There are certain talents that people were simply born with-- some kids were born with a predisposition for being good at art, while others were good at speaking-- some were brainiacs from day one, while others were born to play sports-- there were even those who were born with an innate sense of rhythm, as if there was music in their souls and all they could do to contain themselves was sing out at the top of their lungs, dance until their legs went numb, and pick up a musical instrument and play it for the world to hear.

Gina was one such person with that kind of music within her, yet her God-given graces didn't match up with the music in her heart. She loved to sing, but wasn't much good, had never and could never seem to have the patience to learn a musical instrument, and she really couldn't dance. But, just because she wasn't good at dancing or singing never seemed to stop her. She instead opted to do such things in-private or when nobody else was really paying attention to her.

She was doing such a thing now, on her way into the kitchen for some brain-food. She'd been working on studying, and needed a break-- Gina was plugged-in to her iPod, both earbuds in as she danced her way over to the fridge. There had to be something in here-- all the while, some song that was rather popular at the time was streaming into her ears, and Gina was singing under her breath, dancing in that awkward, almost goofy, uninhibited way that one danced when they were under the impression that nobody was watching them. (Or listening to them, for that matter.)

Gina popped open the fridge and peered in, still doing her dance as she daintily picked her way past the important, healthful foods in search of the good stuff. There had to be junk food in here, somewhere-- there was always junk food, but everyone had a habit of trying to hide it, to prevent others from getting to it. You had to work really hard to find it.

Yes, Granny was on the mend. Actually she was feeling pretty healthy right now. After surviving Pneumonia in her age (Pffft.) and going to California to recuperate (try surfing) she had been back at the Mansion for a few weeks. Now she was itching. No, thank you for asking, it was a proverbial itch in the backside.

She wanted to move her old bones arpound a bit in her home. She wanted to get to know a few kids. Maybe teach them manners. (In her totally unassuming way) Or maybe just teach them another thing or two about life. Life that she had some experience with.

So she was merrily thumping along with her walking stick in her left hand when she came across something. Her eyesight really was not what it had been before, but she was shure that the gray spot in her vision was moving. Rhythmically. Or rather she assumed that it was attempting to move rhythmically. From her point of view in the corridor it looked rather feeble. People less well mannered would have talked about about a spastic episode. Really. These people without manners were a tiresome bunch, always assuming the worst. She was different. Also she smiled and started moving towards the gray blob. It had clothes on. (Thankfully - It was not a necessity some people here seemed to think)

And - so it resolved in her vision - had wings as well. Wings. Now mutants came in all shapes and sizes. This one was quite unique. Wings. She stopped for a second, watching the back-turned-from-fridge.

On second view it did look like the mutant had something wrong with his or her nerves. Hopefully. These movements were just a tad too uncontrolled. "Hrumph!" She cleared her throat. She would at least ask whether medical attention was needed before continuing on. At least that.

Gina continued her rummaging until her hands found some cheese-stick. Of all things, peeler-chees, and after all that work? What was the world coming to?! There had to be something in this fridge worth munching on. Something that wasn't good for you. Gina was in the bridge to the chorus when something interrupted her train of thought.

>> "Hrumph!"

The blatant throat-clearing was audible over the hum of music in her ears, and all at once, Gina went silent and ceased her dancing. There was someone else in here?! Crap! She turned her head first before the rest of her body followed, a blush creeping into her cheeks as if she'd been caught doing something bad... well, she wasn't a good dancer, but that was besides the point. She looked as though she'd been caught doing something illicit.

An elderly woman stood there, looking most displeased, and out of politeness, Gina quickly popped the earbuds out of her ears, and brought her music to a fine "pause" with the press of a button. She then gathered up the cord, and tucked the whole electronic device into her pocket. What was it that she'd done wrong, for the woman to be regarding her so crossly? For the time being, she would presume it to be nothing.

"Good afternoon," Gina greeted lightly, absently pushing the doors to the refrigerator shut. She'd settle on a cheese-stick, for now. There was probably better food in the kitchenette off of the common room, anyways.

As the old lady walked closer to Gina, thumping her walkign stick heavily on the ground , she eyed the cheese stick like it was something vile and revolting. And if you thought about it: Cheese sticks were vile and revolting. Much too much processing. Much too much messing with the cheese: Also who would like to pay for something you would just be able to cut yourself from a whole block of cheese with two or three flicks of a kitchen knife?

Grannys voice, sounding quite pleasant, came to Gina through the room. "Good afternoon young Lady." And yes, she eyes the horns and wings at that. Appriciatively maybe. Most certainly not agitated. Just noting. "This old bat has two bits of information for you." One hand lifted from her walking stick to lift up an admonishing finger. "You are not going to eat that and grow into a proper woman." The second one lifted. "And you seriously need to brush up on your moves." Yes. This granny knew youthspeak. Even if it was a few years out of date. She did listen to the children.

