This was stupid. Utterly stupid. He couldn't believe he was here, doing this. How had they even talked him into this? It was completely ridiculous. He was never going to be able to make it here. He would end up killing one of these crazy, spandex-ed prats in a fit of utter annoyance. And then what? Then everyone would just be pissed off--these X-Gits would be pissed off, his boss would be pissed off, his boss's boss would be pissed off, and he would be pissed off because everyone else would be pissed off. There would be a lot of being pissed off, that was for sure.
Pete knew that his thoughts were rambling and incoherent only because he didn't want to have to think about what was coming up. He stared out of the cab window, watching the New England countryside flash past. He hated New England. He liked Old England. Nice, old, dreary England. He already missed pubs and flash rain storms and sludgy streets and people who couldn't pronounce "g"s and "h"s. He could see his reflection in the window, and he was looking quite put-out indeed--his dark brow was pulled together in a stubborn scowl, his black hair was more unruly and chaotic than ever, and his pale blue eyes were accentuated with the dark circles that lingered beneath them. So the hair and the dark circles were probably caused less by his put-out-ness, and more by the fact that he hadn't slept properly in several days. Sleep was overrated anyway. Time spent sleeping was time when he could be having another cigarette, or another drink--which meant it was time wasted.
He was rambling again. But he really didn't want to think about what would happen when he got there. What was he even going to say? They'd conveniently forgotten to go over that with him. And even though being with the paranormal unit had given him training in how to deflect telepaths, Charles Xavier was the single strongest telepath in the world--wouldn't he know in an instant what Pete was up to? He wondered if the old man would really protest. Pete wasn't actually planning on harming any of his precious students. In fact, Pete wanted to stay as far away from the little wankers as possible. All Pete was there to do was observe--observe and analyze.
The cab was coming to a stop before he knew it, and he almost told the driver to just keep going. But he got out, and the cabby wasted no time in tearing the fare from Pete's hands as he tried to count out the proper amount. Stupid yank. And then Pete was standing there with a single bag slung across his chest, staring up at the massive, hulking house while the cab sped back down the driveway. Without really thinking about it, Pete lit up a cigarette and puff languidly on it as he examined the entryway. His mind was already picking out possible places for secret defense weapons; Xavier would've had to have been a fool not to have defense weapons, after all.
Pete stood at the door, in the shadow of the arched entranceway, and the cigarette hung from his lips. He stared at the door for a moment, as if doing so long enough would make this whole exchange just happen suddenly and painlessly. But he knew better, and he grumbled quietly to himself as he searched out a doorbell.
As he listened to the chimes of the doorbell echoing deep within the house, he couldn't help but repeat over and over in his head how stupid this was.
He was really going to hate this...
Carol tossed down her pen and pressed her hands against her temples. Offering a small groan to the quiet room, she brushed long strands of blonde hair from her eyes and folder her hands beneath her chin. Other than the groan she had just released, the only sounds to grace her presence were a slight buzz from the lights and, every thirty-five seconds or so, the drip of the sink in the adjoining classroom. It was a weekend, and this wing of the Xavier Institute was as dead as it could be.
Deciding that she had had her fill of paper grading for the day, the six foot blonde rose and slipped into the violet satin pumps she had purchased with Emma just a few weekends before. They fit nicely, and along with purple in her chandelier earrings set off her eyes nicely. She clicked her way out the classroom, shutting off the lights and smoothing her skirt. Making sure to check her reflection in a dark window, she descended the stairs toward the kitchen. She hadn't eaten in almost six hours, having been so tied up. The amount of paperwork that she had been burdened with since the expansion of the Institute was ungodly, and with Xavier gone three quarters of the time, the brunt of it fell to her, Emma, and Ororo.
She had barely made it to the bottom of the stairs when the doorbell rang. Glancing at the delicate silver watch on her wrist, she frowned slightly. She wasn't expecting anyone, and both faculty and students had to have guests approved. No one was on the list for today. Diverting her walk, she made her way to the front door and looked out the peep-hole. It was, apparently, a young man.
She opened the door deliberately and offered a small smile. He looked the type that blew in almost daily. Mutant- most likely homeless- needing a place to stay. Then again, this man didn't look homeless.
He just looked pissy, actually.
Offering her best completely-and-utterly-insincere smile to the stranger, she took a step back and gestured with her hand to invite him into the foyer. It wasn't the smartest move in the world, inviting a complete stranger into a mansion of students, but Carol wasn't afraid. She was Binary, after all... what was the grouchy guy going to possibly do to her?
"My name is Carol Danvers, I am a member of the faculty here. What can I do for you?"
Pete was a bit surprised at first, shocked by the stunning blonde that had answered the door. But then again, from what he'd seen in the case files, all of the women around this place were drop dead gorgeous. He didn't quite understand that--maybe they were putting something in the water. He wasn't going to complain though--a bunch of classically gorgeous women running around in spandex--nope, he wasn't going to complain at all. In truth, blondes weren't really his type. He wasn't really one for the super-heroine type at all, actually. Maybe it was just because he was afraid they could break him in half after the break up.
He kept his face passive, bored even, as he took another drag from his cigarette; he seemed unaffected by her cold greeting--Pete was more than used to being unwelcome, and it wasn't about to deter him.
"I see. I'm Wisdom--Pete Wisdom,"As a bona-fide British secret agent, it was almost required that he introduce himself in the classic James Bond style. It was just about the only perk of the job,"I hear you folks are taking in mutant kids, right? Well, yeah, that's me, poor mutant kid with outta control powers and all that jolly good bullocks..." He didn't exactly look the part of a frightened social outcast desperate for help; he was still rather calm, in fact, as he smoked his cigarette.