X-Men MUCK - Wednesday, August 27, 2003, 2:47 PM
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<<XS>> Lab/Medbay - LvB2
Walls are sterile white and surfaces gleam in polished stainless steel, the large room a vision of cool science tinged with the faint medical smell of antiseptic and filled with the soft whirring of autoclaves, refrigeration units, and various medical scanners and devices. Four hospital beds are present near the entrance, curtains rigged to allow for privacy, but pulled back when not in use. In shielded alcoves off the back wall are the resident doctor's pride and joy: A full-body X-Ray machine, as well as an MRI unit and other heavy-duty imagery equipment. Between the alcoves, through a thick glass window, a small operating theatre can be glimpsed. In the lab section, an electron microscope and a pair of gene-sequencers take place of pride, glassware and smaller equipment kept securely locked away in the cabinets underneath and above the work surfaces.

Beast glances down at his feet. Damn telepaths, they always knew what was going on upstairs. He really needed to find a way to block them out on occassion. That didn't draw attention with a Magneto-like helmet. "I assure you, Dr. Grey. That it was just a absent thought. I'm really doing quite fine. I've been venturing out of my room after all, if I wasn't fine....would I be doing that?" Trying to put on a brave face for his little sister.

"Hank..." says Jean again, in exactly the same tone as before, obviously not buying the brave face. She keeps eye contact for a bit, and then briefly absents herself to open a palm-locked cubbyhole and remove... a pristine pack of Hostess Twinkies. Uh-oh, the big guns have come out. Slipping it in a pocket of her lab coat, Dr. Grey returns to her battle to get Big Blue to open up. "When the Dr. Greys come out and you're not joking, I -know- you're trying to hide something. What's got you bothered?"

Moira, head down, takes notes as she walks, muttering to herself as she stops mid-scribble to hold the small microphone cord at her collar and roll her eyes skywards, "Bloody ijits cannae screw in a lightbulb withou' callin' me at lunchtime," she mutters before her voice returns to a more cheery tone, the microphone clip let go to check both the earpiece and the wire that that connects both of these to a small cell phone in her pocket, "Aye, I'm listenin'... just' change the base stabili- ye tried tha'? Then why are ye still callin' me at- alright, jus' don' break anythin' and reformat th' oxygen levels of th' tanks and see whit that does, aye? Jus' send me th' results here in the States..." The lab doors give a small 'hiss' to herald in her arrival and Moira MacTaggart barely gives glance one to the occupants, just a flicker of her eyes to the other two in the room, her voice quieting as she ends her long distance phone call. "Alrigh' Jimmy, send me word if anythin' catches fire, aye... "

Beast glances up and eyes the Twinkies as Jean pulls them out and slips them into her coat. Damn you to hell, Pavlov. Hank's facefalls a bit, and then he clears his throat. Damn her for knowing his weakness. Hank glances up at the hiss of the door. Saved perhaps? Hank starts stepping non-chilantly twords Moira. "I can assure you Jean, I'm fine. I'm probably irritable from lack of coffee, maybe I should go make a pot?"

What are honourary little sisters for? -Someone's- got to know the weaknesses of the Mansion's private Cookie Monster. "Oh, there's a pot brewing over there," Jean points out with calm cheer, indicating a little kitchenette half-hidden behind a sliding version of the metal panels lining the walls down here. Dropping the package of Twinkies in front of Hank, she reclaims her chair of earlier, and notes that "Hank. You're coming with me next time I go get coffee at The Sanctuary. I think you need to see that the School isn't the -only- place where blue fur is chic. Hey Moira!" she waves. "Did you have a chance to look over those samples I sent you?"

Moira plucks her cellular accessories off her ear and shirt, shoving them into her pocket with a sigh. "Buncha bampots," she mutters with a shake of her head, then turns to greet the people in the room with far less vexation. "Och, Dr. McCoy! Good tae see ye!," she says with obvious cheer and delight. "Sorry I havenae chace tae track ye doon and say hullo." Her fingers take up a thick clipboard of worn papers, flipping through of them. "An' I did take a look a' them, dearie, but I dinnae think the results are just finished jus' yet. Muir's havin' a nervous breakdown over a bloody spilt beaker an' I've been takin' phonecalls all mornin'..."

