sending to The Boston Globe about the need to make post-human status a protected class. I'd hate to deprive Esme of any more potential Starbucks money.'
Stretching her arm out, Emma caught the folder as it came in for a landing and opened it, perusing the contents. 'I suppose you had to do something to make up for the kitchen not having an apple you could leave on my desk on Friday. Thank you, though. In that case… I think you know me well enough to have a general idea of what I will and won't answer. Want to go through the potential question list that Details just forwarded me?' With her back to the girls, Jean couldn't see Betsy's response but she could make an educated guess based on the fact that Emma emptied the folder in her hand, loaded it with new papers, and then thrust her hand forward. As the folder floated off, the blonde turned her attention back to Jean. 'As gushingly glad as I am to be graced with your presence, Jean, is there a particular reason you're visiting me this evening?'
Rather than answer, Jean reached out and pulled one of the papers out of Emma's hand. 'You're sending what to the where why now?'
'An Op-Ed. To The Boston Globe. Advocating the need for certain legal protections for those of us with abilities beyond the ken of the average Homo sapiens sapiens. As for why? Our society's got ninety-nine problems and a reblog solves none.' Grabbing Jean by the hips, Emma pulled the smaller woman down onto her lap before deftly plucking the paper out of Jean's hand. 'And so unlike certain armchair activists I know, I'm actually trying to do something productive in my spare time to advance our cause.'
'Hey! I went to Washington DC to testify at that senate hearing-'
'Ah yes. The senate hearing that I spoke at an hour or two before you took the floor. Where I was willing to expose my true nature while you opted not to. And the real Senator Kelly steamrolled you, before taking us on a trip back to 1950s Wheeling, complete with an actual utterance of the phrase 'a list of names'.' Emma eyed Jean for a moment before shaking her head resignedly and giving her chair a half-turn, allowing her to set the printout down on her desk. 'I hate to break it to you, darling, but my daughters did more for mutant-human relations with their interviews for Teen Vogue and Seventeen than you did at that hearing.'
Part of Jean wanted to point out that Emma had only 'exposed' the parts of her true nature that wouldn't terrify the average American… but the rest of her had things to do that evening and so instead she bit her tongue. Then something occurred to her, and she scowled at the blonde. 'You do realize that we're not eight-year-olds on the playground, right? Pulling my pigtails like that doesn't tell me that you want me, it tells me that you're a bitch.'
Emma met Jean's indignant gaze curiously, arching one fine blond brow. 'Do you ever wear pigtails?'
'What? No. I'm a grown wo-'
'Well that's a pity. I bet you'd look adorable with them, and I'd love to have a chance to pull them.' Emma ran her tongue over her lips slowly before offering a lascivious wink, making Jean blush darkly even as the blonde sobered and pushed onward. 'At the same time? I'm not 'pigtail pulling', Jean. I'm being honest with you in a way that I presume Scott seldom was. I think that's an important part of a relationship, especially considering we're evidently supposed to get married and have a daughter together. Don't you?'
'Scott was always honest with me.'
'Darling, he wouldn't even be honest with you about pants making your butt look big.'
…given the number of tight skirts, jeans, and shorts that Emma had pumped into her wardrobe as of late, Jean somehow doubted her butt looking big was something that bothered the blonde. Quite the opposite, actually. But given that Scott was her past and Emma was possibly her future - and therefore in a way, her present - the redhead decided to concede that particular battle for the time being. Tearing her gaze away from the blonde, Jean used her telekinesis to spin the chair they were occupying in a slow circle, scanning the room to make sure she hadn't missed anyone else. While it was generally hard to miss hair the color of her daughter's, she'd somehow managed to overlook Betsy's bright purple pixie cut and so she wasn't willing to take anything for granted at this point. When she failed to spot the actual reason for her presence, though, she finally answered Emma's original question. 'Where's Rachel?'
