#fairphoenix

Emma stepped from her car with no small amount of wonder floating in her mind. It took a lot to impress someone like her, to impress a Queen, but feeling the minds here? An entire school filled with mutants, with minds that were still growing and developing. Becoming who they were meant to be, being shaped and trained and molded. It was a gorgeous thing, something that only fueled her own desire to get her school active. Increased attempts to recruit, to attract people in, to be able to have something like this and call it home.  

It was beautiful. 

Even if the mansion look did remind her a bit too much of the Frost estate. Emma reinforced her shields, remembering Jean’s memories of another telepath there, before gently reaching out for the other woman. Darling? I’m here and a bit worried about getting hopelessly lost if I wander off on my own. She’d come at Jean’s own invitation, not particularly interested in meeting her current mentor- hadn’t even met the man and she was distinctly unimpressed- but extremely curious about the school he ran. 

Stealing students counted as recruiting, did it not? She was a patient woman, she’d happily continue playing the role of an alternative. Wait and see what could happen, who she might attract in their little school. Teenagers were far from the most effective pacifists, perhaps they would come to her seeing another path than the whole “love thy neighboring human” nonsense. That, or because she had something else to offer in terms of potential skills to teach. 

♘: Our muses put up a Christmas tree and decorate it.

Emma was a perfectionist- a side effect of being perfection, if you asked her. Which meant that if she was going to be dragged into celebrating Christmas and trying not to think of the Frost Christmases, she was going to do things right. The tree had to be perfection itself, large enough to dominate the room without overwhelming it. Short needles, more classic that way. And so help her if there was a gap because that was entirely unacceptable. 

Given that it was all the younger woman’s fault she was doing any of this, Jean was dragged along on Emma’s mission to find the perfect tree (God help the poor souls who got in her way or suggested maybe an artificial tree would be more suitable to her standards). Her presence was enough to act as a deterrent, stopping Emma from the worst of her temper and reminding her that Christmas was also supposed to be a cheery sort of holiday. 

And, even better, reminded her that perfection was sometimes too lofty a goal in the most traditional sense. She’d bought the tree for Xavier’s mansion, when she finally found one that met her standards, and both of them were greeted by students with handmade ornaments for the tree when they arrived. Far from the perfect decorations Emma remembered, but watching the children put them up and lending a hand for those who wanted theirs placed up high? It was perfection in and of itself.

But the best part, even if it only lasted a moment, was handing Ms. Grey the star for the tree and asking her to float it up. There was pride on her face, not a trace of fear as it secured itself on the very top. And Emma reached out for a hug in pride.