Beast just needed the googly-eye glasses, and he could pass as Cookie Monster. With the appropriate gobbling noises. "Thanks Jean." Blast, his escape thwarted he moves twords the coffee pot. He tries to ignore the package of twinkies, getting his coffee first. You can resist the delicious sponge cake and that sweet sweet cream filling. He makes himself a cup, using the largest one he could find. Black and double sweet, of course. "The sanctuary? And no, I don't think that's wise. After all, I don't want to place you or the school at risk, just for me to get some outside time." He smiles and bows to Moira. "Good to see you as well, Dr. McTaggart. I'm glad you recognize me, I'm not exactly the strapping young man you once had the pleasure of knowing."

Arrhm arhhm arhhmm. T is for Twinkie, and Twinkie is for me? Jean eschews the coffee in favour of just sitting and poking idly at the model of a retrovirus a government pal sent her that she's trying laboriously to reverse-engineer, giving Moira a smile. "Nice to know you're needed, at least?" she offers, with the sympathy of one who knows what heading a lab is like, even if she's rather young for the job, and the MD-not-PhD Dr. Grey somewhat intellectually outnumbered in current comapny. Hank just gets a slightly exasperated shake of her head. "Henry McCoy, you need to get out, and you're not going to put the school at risk if you go out for coffee with me. High-order telepath, remember?"

Thanks to being a 'silent partner' in Xavier's school and a motherly amount of snooping, Moira kept herself well abreast of any abnormal changes in the genetics of the students here. That goes for staff as well, so the change in the 'strapping young man' goes noticed without a flinch, stare or hitch. "Anna hope I still have th' pleasure of knowning, aye?,' she retorts quickly with a warm smile, "If ye think I couldnae recognise those baby blues then ye're strongly mistaken." She starts to flip back through her paperwork when Jean's comment catches her attention. "Whit d'ye mean, he's nae goin' oot?," she asks the younger doctor."

Beast walks back twords Jean's desk, cup of coffee in tow. He wiches at Jean, and rolls his shoulders with a shudders. "Ack, not Henry. You know I don't like being called Henry. Only Mama and Gammy McCoy can call me Henry." He shakes a clawed finger at Jean, smiling at her. "Why not just toss in the middle name, and you can give me flashbacks from down on the farm." He teases as he sits down, taking a sip of his coffee. "You know I'm not a huge fan of mental manipulation. No offense, Jean." He smiles widely to Moira as he takes a seat, cracking his toes and nods. "Knowing me is hardly a pleasure, curse.....mayhaps." He teases, though he's probably going to get a dirty look from Jean. And oh no, here it goes. Jean and Moira are gonna tag team him.

"None taken." Jean replies blithely enough. "I'd only redirect the minds that were openly thinking about mutant-skin rugs, after all. And anyways, you won't find any of that sort at Sanctuary." she knocks that objection out of the way, beaming as the 'Henry' gets the desired reaction and promptly seeming to ignore Hank in favour of conniving with Moira, the mother hen and the little sister on the way to joining forces. "He's not going out, and he's been hiding in his room ever since that serum went wrong, that's what. We need to get him out. There's that conference on emergent African diseases next week..." If the twinkies fail, perhaps dangling a chance to hobnob with other brains will work.

The clipboard set down with a *clack!*, Moira has a more important project to work to focus on. A mild frown, "Dinnae play with me like tha', young man," she chastizes, "Kairse a terrible thing tae say!" Well, he says 'curse', not 'kairse', but her accent means well. "Since th' serum-," she stops to count the days, then sighs heavily. "Hank McCoy," she says, coming closer to his chair. It's not a very sharp use of his name, just sad one. Almost disappointed, as if out of all the people to take such a rebirth of mutation like this, brooding and despondent, it shouldn't be him. "Ye know Jean's right," she starts...

