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Her recent conversation with 'The Innovator' convinced Babs that she had put off setting up a global broadcast system for far too long. She had gone on a caffeine binge shortly after and now, after a few days with almost no sleep, she's finished.

With a final few keystrokes her salvaged network of satellites and radio stations begin broadcasting her digitally masked voice: "This is Oracle broadcasting on and monitoring all available frequencies. If you are receiving this message, please respond."

The system loops the message and constantly monitors for responses. There may be pockets of survivors out there, and if so then she definitely wants to know about them.

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"I was told to look for either fishnets or a wheel chair."

This is said without any insult or innuendo. Just open comment. Wheelchairs didn't really exist in her world as a stigma after The Professor.

"Well the wheelchair makes me Babs. Barbara Gordon, actually," she offers her hand. "Dinah's the one who thinks that fishnets make an excellent fashion statement."

"Seen some bad ones of those in my day, too." There was a laugh as she took the hand and shook it. "I'm Jean. Jean Grey, in full. Newly arrived and curious about the plan around all this for helping people and taking care of monsters."

"Well, the chair means I don't do a lot of field work these days," Barbara explains. "I've been trying to reconstruct enough communications technology to actually be able to figure out what's going on out there. I've got only the most general idea."

"Anything I can do to help with it?"

"Well, tell me a bit about yourself, Jean. I'm sure we can find a place for you."

There's a pause first. Second person in so many days to be direct and 'tell me everything about your powers' which she expected, but it still catches her like salt in a paper cut. Not enough to burn, but enough to make her wince inside.

"I'm telepathic, and telekinetic, and pyrokinetic."

And she'd settled for that. Because even as it wasn't a lie, there were things she just wasn't up for admitting either yet.

Until she was sure of this place.

And the not dying quota.

"Interesting combination," Babs muses, eyebrow raised. "I don't suppose we share the same references for power levels, but I imagine that 'rather' is a fair assessment?"

Jean paused. Again. There was specifically no shift in her expression. Specifically. Before she finally said, very quietly.

"Rather would be minute in comparison back home."

"Well, telekinesis and telepathy are both incredibly rare back home. I don't have a lot of baselines for comparison. Let's try this: how large a threat can you handle on your own? City block level? City itself level?"

"Or," she holds up a hand, "We can talk about something else. I get the feeling I'm making you... uncomfortable."

"There isn't a comparison chart for it back home." Her arms crossed without her noticing, even though she was looking away now. "There may never be."

Except with the Shi'ar, and that was sore enough. After all, only hours ago, they had tried--and succeeded in--crashing a ship, designed to be a world level bomb, into her.

"Lets leave it at, I can do this without blinking," she held up a hand and everything behind her fences, trees, the lavatory/showers, stray cars, lifted two feet off the ground. And then settled back right where they were, no hair or root or piping out of place.

"And that if it ever comes to absolutely needing the 'more' part, you'll know about it."

Her green eyes were bright almost fiery green and serious.

"In seconds, when the time comes."

"In that case," Barbara says, managing to suppress her impressed reaction, "I can definitely find a place for you. Assuming you're up to spending time and energy bouncing all over the world helping with especially troublesome areas?"

Jean blew a strand of hair out of her eyes, focusing on calm. Which was why what came out was ironically wry.

"Do I get vacation days?"

Her face pretty much, with the small herald of reluctant smile coming, said she was okay with it.

"Tell you what," Babs smirks just a bit, "I'll give you the same vacation schedule that I've got. How's that for fair?"

Jean half-rolled her eyes, but it was obvious by this point she was seriously only kidding.

"Next thing you'll tell is that it's the same vacation schedule we both get back home, too."

"Probably. You can take off any day you want to. But not that one."

"Fine. Fine."

She threw her arms out a bit.

"I give you this round, but that Tuesday after the next centennial you can't have. It's mine. I'm stacking my claim now. And you best not try to come around telling me the world is coming to end, because I won't be listening."

Babs holds out her empty hand and mimes writing on it. "There, you're down in my records as having that day off. Now I'm sure not to forget..."

Jean laughed and nodded, before she ended up blowing out a deep, more serious breath.

"Barbara, you know what I just did--?" She raised in nearly the same fashion, even though nothing in the world but her hand moved. Jean looked slightly resigned now. "Can you keep that to whomever's on your need to know list for now?"

Edited 2008-06-03 04:08 (UTC)

"Of course," Barbara says gently, face serious. "I'm good with secrets."

She cocks her head, "What's good for public consumption if someone asks me about you?"

"What I said first: telepathy, telekinetics, pyrokinetics. It's just--"

Jean made a face. A screwed up expression somewhere between her lips and her eyes, of sadness mixed with a heavy weight she didn't regret.

"It's safer this way, for now."

"Fair enough," Barbara nods, still grave.

"And if you ever want to talk about it...?"

"I'll keep it in mind." Jean nodded. It was more polite than thankful, at least for this time.

"Who else is in on this side?"

"You're asking for my current roster?" Barbara asks with a grin. "That's awfully forward for a first meeting." Her tone is most definitely teasing.

Jean raised an eyebrow.

Mock challengingly.

"I showed you mine."