Once or twice a year. Maybe.

Her admonishing fingers waggled. "But don't you worry, Honey. The old bat can help you on both counts." Oh yes. And she talked about herself in wonderful third person. How was that? Well probably as awesome as the next cupboard over opening with a green glow to admit a pan enveloped in a green glow flying out. "Omlette?" Her voice was all Granny-Sweetness.

The elderly woman closed-in on Gina, and Gina remained both silent and motionless, smiling in sweet innocence.

>> "Good afternoon young Lady. This old bat has two bits of information for you."

Gina nodded attentively, and gave a faint, "Okay?"

The "old bat" had every ounce of the gargoyle's attention.

>> "You are not going to eat that and grow into a proper woman. And you seriously need to brush up on your moves."

Gina regarded the cheese-stick, regarded her feet, and then looked back up at the old lady, smiling faintly. It was just a snack. Snacks didn't affect becoming a proper woman, did it? And Gina hadn't expected an audience when she was dancing... though she had to admit, she wasn't the best dancer, nor was she even close to mediocre. But, she didn't contend with the older woman-- it just wasn't something that Gina had been brought up to do. So, Gina nodded, smiled, and dutifully replied, "Yes, ma'am."

>> "But don't you worry, Honey. The old bat can help you on both counts. Omlette?"

Gina watched as a cupboard swung open on its own accord, and a glowing frying pan floated out. Gina's smile widened faintly. She had a feeling that, whether she wanted it or not, she'd be eating an omlette this afternoon. And, in the same respect, she would be getting dance lessons. It might as well be by her own fruition... anyways, who could say no to the grandmotherly old woman? Or an omlette? Gina certainly couldn't.

"Yes, please," Gina replied. She set the cheese-stick down on the counter, and hesitantly took her seat upon one of the stools within the kitchen, watching the flying frying pan with an air of interest and humor. As lame as it sounded, it reminded her of The Sword in the Stone, when the dishes started washing themselves.

Making an Omlette is somewhat easy. Especially if you are just thinking about it. And things go all glowy-green on you and start doing what you want - what you think them to do. Like the oven that flicked on. Like the pan that settled down there in the flickering heat. A spoon and a metal bowl appearing from another cupboard. The old woman had not moved an inch from her standing position. She just looked away somewhat. unconcentrated. Not-quite home. But she still managed to smile at the young woman before her. Wings, horns and all. Smile. Everything was normal, safe.

"Good girl." In the background teh fridge opened and closed with a click. A few eggs came by Ginas head on their way to self-destruction. "Young ones like you need to watch what they are eating. Less Cola, more Cucumber and such." A friendly wink in the direction of the young girl might have told her that the old lady knew that such things were almost universally disregarded by the younger cohorts. Until they came of proper age and switched their habits. At least some did.

Granny moved forwards to the table and leaned her cane against it. Then she proceeded to hobble over to the stove where a rack full of spices hung. Hobbled. The fact that she might be able to dance was not evident from her way of locomotion. Nor from her fingers that sported a nice and complete set of arthritic joints and ancient blue veins under paper-thin skin. She squinted at the spices, mumbling something about white pepper - and something uncomplimentary about people bringing things into disarray. Then she snatched a few things and threw a pinch of this and a handful of that in the metal bowl. "As for introductions: You may call me Granny. I teach Mutation Control. And apparently dancing. To you." Better clearing that up at the start. She was - after all - a teacher at this Mansion.

From somewhere behind Gina, a bottle of milk decided to join other things gathering on the counter besides Granny. It might be slightly obvious why she was a teacher here. Yes? The eggs cracked themselves into the bowl under the gaze of the telekinetic. She was good in her old age. With her mutation that was.

Gina watched as the kitchen utensils and food floated around on its own accord, while the elderly woman simply smiled at her. Gina tried to smile back and casually pretend like she wasn't fascinated by all of the things that were zinging by her head, but it was a hard thing to hide. Eggs drifted past Gina's head like little dirigibles bound towards the frying pan, and Gina couldn't help but smile.

>> "Good girl. Young ones like you need to watch what they are eating. Less Cola, more Cucumber and such."

Gina smiled guiltily. She was one such person who ate unhealthy foods-- but, with how active she was, Gina generally just burned through the carbs and calories like they were nothing. She got away with a lifestyle that would leave more sedentary people a little soft around the midsection. Her brown-eyed gaze continued to meander after the older woman as she stiffly made her way towards the spice rack, plucked a few spices up, and then added those to the bowl.

Gina didn't know what to expect in regards to the dancing lesson. Her mind drifted towards the persuasion of something "old school and classy", maybe swing-dancing. But, with stiffly the elderly woman moved, Gina didn't expect much.

>> "As for introductions: You may call me Granny. I teach Mutation Control. And apparently dancing. To you."