Beast glances between Jean and Moira as they start talking, and he leans over and snags the package of twinkies. Damn your willpower Hank. "If you really want me to go out, I guess I could use a chance to field test my disguise." He slits open the package with a finger claw, and starts munching on a twinkie. "I've not been hiding, I was.....working on things." He glances between both of them, finishing off the first twinkie in short order and sips his coffee. His eyebrows raise and he looks to Jean. "Emergent African Diseases." Damn her, damn her. When he was a boy he always dreamed of seeing Africa, especially after his Uncle Ed gave him a subscription to National Geographic on his 8th Birthday. The chance to hobnob with people that actually based their studies there. Damn. <<You still don't play fair, do you.>> He slumps down in his chair as Moira starts into him. Well, it was more like back on the farm everyday. He looks down and starts on the second twinkie, and then sips his coffee. "I'll be fine, I'm just adjusting. Don't worry so much everyone, you know I bounce back from everything."

Jean snorts from where she's now leaning over her desk, rifling through a manila envelope with, of all things, the letterhead of Succubus Entertainment blazoned on it. A few Things are covertly tipped from it into her pocket, and a Jean with a bit of the telepath's mask hiding her expression is suddenly glancing at her watch. << Of course I don't play fair, Hank. I'm your kid sister. >> she replies unrepentantly, smiling triumph as she heads out the door. "Well, I've got some business in town, so I'm going to leave you to Aunt Moira's tender mercies, Blue. I'll be back in a couple hours, and could you have one of the beds prepped for me?" And with that somewhat ominous note, away goes Jean with a whoosh of the lab doors, and not a backward glance.

Moira, indeed, was about to start in, when Jean's rather quick exit and peculiar request halt her in her tracks. Crazy kids... She shakes her head and says in a caring tone. "I don't think anyone's questionin' that', Hank. It jus' doesnae seem like ye. And 'sides, there's nothin' ye could be workin' on tha' someone here, in the lab, couldnae be helpin' ye with." She smiles, "That's whit th' school is here for, right?" Yes, yes, she knows he'll be just fine (even if she has to ensure that with her own two hands)... Beast well, saved by the bell from Jean. Though now he's alone with Moira. "Understood Jean." Note to self, prep a bed for her. "It's not anything to do with lab work or medical studies. Just some personal prokects that I've been putting off for far to long. "But how have you been?" Change the subject."

Moira's mouth presses into a small line for a moment, returning to the workstation she's claimed for this recent stay. Heaven forbid she should just hover over him like a flood lamp in an interrogation... "So ye're tellin' me tha' after th' results of an experiment far and away fail yuir expectations... ye went oop to yuir room and... caught oop onna book? Called a few friends and family memembers tae say 'Hullo'? Finally learned how tae macrame?," she asks idly, keeping her tone light. A pause. "Or were ye mercilously pourin' over yuir work trying tae learn what when wrong?," she asks quietly, concerned and understanding.

Beast exhales a bit as she moves away, and he pops down the rest of the second twinkie with a guzzle of coffee. "I did quite a few things will I was up there. Not being able to go out on the town, gave me an incredible ammount of free time. More doctors and scientists should look into being shut-ins, you'd be amazed how little you really need to go out. Especially if you keep yourself busy. And nae on the macrame, I'm considering looking into that in the near future." He leans back and stretches. "I looked over my work, and I believe that Jean has as well. We're not sure what caused it, seems to just be fate." Not that he ever believed in fate before.

The Nobel Prize winning doctor who spends the majority of her life cloistered away on a self-suffient island off the rocky and barren coast of northern Scotland, miles from anything even considered 'civilization' listens quietly to his advice on being a 'shut-in'. "Fate?," Moira asks, "Tha' doesnae sound like ye at all. Whit it does sound like is tha' ye found somethin' ye didnae understand... or didnae want tae..."

Beast removes his glasses, sitting his coffee cup on Jean's desk. He ponders your words, rubbing his temple with a clawed finger. "I haven't found anything of consiquence. Just some curious alterations of the genetic pattern, that only offer more questions. Nothing to concern ourselves with though. I'm a big boy, as you know.....I'm sure I'll get over it in time."

Moira folds her arms, "When have ye ever made a discovery with a question left unanswered anna said, 'Well, tha's that then!" Her hands fly up and flop back down to her sides in the international sign for giving up. "Listen tae yuirself, man! If ye did, ye'd know why Jean sounds so worried for ye! An' jus' because ye sound distraught doesnae mean anyone thinks ye're gonna become.... och," Moira searches for the word for a moment and gives up, "one of those wankers who paint their faces and listen tae tha' Morressy fellow... anyway, yes, ye will get over this, but tha' doesnae mean we dinnae care f'y ye now."

