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When everything was done and put away she tried to relax a little, rearranging her feathers so they wouldn't ruffle as she sat back in her chair, her eyes fixed on Tobias. She noted how he shifted in his seat, eyeing his bandages. Perhaps she should have been a little more judicious and showed the same concern back - but before she could he began to speak.
"When I was with my father before coming here..." It seemed hard for him to find the words. But Wynne waited, wanting to let him have the space to talk. "Those in the Brotherhood often would return with varying wounds."
Well, that wouldn't be wrong. The Brotherhood had created a lot of trouble for authorities, and the issue of mutants couldn't have stayed away from her own conference table long. She had every reason to resent Tobias and his father... but something in her intuition warned her not to jump to conclusions. Maybe it'd do to hear him out, Wynne. After all, it's not like you're the same as your father, yourself.
"Mostly I helped patch up my mother since I was young. She seemed to come home wounded more often than the others."
"Mother? Do you mean... Mystique?" Her connection to Erik Lehnsherr was no secret, but it seemed strange to Wynne, for her to be seen as a mother figure. It humanised her, and not in a way Wynne liked. There was an us and there was a them, and she didn't need to feel sympathy for them, not when she was here to work against them.
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They continued swapping never have I evers for a while, Jensen getting drunker a little faster than she'd expected to be. Maybe there were still drugs in her system from her little stay in the infirmary, although by all means it shouldn't have been too much of a concern considering her sped-up metabolism. Still, at some point of time she'd put her head down, resting her forehead on the cool wood of the bar while continuing to slur words at Gwen. "Um. Never have I ever actually laughed while typing 'LOL'. Does anyone even do that?" She turned her head to the side to fix a bleary eye on Gwen. "I bet you do. You seem like the type... the Taylor Swift-type girl." She sighed, turning her face back to the bar as she groped along the surface to find her drink.
"I don't normally do this, but you're done," the bartender said firmly, tapping the wood by Jensen's head. "I can't keep watching this. There was just an attack on the building, for chrissakes. You'd better go back and rest."
"Can't argue with that," Jensen groaned, either really drunk or just not in a fighting mood. "Don't really wanna be alone though. Too much to think about."