December 24, 2011
Somewhere Between Westwood, Massachusetts and Providence, Rhode Island
"Call on me… call on me! Call on me… call on me! Call on me… call on me! Call on me… call on me! Call on me… I'm the same boy I used to be!"
Thump thump thump thump thump thump thump…
Groaning, Emma turned her head to check the glowing white numbers on the face of the white alarm clock sitting atop her white nightstand… and realized that maybe Jean was right about her going a bit over the top with the all-white thing. Possibly. Then again, if an overabundance of white really was a bad thing, would the redhead be slowly phasing more of it into her own wardrobe?
"She's phasing more white into her own wardrobe because you keep bombarding her with gifts 'just because', and most of them are white clothes." Unwrapping her arm from around Emma's waist, Jean stretched it out toward the nightstand as she telekinetically yanked the alarm clock into her hand. "Why are we awake at… 6:53? Jesus. Since when do they make a 6:53 AM? And what's that racket?"
Emma chuckled softly, watching as Jean levitated the clock back to where it belonged. "The third question answers the first rather nicely, no? As for the second… not sure. I may be more of a morning person than you, but even I don't like being up this early." The two lay there for almost a minute, the faint lyrics and pulsing bassline continuing to invade their sanctuary, and then Emma sighed. "You're going to make me go find out what's going on, aren't you?"
Rolling off of the blonde and onto the bed beside her, Jean buried her face in one of the pillows, muffling her voice. "Well yeah. After all, there's only a sixteen percent chance that it's my daughter's fault but a one hundred percent chance that it's your daughter's fault. That means you're the perfect person to go yell at them."
Slowly pushing herself up off the bed, Emma looked over at Jean for a few seconds before sighing in defeat. "Fine. I'll go yell at the girls. If I don't come back, avenge my death."
Rather than get up straight away, Emma decided to have a bit of fun first. Wriggling a bit so the sheets slid down to pool around her hips, she waited for a few seconds before clearing her throat. When that didn't work, she reached over to poke Jean in the ribs. "You know, I'm not posing like this for my health, darling…"
Jean turned her head just enough to focus one green eye on Emma's form before snorting and looking away again. "It's too early to ogle. I'll draw you as one of my French girls later."
Staring down at herself, Emma tried to process that. Had Jean seriously just turned her down in favor of sleep? Clearly she was doing something wrong. What that was and how she could fix it was something she could ponder later, though, after she'd dealt with that damnable music… and her children. Sliding out of bed, she tugged on a full length white silk robe and belted it before heading for the door. When she'd paid to have the Nor'easter rebuilt, she'd made sure to have the compartment walls laced with her company's latest attempt at synthetic vibranium. While it still wasn't on par with the real thing, it did its job well enough to make for very effective soundproofing. That meant that any music capable of penetrating her sanctuary was likely deafeningly loud.
Indeed it was. Emma cringed as she opened the door and stepped out into the hall, quickly yanking the door shut behind her for Jean's sake. Trudging down the hall, she paused at the doorway to Bedroom B and peered inside. Both Celeste and Esme were absent, and their bunks showed no sign of being occupied at any point. Well, either they hadn't been used the night before or the girls had finally started making their beds without being prompted to. The former was far more likely, though, she thought with a snort. Bedrooms C and D yielded similar results, although C did shown some slight signs of use. Visited, but not slept in. It was the latter that made Emma the most disappointed, though. Even Rachel was in on whatever was going on?
The corridor made an abrupt right turn and then a left as Emma moved on, threading her way between the small spare bedroom they kept for unexpected guests and the public bathroom used by visitors on day trips. Staggering the last four feet down the hallway, she braced her hands against the doorway and glared balefully at the group occupying the lounge. "It is 6:53 in the morning on a Saturday and I am awake. Somebody better have a damned good reason as to why that is."