Beast looks over to Moira and offers. "When the last discovery devolved me into more an animal then a man. Maybe if I leave well enough alone, I won't slip down the evolutionary ladder anymore. Unless you'd like a giant slime mold oozing around the mansion." Well, that was a tad harsh. But well, when things like this happens, it can sort of hurt your faith in yourself. "Jean is worried about everyone, that's why she's so good at what she does. She's like you, you both have that empathic gift for knowing how and when people need cheering up."

Moira frowns, "If *ye* leave well enough alone! Whit aboot Jean? Charles? Me?" Her hands spread as if to show she's currently unarmed. "Did ye stop tae think that, p'rhaps with help, ye might at least be able tae find some peace?" Another sigh, she can be just as stubborn as he can... "Jean worries f'r those in need, Hank, those distraught. She can tell. I havenae a whit of telepathy and *I* can tell." Speaking of himself as a curse... as slime... Moira hisses in a breath. "Someone has tae make sure this change doesnae affect ye body and mind..."

Beast stands up and gets a bed ready for Jean, as she asked him to. "Everyone got along fine when I left the first time. I don't think there would be much of a change, if I departed again. There's more then enough doctors and scientists around here to keep the place in shape." He looks back to you and smiles, fluffing a pillow. "I'm at peace with what I've become. As for my mind, it seems to be uneffected by the devolution. So proving my hypothesis that my intelligence isn't tied into my mutation. That's nice to finally know for sure. As for affecting my body, well....I think we've already seen the extent of that."

Moira's mouth presses into that line again. "I wasnae talkin' aboot ye leavin' physically, Hank," she says in a warning voice, "An' just in th' past few minutes I've observed a great deal of stress in yuir posture and a strange turn towards self-deprecatin' comments, attempts f'r humor or otherwise." She pushes a surgeon's tray closer to the bed being prepared. "Leadin' *me* tae hypothesize tha' ye're nae at peace with yuirself at all, but keepin' up a good front anna hopin' we all jus' leave ye be tae nurse yuir wounded pride alone..."

Beast wishes he was more stoic and harder to read, like Charles. Would be so much easier during these sorts of things. "I have no intentions of leaving physically or mentally. Don't worry yourself so." Hank fluffs the pillow somemore, and then smooths the bed with his hand/paw/handpaw?. "You know me, I always looked for the humor in ever situation. And what's so wrong with a good front. No sense worrying everyone over something that's of no consiquence."

Moira rolls her eyes, "There ye go again! Hank, did ye not hear me? 'Somethin' of no consequence', aye?" Shaking her head once more, she reaches out for Hank's hand, hoping to catch hold of him and his attention. "Ye are of *great* consequence tae everyone here. I'd hope tha' after everything this school has gone through, after all Charles had hoped to foster in each and everyone of ye, that ye'd understand tha'. Ye're family, Hank, though hell or high waters. We will care aboot ye, even when ye donae want us tae."

Beast allows his hand to be taken, and he looks up at you with sad eyes. He knows she cares, and he cares about everyone else. But allowing them to care was what worried him. "I just don't want you all to worry, if this was just the first stumble down the ladder of evolution. After all, even I can't tell from my observations if this has stabalized me, or if it's just a momentary rest on the way down."

Moira gives his hand a motherly squeeze. Her eyes are asd as well, but only for the fact she has seen this young man in so much better days. "Let me see yuir data," she says slowly. "Whatever notes, papers theories ye have, I would like tae have a look. Jean wasnae able tae send me much at Muir, but no' that I'm here, please... let me help ye." Preliminary reports suggest that this jump in genetic structuring is nothing but a hyperextension of the original mutation, but Moira knows nothing is going to sway this doctor until he sees it withhis own two eyes. "Nothin's changin' withou' my say-so," she states and, with her track record in the field of mutative science, that just might be the case.

Beast nods to Moira and smiles. "I'll crack off a copy for you as well. Or you can get it from Jean. She has copies of all my relevent notes, for posterity." Just incase things did get worse. "Of course, I'd have to request that my formulations remain on the page, I don't want someone else ending up like me, if it was some sort of horrible miscalculation."