"My name's Gina," Gina replied, "Nice to meet you, Granny."

She liked Granny. Granny had sass. Sassy old women were fun. Gina continued to watch as Granny brought more goods forth, adding to the egg mixture casually. It had to be convenient, being a telekinetic. You didn't have to get up and get everything, you just had to summon it over with your mind.

"Your power is awesome," Gina admitted, as an excuse for her general silence and wide-eyed fascination with the goods that were floating around her.

Granny began stirring the contents of the bowl with a wooden spoon. It was a minute of comfortable silence before she talked again. Warm silence, if there was such a thing. "You..." Granny pronounced - yes she made the words sound like a gesture in and of themselves - magnanimously. "... have horns." As if that said anything. And as far as she was concerned, this said a few things indeed. Horns. Like the devil. Or like a somewhat-shy teenager full of Angst that was facing a world that was in turn more afraid of her. She could indeed think of easier natures to strullge with. Like, for example, Arthritis. Her hand was hurting again. She let go of the spoon. It started stirring the egg misture on its own. Thankfulkly her mind was still agile.

The egg misture settled itself to sizze lin the pan and Granny turned away to have a look at the used instruments settling themselves in the dishwasher. Someone had emptied it for once. This was nice. Her perpetual ranting was apparently beginning to wear down the standard teenage resistance to order and cleanliness in some occupants of her home.

"And I have had a long time to practice with my Telekinesis. Wait 'till you see me do heavy-duty stuff." As in: Throwing things not designed to be thrown. Maybe she should try an elephant once. "I need to set up a proper class soon." She grumbled absentmindedly. The eggs began smelling deliciously about then. A real püiece of cheese and a knife apopeared and the cheese - real cheese - began lobbing inside the omlette, which flapped in on itself without a spatula. The cheese went back in the fridge. Granny went back to talking. Doing both and working with so many things - even light ones - was distracting. "Anything I should know about you, Girl?" The Girl was not the term of distancing it could be. It was one of those grandmotherly addresses she felt entitled to. She was well past seventy after all. That had to count for something in her mind. As previously stated: That was very well still.

>> "You... have horns."

Gina gave a nod and a faint, "Yeah."

Sure, she had horns, and a wealth of other outward physical mutations, but what purpose did they serve? There was no purpose for them-- they weren't nearly as practical as telekinesis, that was for dang sure. All that being a gargoyle did was make getting places easier, and invoke a humorous (or occasionally horrific) array of mixed reactions from people. And, watching as Granny released the spoon and began to stir it with her power, that only went to prove Gina's point further.

>> "And I have had a long time to practice with my Telekinesis. Wait 'till you see me do heavy-duty stuff. I need to set up a proper class soon. Anything I should know about you, Girl?"

"'Heavy-duty stuff'?" Gina echoed, her eyes lighting-up as Granny informed her that she essentially hadn't seen anything yet, "Anything you should know about me? Like what?"

Reassuringly perhaps Grannys eyes twinkled with mischief, clearly delighted and delightfully young at the wide-eyed youth before her. "I was in the Army. We know how to handle the Bad People. They usually do not come back for more." Flop, flop. Omlette on plate. And plate to Gina. This was quick and dirty Granny stuff. Feed the children. They might like it. And you. Bad People on the other hand: Be prepared for nastiness. Nobody touched her children. Ever. Or they would meet the flying Dutchman. Dutchman being the name of the Elephant. Or car. Or tree. And flying, well, because it kindof flies in your face. That tends to hurt.

A bit.

"A teacher wants to know whether you might fly away in class. Or turn her into a bird" - not that that had happened recently (thank you, once was enough, back then.) - "Your Granny wants to know whether you would like a glass of milk with that." And with that she flopped herself down at the table.

Gina hadn't met many elderly people in her young life, but of the elderly people that she did know, one thing was most certain-- old people loved to talk. You simply had to find the right avenue of conversation, find what interested them, and suddenly you had a new best friend. Granny seemed like that.

>> "I was in the Army. We know how to handle the Bad People. They usually do not come back for more."

That. Was. Awesome. Gina didn't even ask for clarificaiton, she just grinned at the notion. The omlette was complete, and deposited onto a plate, which was deposited before Gina. Now that it was before her, the omlette looked really good-- Gina couldn't cook much, or at all, and while at Xavier's she'd been confined to the mass-produced cafeteria food. This was the equivalent of fine dining in her eyes.

"Thank you, Granny," Gina said politely, before hopping up to retrieve a fork, and quickly returning to her seat.

>> "A teacher wants to know whether you might fly away in class. Or turn her into a bird. Your Granny wants to know whether you would like a glass of milk with that."

And, with that being said, Granny took a seat. Gina finished her first bite before answering.

