#||scott summers||

TRUTH SERUM TIME ! 

"You know, once I get past the time-traveling son who is older than present-day me, his evil sibling/clone, the daughter from a potential dystopian future, the alternate version of my aforementioned time-traveling son from yet another dystopian future that's different from the first dystopian future I mentioned, and the adopted grandchild who everyone treated as the Messiah, then... no, actually, it's never going to be easy to deal with. I'm charting out my family tree but it feels like the World Tree now." A deep sigh.

(The looming part is impressive considering they're the same height. Some people just have a knack.)

"If I'm designated driver," she informs him, as if, yes, she is owed something for her headache good deed, "I want the best stories in the morning, and--" oh, yes, there's an 'and'!--"the one with the NDA if you're ever allowed to part with it." One eyebrow arches. "Someday."

The topmost turnip has been mutilated, and it rolls from the basket to land at his feet with a thump, staring up at him.

The good news is that since their last meeting, Scott has finally been reintroduced to the concept of a bed. He looks down at the turnips, and smiles a little to himself. It's usually everything before the 31st that goes fine. The day itself is when all hell breaks loose.

"I'll have to see what the damage is when all is said and done, but by following enough people around, you'll end up with your own collection of good stories for the next few years."

From nearby, a student who definitely isn't old enough to be drinking cries out, "I'm so sorry, Mr. Summers!!"

WHOOOSH! Fire! Fire! Fire!

Scott Summers can only sigh to himself. Maybe a little too loudly but still sighing to himself nevertheless. The fire is a problem already, but that can easily be taken care of, provided he made sure Bobby got the right information.

Then he looks at the student and sighs again, this time even louder. Quickly, he swipes the drink out of the student's hand. One whiff is all the confirmation Scott needs, and he recoils away due to the smell.

For someone who is straight edge, Scott has been thinking I need a drink an awful lot.

PROMPTS FOR PEOPLE WHO REFUSE TO LET ANYONE CARE ABOUT THEM

"Woolf. It's fine. I know what I'm doing." Ever the soldier, Scott is going through pouch after pouch of his belt, taking out everything he needs. He's done this before, and he'll do it again.

send me 🕯️to hear my character's inner thoughts about your character.

GLIMPSES OF THE PAST

"It would be an unfathomable resonsibility for anyone, Scott, much less someone your age." The Professor cautions, leading the fifteen year old into what he can only assume is a paramilitary bunker. So pristine though, like the entire school was built for this.

"I know, sir." Sir. Xavier has tried to get Scott to use other terms, but none of them ever stuck quite like sir did. Scott calls it a matter of respect.

"You know that the pressure will be mounting at all times, Scott." He cautions again.

Scott wears an expression made of stone. "I know, sir."

"If you agree to this, then your mission will be to stop a war, Scott. And once you start the path, you must see it through to the end."

"I know, sir."

"And do you still want to join me? No one could blame you for saying no, Scott."

"But I would blame myself, sir. You helped me see again. You got me somewhere safe. And now I want to return the favor." Scott's expression morphs into one of determination.

Charles nods, and hands the teen a case. When he opens it, there's a combat visor, cast in ruby quartz.