Moira smiles consolingly. "Of course." Mind you, should his work be revolutionary or perhaps used fo rother purposes beside his current results is something Moira will have to test further. If he was able to tap into his own genetic code through a serum, such a breakthrough reworked might able to cause a variety of wonders he might not have even thought of yet. And she's sure that 'Dr. Henry McCoy finds cure to neurofibromatosis' or other genetically caused diseases might perk him up a bit. "But if ye have a request, so do I. I'm going to look over yuir work an' invest a whole island of equipment and scientific know-how tae make sure yuir not going tae go through any unknown secondary mutations, but this means I'm going tae have tae run some tests on ye m'self. This means yuir officially a patient under my care, aye?"

Beast smiles back and bows his head to you, reaching his other hand over to pat yours. "Thank you." It might perk him up, or it might make him fall deeper down the slippery slope of depression for screwing up in the first place. Hindsight is 20/20, and it always seems to make our choices seem bad ones. "Of course. Whatever the lady says. In the name of scientific research, all parts of me are at your beck and call, doctor."

Especially when one keeps himself in a funk. Her smile gains warmth as she thinks the lighting just might have gotten a bit brighter in here. "Excellent,' another squeeze, a handheld hug, Moira slips away to retrieve a notepad in a drawer near her work. Rumaging for a pocket for a pen, she scribbles as she talks. "Then, as your physician, I am prescribin' ye a night out of the school grounds. See a movie, catch a cup of coffee with Jean, just go f'r a walk. Do somethin'! Fresh air and surroundings'll do ye good." Signing with a flourish, she hands the note to Hanks: lo and behold, it's an actual prescription, doctor's scrawl and everything, ordering 'Night out, to be taken at least once in the following 2-3 days, refills available'. "I'll let Jean know of m'orders and anyone else I havetae..."

Hank whimpers a bit at the perscription as Moira presents it to him. "Are you sure it's wise? I mean, I can't exactly move around unnoticed that well, even with Jean's influence on folks. What's so wrong with wanting to just relax and kick back here in the school. And I have my run of the grounds, you know." He folds the perscription, slipping it into his lab coat pocket.

Moira looks stern as she retrieves some idle supplies for the bed he's preparing. "Are ye questionin' me, lad?," she asks warningly. "It will do ye good, anna tha's that. I willnae hear another word. As for how difficult it may be, I'll see whit I can come oop with tha' may help ye. But who says life was easy tae begin with, hrm?" She crosses back and puts a warmhearted hand on his shoulder. "Relax, dearie. Ye'll be fine..."

Michael walks in through the medbay doors carrying a bottle of Gatorade and a folder of stuff he's been working on...he stops as he sees the two of you though and smiles..."Um...Hi...I didn't realize I was going to run into anyone down here. Um...but since I did...Dr. McCoy if you have a moment I'd like to tell you about an idea I had...your friend is welcome to stick around it's hardly private...it's just an idea I've been toying around with and need the expertise to put into motion..."

Beast smiles to Moira, leaning his head to the side to nuzzle the hand on his shoulder. "Understood. And part of the work I was doing while I was being anti-social might help me move around a bit easier, atleast for the time being." He knew of the holo imagers, but would never accept one himself. While holographic was great, they just werent for Hank. When Michael's presence is announced, Hank straightens up and looks to Michael. "Please, no Dr. McCoy. Everytime I hear myself called by my formal title -- I fight the urge to shout out, "He's dead, Jim!"." Hank smiles to Michael, and gestures for him to come in. His cheerful mask back into place. "What was the idea, my friend."

Friend? FRIEND? What in the world is Xavier teaching these children? One corner of her mouth indents as she gives a displeased look to Hank, leaving his side with a kidly pat. "How kind of ye tae let me stay, lad...," Moira mutters with a mildly sardonic smile as she crosses back to work, picking up her clipboard on the way...

