[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/Wc6oYGm.jpg[/img][/center]

[color=gray]The woman had arched a blonde brow as Jean Grey walked into the Grove, the scent of fall and freshly fallen rain mixing with the blonde’s perfume, Krakoa looming over them all, watching, leaves a brilliant reddish brown today. The metallic scent of the old man that stood behind her, watching as Jean approached, hit her last.

[b]• --|A|-- •[/b]

Her mind instantly translated the Krakoan to what she had always known him as before: Apocalypse. That he was the first, the most notable, among so few mutants to change their names from what they had always been to a Krakoan language variant did not escape her, but there was time for curiosities between the blue giant and Jean. 

“You’re going, I take it?”

Jean smiled a thin, bemused smile at Emma Frost. “What gave it away?”

Frost’s head tilted, as she took in the full view of the redhead, before blue eyes widened and her frosted lips looked to near gasp, “…my [i]God[/i], Jean Grey, is that a designer you’re wearing?”

The smile on Jean slipped, but the bemused look in her green eyes did not. It was a designer, though Jean refused to confirm that aloud, or even tell Emma which designer…not that Emma wouldn’t know it, already, knowing Emma Frost. She wore black; skinny black slacks, a thin black cotton V-neck sweater, her feet in black leather hiking boots with black steel tabs and black laces. The coat atop was a rich brown wool peacoat, her red hair long and straight, offering contrast between the black and rich brown.

[b]”I would not recommend the Manhattan gates, Jean Grey.”[/b]

Jean blinked at Big Blue, surprised, “Surveillance?”

“Worse,” Frost sighed, a heavy, deflating thing that seemed to signal no end of annoyance within the White Queen, “those human cultists have only become more fervent. We’re concerned, well…”

[b]”You are the Phoenix. You are the Mutant Alpha. They are fools, but they are not ignorant to who we are.”[/b]

Emma cringed, though otherwise ignored it, “Just…you’re going alone, we don’t want a scene…may I recommend the Capital District gate?”

“…there’s a gate in Albany?”

Emma smiled, and, once more, Jean was smiling back. Catty, playful, “Have fun, Jean.”

There was something Emma wasn’t telling her. Jean knew that because of her telepathy, but not because she was reading Emma. She knew from experience what Emma looked like when she was holding back, because she had seen the woman’s mind when she had done it before in the past to others. Shaw had “casually” asked Jean to explain the tell on Emma, but Jean could do nothing but disappoint Shaw. If you hadn’t seen Emma’s mind as an active observer, before, you just weren’t going to pick up any tells on the White Queen. Shaw had muttered something about telepaths before giving up.

Whatever it was, Jean was certain she could handle it. A nervous, anxious energy filled her as she left the Grove. It wasn’t whatever Emma kept to her chest; it wasn’t the Cult of X warning from Apocalypse. It was going home.  She hadn’t been since the Phoenix held the entire area hostage, attempting to persuade Jean to stay in their union.

Instead, with Logan’s help, she ended the relationship as best she could and moved on. But that didn’t seem to count, to Jean. She had experienced it within the White Room, yet, still, the extermination of nearly her entire family; brothers, sisters, their little children haunted her. Going home meant experiencing it all anew, a feeling that pressed down on her as she let out a sigh and felt her booted feet leave Krakoa’s ground and her body slip into telekinetic flight, to expedite the trip to Carousel, where most of the gates to major population centers could be found. It was after clearing the canopy and descending that she saw the gate—and the figure next to it, awaiting her.

[i]What are you playing at, Emma?[/i]

Her booted feet touched down just feet from the gate, and him. Green eyes regarded him softly, if curiously, “Hello, Max. You look dressed for a funeral.”[/color]