Job Interview (for Scott Summers and Emma Frost)

[a_sloane]

It was an odd thing to reflect on: the last time he had applied for any kind of position had been decades ago. Not counting all the counterfeits, of course, but all serious positions had been offered to him since then, and of course his profession had, in essence, remained the same.

(In the field, he had posed as a teacher, in Columbia. It had been an interesting and rewarding assignment, though for reasons that had nothing to do with teaching and everything with the first Rambaldi manuscript he aquired on the occasion.)

Maybe this was an assignment, too. He still had that hole in his memory, though so far he had known better than to go against his own instructions. Remember Julia. He did. He did far too well not to listen. But based on what he knew, he had no other reasons to apply for a teaching position at Xavier's than intellectual curiosity and the need of a challenge. Sloane could not abide stagnation. Besides, if the past in whichever form did catch up with him, it could be more than useful to be among people who had various interesting and lethal superpowers at their disposal. Granted, he'd have to win their loyalty first, but then again, that, too, was part of the challenge.

Finding an acceptable restaurant in the Westchester County wasn't difficult. His own inclination was to look for an Italian one, so he went for French in order not to be predictable. It reminded him of Zurich, and Judy. Well. One could hope that this particular dinner would have simarly rewarding results. At the very least, he would meet two of the more intriguing people he had corresponded with; one of them with clear mentor issues, and the other well versed in sarcasm and the guilt of survival.

Weren't all new beginnings filled with nostalgia?

Comments

[ice-emma.livejournal.com]

Emma was dressed in white, of course.

White trousers, with wide legs, and her favorite white kitten-heeled Jimmy Choos. A white blazer, with a camisole such a light blue it looked white, shimmering just with a hint of icy color.

She recognized Sloane at once. Distinguished and unflappable, looking far too elegant for the restaurant. Or the middle of the day, for that matter. Smiling, Emma turned towards Scott.

"That's Mr. Sloane, over there," she said quietly, making her way to the table.

[cyke-out.livejournal.com]

"You know, Emma," Scott says conversationally. "I don't think the opportunity to torture the kids with Latin conjugations is something we should pass up lightly. God knows, we spent enough time trying to convince the Professor that it didn't have any practical value. Well, except Hank, who apparently stayed up at night coming up with puns in dead languages so they could have private jokes while the rest of us --"

Scott pauses. While trying to formulate an answer to the more worrisome part of Sloane's proposal he has let himself start rambling -- not like him -- and he's rambled into sensitive territory.

Not wanting to leave Sloane hopelessly confused, though, he clarifies. "Professor Charles Xavier founded the school, as I'm sure you know. I was one of the first students, along with Hank -- Henry McCoy, whose work you undoubtedly know if you're interested in mutants. You'll meet Hank; he's still at the school. The Professor -- well, he's left the school in mine and Emma's hands." And if Sloane can't tell from Scott's voice, that he's uncomfortable with the subject, then he's an idiot -- which he clearly isn't. "Obviously, Scott continues, "he believed -- believes -- in cooperation -- and understanding. But -- forgive me -- there have been a lot of people over the years who wanted to learn from mutants, and their motives haven't always been the best."

And now he sounds like he's accusing. Dammit. He thinks at Emma: Why don't I just shut up for the next -- forever -- and you use that famous diplomacy on him. Do you know what you want to order?