Michael chuckles a little then comment..."I'm sorry Hank it's hard to accept being a colleague of sorts with you and Jan and now she tells me Dr. MacTaggert's around the mansion somewhere...you knwo...the Nobel Laureate..." He blinks and looks to the lady..."I'm sorry miss I didn't mean to make it sound like I have any say...I'm just a research assistant to Dr. Gray..." He looks back to Hank, "Oh yeah...the Idea...well...it sort of involves my gifts...you know how my one of my gifts keeps people from using their mutations when I have it on...but it doesn't change them physically just stop them being able to use them...even the involuntary ones like Rogue's power stealing are blocked...I was thinking there might be a neural explanation for it...and that maybe with the right tests we could figure out what causes this to happen and replicate it with a bracelet or since it would likely have to be near the central nervous system a hat...that blocks powers...Jean thinks it's a good idea and we figured if we could get it working there are several mutants ni the mansion who coudl use one...as well as Rogue"

Beast never was much for formality, he'd even asked to be called Hank by most of the students. Mr. McCoy if they had to be formal around him. Probably not quite kosher with most members of the faculty, but Logan was similar. He blinks at the displeased look, and shrugs. What? He can't be friendly to the students? "I'm more the Handyman around here as of late, Mr. Jones. You'd probably be better speaking to Dr. McTaggart." He gestures to Moira and coughs. There, feel better Michael. Now maybe Hank can sneak off while you distact the good doctor. "Sort of a power nullifier. Facinating idea, indeed."

And into this quietly intellectual scene, insert the whoosh of those nifty automatic doors again, and a Jean in her X-Men uniform dragging in a foundling from the direction of the basement-level garage. A foundling that looks like Sabella Miller. But... isn't, somehow. "Hank, Moira, Michael." she greets, and proceeds to continue half-carrying the very worn out Sabby towards a hospital bed. Hi?

Moira's displeasure comes from the rather causual dismissal of her presence by Dr. Grey's lab assistant than any student-friendly activites on his part. But, as quickly as her ire was raised, her her wounded pride is quickly thrown aside for eminent medical emergency. It's Jean! And someone's unconscious! Moira's quick to jump up and aid the young woman in her dragging... "Well," she asks, getting under the KO'd woman's shoulder and lifting up as best she can, "Let's hear it." You know, the explination, young lady?

Hey! Sabby isn't unconscious! She's just a bit weak, y'know, given the half-healed state of her arm, then rather painful grafting of the past month, and the extensive time she's spent strapped to a table. Oh yes, it's a tale of joy and glee. Don't you all want to hear? Sabitha's leaning heavily on Jean, allowing both the doctor and telekinesis to support her, but she could probably manage to walk on her own, if she were really inclined to try. Really. She manages a weak half-smile to the gathered group, expression written over with relief and the lingering echo of pain. Hi.

Michael blinks and folows, ready to lend a hand however possible especially since this looks like Sabella and well...he's stupid over her..."That's not sabella..." He states after getting a closer look though...something about her just doesn't quite fit...though he couldn't say what...He blinks and looks over,...blushing deeply..."Dr. MacTaggert...I'm sorry I had no idea...I'm a huge fan...I'd say more but...obviously work now...talk later..." not that he's really alot of use in a medical situation unless Jean needs a healing factor or two turned off while she works...

Beast considers leaving the work to the three of them, and slipping away. But hypocratic oath and all that Jazz. So Hank steps up to one side of the bed, and offers a two fingered salute to Jean. "I'm here for whatever you need me for, what happened here?"

"No, this is Sabitha Melcross, Michael." Jean replies carefully. "She's a student at Emerson, just like you, and Sabella kidnapped her and turned her into this... body double. Think of that, next time you're considering mooning over her again." Oooh. Apparently Jean's coming down off a combat high, and like many a combatant, is blunt because of it. Moira gets a somewhat sheepish smile, though, the polished Dr. Grey suddenly looking like a schoolgirl caught in mischief. "Um... you wouldn't believe she followed me home?" she offers, before assisting Sabby up onto the hospital bed and going over to find her lab coat, giving a case history all the while. "Patient is an otherwise healthy mutant female in her early twenties or so, suffering mostly from extreme exhaustion after about a month of systematic, well..." A swallow and a scowl at the wall. "Torture would be putting it politely. She just needs to rest and recover, is my diagnosis. Dr. MacTaggart? Dr. McCoy? Any suggestions?"

