[ Jean gives a deftly small not of acknowledgement at the rhetorical question. There are so many people, humans and mutants and beings and things, which have crossed the divide of those categories at times. It's almost far easier to expect that things might at this point from the get-go rather than to be shocked at the end when assumptions have played you for a fool.
Would Jean even know where to place herself in that box if she had to? Would anyone? Would she leave that to Scot? Logan? Charles?
(A man who loves you thinks that something like me should be afraid of you. He is married to something that petrifies him on a fundamental level. Such bravery. He sleeps in the lair of a Red Dragon...
...and I think he's right.
I think you are like me.)
Whose hand would pen the lines to define those divides? The ones that blur so easily. ]
no subject
Would Jean even know where to place herself in that box if she had to? Would anyone? Would she leave that to Scot? Logan? Charles? Whose hand would pen the lines to define those divides?
The ones that blur so easily. ]
Here in Central City?