What appeared to be some sort of impromptu aerobics session came to an end as the pounding music abruptly died, the quintuplets deciding that discretion was the better part of valor and scrambling for the far end of the car. The group split apart and then came a squawk of surprise followed by a most unwelcome sight stumbling forward. After shooting a betrayed look back at her partners in crime, Faith turned to Emma and offered a shrug before gesturing to the black leotard she was wearing. "Fuck if I know. You in the mood to join our work session or something? Rachel could probably hook you up with an outfit of your own…"
"I believe I'll pass, if it's all the same to you." Emma cringed as she looked the girls over, first Faith and then her daughters. Good God, had Rachel time traveled back to the Eighties to pick those atrocities up? And if she had… why hadn't she stopped A Flock of Seagulls from forming? The blonde shook her head in disgust; while her daughters got points for wearing white - white with silver accents, technically - the color didn't change the fact that they were all wearing leotards, leg warmers, and sweatbands. It was a blast from the past, from a decade that the blonde wouldn't mind scrubbing from the collective memory of humanity. Faith wasn't any better, either, in her black leotard and blood red accessories. Not that Emma expected her to be, given that she was probably the cause of this fashion disaster. Pinching the bridge of her nose, Emma sighed. "I'd ask why you're still here, but I don't suppose the 'why' matters. The fact is that you are still here. Instead… you have ten seconds to tell me why I shouldn't toss you off the car's observation platform."
"Cuz we're moving?"
"Yo, seriously. We're moving at like, a hundred miles an hour."
"Don't worry, Faith." The unfamiliar voice drew Emma's attention to the couch, where Rachel was sitting between Faith's shy witch friend - another person who should not have been present and yet was - and a twenty-something blonde. The latter was vaguely familiar from both Emma's own research and Charles's files, although Emma had never met her in person nor had she gotten a glimpse of Carol Danvers since Fury had inducted her into his little goon squad. The fauxhawk and black catsuit with golden lightning bolt emblazoned on the chest was an… interesting… look to put it politely. "If she tries it, I'm pretty sure I can fly through the end of the car and catch you before you hit the ground."
Faith let out a sigh of relief before furrowing her brow in thought. "Wait, I'm not sure I like 'pretty' sure. 'Pretty' sure means you still might fuck it up. How about being 'totally' sure?"
Shrugging, Carol looked from Faith to Emma and back. "Well, I don't know what the end of the car is made of, if she's going to try and stop me, whether she's going to literally throw you off the platform or just hold you over the end and let go… 'pretty' sure is the best I can offer. Sorry." Turning back to Emma, she offered a sloppy salute. "Morning, Miss Frost. For the record, I told them this was a bad idea, so I'm planning to just sit here thinking 'told you so' while you chew them out."
"And you're free to do that after you explain why you're sitting here in the first place, Miss Danvers." For some reason, Rachel positively radiated amusement at that question and so Emma focused her next words on the sole redhead in the room. "Unless one of you wants to explain it for her, that is?"
Unzipping the front of her catsuit, Carol's red-gloved hand dipped into her cleavage and pulled out… a cell phone? "I suffered a… slight failure to observe Federal Aviation Regulations Part 91, Section 21."
Emma raised an eyebrow at that before looking to Rachel for an explanation that the smirking redhead was only too happy to provide. "She flew into me while messing around with her phone."
Groaning, Carol buried her face in her hands. "I decided to skip the hassle of airports and fly home my way for Christmas. I was checking to see if anyone was awake at home or if I should make a detour up to the IHOP in Revere to burn some time. What were the odds that there'd be someone else flying around Boston at that hour of the morning?"
"Considering you flew into me? I'm going to go with 'good'."
It was far, far too early in the morning to be dealing with this sort of shit, Emma decided. And so she wasn't going to. Turning her attention back to the original offenders, she pointed at the sextet of leotard-clad girls. "You… are going to find a quieter way to amuse yourselves. Right after…" Moving on, she pointed at Rachel. "…you bring their clothes back into the proper decade. And you…" She narrowed her eyes at Tara, the dirty blond Kentuckian letting out a nervous squeak as Emma focused on her. "You are going to stop thinking about what you did with my daughters last night. There is never an appropriate time for a mother to be bombarded with images like that. And…" She turned back to the quintuplets, pointing at one in particular and then another. "…that sort of thing is incest, not masturbation. You may be identical, but you're still siblings."
As Emma turned and retreated back down the corridor toward her bedroom, she cringed as Faith's boisterous exclamation reached her. "Tara! You dog! Aren't you supposed to be the shy one?" It was seven in the morning, Emma reminded herself. Too early to drink. Far too early.
"You sh-should talk. From the way you're r-radiating energy, I'm pretty sure you did worse with Celeste and Esme last n-night."
…it was five o'clock somewhere in the world. Pakistan, possibly?