Sabby lifts her uninjured arm to waggle her fingers at the group, and she swallows deeply before adding to Jean's suggestions, "Some pain killers and a freaking huge glass of water? And /please/ tell me someone's got a cigarette." Her tone is wry and her voice is, eerily, that of Sabella Miller. Something that still startles Sab, when she thinks about it too much.

Michael closes his eyes...he knows the evil Sabella's capable of...he has done some with her...but still this is just another example of just why he keeps trying to make himself get over her...this and a few other thinsg...he frowns and stays back but watches..."I'm sorry it happened to her...this is why I should have never left her...whilke I was still with her I could keep an eye on her and make sure she didn't go too far over the line..." He shakes his head feeling guilty he didn't stop this and guilty for how he was when he was dating sabella...ah well...he slips back to a stool and just keeps out of teh way..."god...I thought letting that jerk get her pregnant was her lowest point..."

"How are you holding up Sabitha?" Ororo asks as the doors swish open to reveal the weather witch, blue eyes narrowed at the girl. She knows it's Sabby, she was warned it's Sabby, but that doesn't keep her from being wary of the girl who's voice sounds just like Sabella Miller's. Her heels click against the hard floor as Michael gets an odd look. "There's nothing you could have been able to do to prevent it Michael." she states in a cold voice, her distaste for the woman obvious in her voice.

"Water? Aye. But ye'll be verra mistaken if ye think ye'll be smokin' in here." Moira has no personal experience with Sabella Miller outside of a case file, so any eeriness or personal bias is lost upon her. The basics are run through with systematic speed, pressing her fingers against her throat for a pulse, Moira's eyes flicker to a nearby clock as counts the heartbeat, resting the other hand against her forehead. "Michael, be a dear an' help Hank fetch a glass o' water, please?," she orders poliely, though loud enough to be heard over his external monlogue. People? We're professionals here... "Jus' relax, dearie," she says to the girl, smoothing her hair in a motherly gesture for a moment, "an' rest the best ye can. We're gonna give ye somethin' tae relax ye, but I think it's best tae try an' get some sleep on yuir own if ye can." A smirk, "It may seem a silly question, but how de ye feel?"

Sabby's hand falls flat atop the hospital bed and her eyes crinkle in irritation. "You've got to be kidding me," she notes in Sabella-esque exasperation. You'd think a month without, added to a bit of healing power, would take away the cravings. Sabitha seems to be regaining her energy from the atmosphere alone - an atmosphere that involves friendly faces and no retraints on the bed. She shakes her head, red-tipped hair flying. "I'm not ready to sleep yet," she replies to Moira before both her question and Ororo's is answered with a sullen shrug and a shift of her injured arm, almost painful to look at with the nasty , just-forming scab that covers it from elbow to fingertips. "I'm alive. It's better than I'd hoped, huh?" Hear that wry lilt in her voice? This is Sabitha attempting optimism.

Michael nods and goes for water...explaining to hank..."before my brief stint staying in teh mansion I was dating Bella...we've had an on again off again relationship since...a part of me is always goiing to love her and a part of me hates her because she's capable of doing stuff like this...unfortunately I can't make myself stay away from her even when logic says that I should avoid the woman like the plague..." He sighs and for lack of a glass turns on the tap and lets the water ball up in his hand...using the outside of teh water as a container for the inside as it were...just focusing the surface tension so it can't spill and sticking a straw into the glassless glass of water before he heads over to sabitha and moira with it.

Beast gets ready to hold a hand up to Michael as he's quite capable of fetching a simple glass of water. "Thanks, I think the water would have exhausted me, Dr. McTaggart." He turns away from the sink, heading from one of the drug cabnets and fetches a couple of mild pain killers. "The patient isn't allergic to anything, is she?" He asks of Moira, since she's seeing to the girl. He glances to Michael. "I was right, I didn't want to know. This was the young lady responsible for the lovely baked goods, correct?" He comes back, slipping two mild pain-killers in Sabby's hand.

Storm listens to Michael's story, having heard most of this before through livejournals and basic school gossip, and she obviously doesn't approve of it, but her distaste is kept to herself as her features mold themselves into a mostly-cheery expression, watching Sabitha for a few moments. This is going to take some getting used to. "One and the same Hank." Ororo answers for Michael with a nod as she stays in the background, watching. She really just wanted to make sure everyone and everything was ok.