'The same place she's been for the last twenty minutes.' Emma shot a glance over at a door that blended into the surrounding wall so well that it was practically invisible. 'Rachel? How are things coming in there?'
A familiar chuckle rolled through Jean's mind. 'Feeling kinda like a porn starlet at the moment: I've been ready for the big finish for about five minutes now, but I've been holding back for the audience's sake.' Jean's groan of disgust - where had her daughter learned these sorts of sayings? - mixed with Emma's amused laughter as the door opened and Rachel stepped out, taking a few steps out in the office proper before reversing course back toward the bathroom, coming to a stop in the doorway and striking a pose with one hand on her hip and the other in her hair. 'So? What do you think, Mom? Mother?'
It was very white. Apart from that, Jean couldn't really say much. Her daughter's new outfit was essentially a whitewashed version of the clothes that Jean wore while out on missions for Xavier, and so any criticism of it would essentially be criticism of her own wardrobe. Well, her version featured a small yellow 'X' in a circle on the chest while Rachel's replaced it with a gold replica of that odd blocky bird tattoo that graced her lower back. But other than that and the color? 'It's very nice, Rachel, but… I guess I'm not getting what the point of you owning a mission uniform is. You don't go on missions.'
Rachel exchanged a look with Emma, snickering softly as she returned her gaze to Jean. 'Is that right?' For some reason - possibly that response or possibly the little, almost Emma-esque smirk that her daughter was wearing - Jean had a suspicion that she'd be feeling very stupid sometime in the near future. God damn time travelers. 'Wow, Mom, language. Are you going to kiss me with that mouth someday?'
Gosh darn telepathic time travelers.
'…really, Jean? You're going to fall for that one? I've said worse to her face. In front of you, even.' Ignoring Jean's exasperated sigh, Emma leaned forward a bit. 'Would you be a dear and spin for me, Rachel?' Their daughter obliged, holding her arms out from her sides as she pirouetted slowly under her mother's intent gaze. Emma gestured for Rachel to repeat her rotation again and then a third time before sighing and shaking her head. 'Based on what you've told me about how much you admire my future self's fashion sense, I was quite honestly expecting you to come up with something a bit more…'
'I was going to use 'self-confident' as a euphemism, but sure.'
After letting her gaze drift from Emma to Jean and then back, Rachel offered her mother a smirk before turning and walking back into the bathroom. 'Honestly, woman, are you a telepath or aren't you? Or for that matter… doesn't Dubai First have an iOS app for their Royale Card holders?' Jean shot an amused look at Emma as their daughter closed the door behind her; the sound of a zipper descending followed by the soft rustle of fabric made it plain what she was doing. Why she was doing it… was another question entirely. 'That's a rhetorical question, really; I'm well aware that Mother has a 'dedicated relationship manager' with the bank but given how much money she spends on leather clothing per annum, I doubt my extra purchase would have raised an eyebrow.'
Emma tilted her head to the side in assent before taking the hand that had been resting on the small of Jean's back and slowly running it down to squeeze the redhead's ass. 'One of these days, I'm going to have to take you into the city and markedly increase that spending. After all, unwrapping presents isn't nearly as fun if there's not a quality wrapping job…'
'And before this conversation goes into territory that'll make me vomit or give Betsy new fantasy fuel…' The bathroom door burst open and a somewhat ruffled Rachel leaned against the doorframe. 'There. Better, Mother?'
It was definitely more… self-confident, to borrow Emma's far more polite term. Jean ran her eyes up and down her daughter appraisingly; if this was what Rachel actually intended to wear on missions, she was very glad that the girl wasn't yet an active X-Man. It was essentially a white leather romper suit with a front zipper that wasn't nearly zipped up enough for Jean's liking, paired with knee-high white boots and a gold belt with a buckle made to match Rachel's signature tattoo. As Rachel reached up and began toying with the zipper, Jean shook her head and turned to the incredibly pleased-looking Emma. '…she's your daughter.'
'Yes. Yes she is.'