"Ah, no-" to the teacher questions, "Flying away in the middle of class tends to create too much of a scene- and I can't turn people into birds, either. What you see is what you've got."

That was the funny thing about her mutation. Just her looks alone were enough to make a human (or even a mutant who was new to the culture) do a double-take, or even freak out. Yet, when it came to mutants who were well acquainted with the culture, it wasn't always the matter of Gina being a gargoyle, but if there was anything else to her mutation. As if being a gargoyle wasn't enough on its own.

For a moment, Gina forgot that Granny was a telekinetic, and nearly declined the glass of milk. This omlette was really rich, though, and really good.

"Yes, please," Gina replied.

At Ginas mention of creating a scene, Granny crocked her head lightly. As if to say: Now, now, young girl, there never was one who wanted to make a scene was there? The slightly knowing smile of her lips might have added much more than words to the impression of knowing things she was not supposed to. Or at least of having strong suspicions. "I am sure you would never do that." She murmured. Murmured! And just left it at that. Then she added, quite conveniently forgetting her former tone (and placement of cranium): "The trouble is often people don't quite know what to see." A small smile, a different one, crept over her face slowly and deliberately.

She raised her hand and the milk got on with pouring itself. into a glass. A nice and hearty swig of it. It settled before Gina without spilling. Just like that. Further proof of her age-long practive maybe. Maybe just an old lady doing things like she always did when she felt no need to get up and moving. The truth lay more in the second direction for her actually. She had lived with her powers for so long that their use had become instinctual. A habit that she was quite unwilling to break. Or even percieve as overly problematic.

She tried to reposition her old and crankery bones in a more comfortable position. Who had thought of chaird without proper padding? No consideration these young ones. Add a mental huff.

"And one thing before we get going: What do you thing I dance?"

Her face was quite innocent here. Even her eyes showed nothing unusual. Only her voice might betray the slightest hint of the trap she had laid out for the young girl. She would show her. Seeing was not everything.

>> "I am sure you would never do that-- The trouble is often people don't quite know what to see."

"I guess," Gina agreed unconvincingly, before returning to eating her omlette. This omlette was really good and vanishing rather quickly. Despite her size, Gina could put food away like no other, particularly when it was good food. She paused to watch as Granny poured some milk with her mind-powers and set the glass before Gina without knocking it over. Gina uttered her thanks before taking a sip of the milk. The omlette was so nice and rich that she needed the blandness of milk to wash it down.

>> "And one thing before we get going: What do you thing I dance?"

Gina was nearly done eating, and the milk was small enough that polishing it off wouldn't be a problem. She shifted her gaze from the omlette towards Granny, inclining her head faintly. What did Gina think that Granny danced, indeed? Gina's kneejerk response was that she had no idea-- namely because she truly didn't, and truth be told, she didn't know many formal dancing styles. Was this a trick question? The gears were obviously turning in Gina's mind, and she rubbed her chin contemplatively, a smile upon her lips.

Jokingly, she inquired, "Hip-hop?"

Her tone sounded light, and hardly serious.

It was really light that answer by Granny. Light and alltogether serious. (Also: Young people were not much fun, no. They tended to be far too perceptive. At least some of them.) Gina might have noted that Grannys eyes still had a bit of youthful sparkle.

"Yes."

Simple as that. With that she rose, her hands taking the edges of the table to help her push herself into an upright position. She grumbled a bit about old joints doing that. Silently grumbled. Then she was walking along, going out of the kitchen. "Come child, Ill show you!" Her voice was jovial and her steps were rather quick. The last bits of her flowered Granny-skits swished around the edges of the door and were gone. Her voice travelled though.

"Dont worry about washing up. I have some of the boys do it later." Yes, she would. Detention some called it. She called it raising proper children. The boys needed to clean the dishes. They needed to clean a lot. Because boys needed - much more than girls usually - to learn these things. Also: They build character. And this was something most mutants needed rather badly.

Granny looked downright delighted, which was met by a skeptical and outright disbelieving look from the petite gargoyle. No way.

>> "Yes."

Gina gaped as Granny rose fluidly (well, fluidly for an old woman) from her chair, but the gape was quickly replaced by a grin. No way. She was still speechless.

>> "Come child, Ill show you!"

Gina got to her feet eagerly as Granny all but bustled out of the room, but had momentarily forgotten to clean up after herself, and went to retrieve the dirty plate, to dispose of it in the dishwasher.

>> "Don't worry about washing up. I have some of the boys do it later."

Gina followed dutifully, leaving her plate on the counter as Granny led her forth from the kitchen. Gina was still in disbelief, on one hand, but on the other hand, she was intrigued. If Granny could really dance hip-hop, which was seeming like more and more of a likelihood now, that would be pretty amazing. Gina secretly wished she had something to video-record this with, though, for ViewTube purposes. A breakdancing grandmother would undoubtedly go viral in no time whatsoever.