Moira takes note of the damage to the girl's arm and bustles through the medbay until she finds a medicinal spray and some gause, ready to treat the unusual wound. "Well, we should call up whatever files we have on this Sabella to see if she had any particulars," she admits, holding Sabby's wrist gingerly and lightly coating the wound with the spray, turning the arm just so to check for any muscle damage. "Anything we should know, dear?," she asks the body double of the infamous.

Getting used to, indeed. The voice is still enough to throw Sabitha off, and she's not seen a mirror since the day Sabella whisked her away from the Emmerson theatre. She accepts the painkillers and the glassless water with a raise of her recently-perfect brows and downs the pills quickly. "The patient isn't allergic to anything," she confirms with a smile that's becoming more and more shamelessly giddy as time wears on. She allows her arm to be turned, wincing now and then as the healing flesh stretches. "An no, nothing.. I mean, beyond the obvious, I guess."

Michael sighs a little and nods..."yeah...that's her...and yes I know she's evil and has been from the start...see above re: can't make myself stay away...I'm trying to but the last girl other than her to really capture my attention didn't really want anything to do with me...not something that happens to me a whole lot...and I was drugged too I tried to have words with Bella about that and...well...she defused me...she always does...and had any particular whats?...I should be able to answer your questions about her...it's the least I can do."

Beast raises a brow to Michael and hmms. "All my Mutants." A comment about the typical state of affairs around here. He swears, if Xavier would just sign a deal with MTV they'd all be millionairs several times over with a reality program based in the school. "Thanks Ororo." He stand by Sabella's bed, trying to not look threatening. After all, it's not everyday you see a giant cookie monster in a lab coat. 100 percent pure nightmare fuel.

A giant cookie monster in a lab coat? That shouldn't cause nightmares! Odd greeting cards maybe, but not nightmares. Storm nods at Beast's thanks and leans back against one of the counter tops with her hands pushed into her pockets, observing the situation quietly, filing away all sorts of information for her to think about and dissect later. Like the little chat she'll be having with Michael before this is all said and done. But now really isn't the time.

Moira banadages the arm carefully in a thin gause, letting air through but not dust or other irritants. A bit more poking and prodding is done in a professional manner, checking for any other internal injury or hidden malady. "'Sides the obvious?," she asks leadingly, looking up to Dr. McCoy in case he has any insight on this particular patient.

Sabby has quite enough nightmare fuel, thanks. After a month locked alternatively in Sabella's basement and Sinister's labs, Sab's likely to be ok with just about anyone who doesn't try to kill or torture her. Even giant cookie monsters in lab coats. So long as she's allowed a sidelong curious stare now and then. Michael finally draws her attention, and raised brows furrow angrily. "If you can't stay away, maybe next time she can lock /you/ in a tiny room and mess with your body structure. Bet you'd be close enough to her /then/." Bitter and angry? Nooo. Course not. In response to Moira, Sabby waves her hand, indicating her form from head to toe. "I look like an evil bitch and my arm's throbbing like hell?" she offers.

Michael sighs..."I think I need to go get a breath of fresh air...the ball of water should be fine without me..." Crap he's not supposed to wander the mansion alone..."Ororo...could I borrow you perhaps?...I'm not supposed to wander the mansion alone unless I'm on my way to or from the lab and my car or heading to the kitchen for coffee..."

Beast looks to Sabby, and trys to comfort her a bit. "It could be worse, you could be covered with blue fur." Well, it's debatable which would be worse. But still, you know. "I can take him, if you like Ororo. I'm not really much help at the moment."

Storm arches a brow at Michael's restrictions in the mansion, but refrians from commenting. She may not know the reasoning, but she certainly can see that he might not be the most trustworthy person in the mansion. "That's fine Michael, I needed to talk with you about a few things anyway." She offers a nod to the others before giving Hank a smile. "You can join us if you'd like?" she says and with a small smile to Sabby she heads out the doors with a little swish.

Moira listens again to the despair of the physicaly transformed. Someone should write a psych paper on this. "The pain should subside in a few moments, the rest will have tae wait until ye get rest..."