1963-06-20 - Why Don't I Remember
Summary: Moira confronts Erik, trying to get answers about the time she doesn't remember.
Related: http://marvel1963mush.wikidot.com/log:1963-06-19-you-need-to-know
Theme Song: None
moira erik 

Early evening, but at this time of summer it means there is still plenty of light to go around, the temperature of the outdoors is now comfortable and, in general, it's utterly lovely compared to some of the hotness of the dog days of summer. Moira's returned to the Mansion on a mission, but the mission first involved seeing the man who might have answers without being emotionally compromised. So, she didn't go right inside. Asking one of the students playing at football on the front lawn, she was instructed that Erik could be found outside. So, that is where she's headed.

The approach of the woman is probably unmistakable. The sound of her crutch against the ground, the slightly uneven limp of her step, and just that interesting metal pattern of her body that so few others have in compare. And then, with a brush of wind, is her perfume. Vanilla and a touch of lilac. She walks quietly in the direction of Erik, not wanting to interrupt, but waiting for a good moment to greet him.


The man can be found at the far reaches of the grounds, near a line of trees by the Great Lake. He's crouched down to the ground, hands splayed out over the earth, which seems to be trembling and vibrating beneath him.

His body is clad in yellow and black, while thin tendrils of metal pierce the ground and rise to twist about his torso. The dirt caves in behind these shavings, his eyes closed and face wrought with focus.

"Careful," he says quietly. "Don't come much closer. There are strong magnetic fields at work."


"Understood." Moira echoes, respectfully and without fear. She even takes one more step back to give him some breathing room. She has no wish to repeat the other night, her leg still not quite feeling right compared to what it did. Better safe than sorry. So she stands back, patient and respectful, as she watches him work with quiet fascination.

"Your control is… Remarkable. Would you rather I came back another time, though? I can let you be."


"It's quite alright," Erik answers. The ground slowly ceases it's trembling, and he releases one long breath before rising to his feet. Half of his torso is now encased in black metal, twines that melt together to form one seamless surface.

Erik finally turns, sniffing at the air once. "I think that's quite enough for one evening," he says, before walking toward Moira, closing the distance. "What do you think?" He lifts his arms, showing her the incomplete upper body of armor.


The sight of the armor, which is actually flexible enough that he can move his arms in it, draws an appreciative look from her pale eyes. "…Very nice. You've managed to put a lot of flexibility in it for being metal, I imagine. Most impressive. How does it feel?" She asks, reaching her free hand out, if he permits, to draw one palm across the surface of the shoulder plating. Testing the feel of it beneath her fingertips, the strength.

"…Sad that it's needed, but probably a wise idea. Especially after… everything." Moira doesn't elaborate about the riots. She doesn't need to, really, it's been on everyone's mind. Even if there is a new tension in her eyes now, and a strange sleeplessness that wasn't there the day she visited him in the hospital.


"Too heavy," Erik is quick to answer. "I must accommodate for this by properly redistributing the weight. Like chain mail; it feels quite heavy in your hand, but once you wear it on your chest, it can feel light as a feather."

He won't stop her from testing the metal. Erik looks at Moira for a long moment, his face unsure. "We were visited by a man claiming to be the Prince of Atlantis. He pledged his armies to defend my people." Erik's eyebrows rise just so, and he looks down at Moira with a question on his face, amidst a touch of concern for her visible fatigue. "Do you think it will come to war?"


"…w-what?" Moira half coughs out, the Prince of Atlantis thing is a bit much. She looks up to him, trying to see if that is some strange sense of humor or joke that she's missing. But he seems dead serious. She finishes tracing her fingertips over the metal and allows her hand to rest on her hip again, the question of it coming to war getting a more serious breath from her. "No. I…I don't think it will. This world is very… very tired of wars. We can't fight another. Will there be fighting? Yes… but also…education. Outreach. We… we can stop the war before it starts. We must." Moira always was that optimistic, back the first time around, and even now. Even tired looking and more broken, she hopes.

"Erik…" she broaches quietly, with the tone behind her voice that says this is a slight tangent to conversation, but something pressing on her mind. "…Did you know me before this?" And now she's studying his eyes even deeper, looking for the smallest of hints.


"But people are chomping at the bit to fight another," Erik answers. "I sometimes fear they've gotten so used to war that they don't know what to do with peace time."

Still, he lets it go, quite keen to the changes in conversation. Given everything that's transpired in the last week, he'd nearly forgotten of what twists had taken place in Moira's past. His eyes widen, lips part, and he turns away, frowning.

The half completed armor begins to undo itself, splitting apart and lifting away from his chest, until it falls upon the ground with a thud. Erik then releases a long sigh, and turns to face her once more. "It would be unfair to lie to you," he answers, though it comes with a reluctant sadness. "Yes. I knew you."


As he takes off his armor, she steps back, giving him that clearance of space again. She didn't want to fight about war, not tonight. She was too tired, there was too much going through her head and even if it was all personal, it didn't mean that it weighed any less against her heart. So, she gives him space and doesn't bring up the debate about war.

But then he's looking back to her with a strange sadness in his eyes and his words just confirm what Jean said, instead of unstable and grasping at stories. There is a slight crack of pain across her gaze as well. She takes a slow breath, accepting his confirmation, proccessing it. "…Jean said… we all used to know each other. Well. Quite well, apparently. I didn't know if the poor girl was just… super imposing thoughts over current circumstances. But… there have been things… Small things…" Her pale eyes trace over the grounds around them, "Like how this place feels like home. Or how I knew I… I just had to get you out of that hospital. I couldn't let you stay there. It's like there are imprints of emotion but… I don't remember anything to back them up."


Erik's eyes blink slowly. So, it was Jean who spilled the beans. He can't be angry about it; the girl is young and her powers, while raw, are not yet honed. A tired expression of his own comes over him as Moira verbally begins to realize more of what was done to her.

"Moira… I am a simple man. I manipulate magnetic fields. There are things in this world I will never understand, as much as there are things I can see that no one else can see."

He smiles faintly, and reaches out to place a hand on Moira's shoulder. "If it's answers you're looking for… you need to speak with Charles."


She doesn't shy away from his touch. He still *felt* familiar, even if she couldn't remember why. Even if, to her mind, they'd barely met half a dozen times. Moira's hand comes up, resting gently across his strong fingertips, keeping that touch there for several heartbeats as she studies his face.

"…So, it was Charles that did it? Jean wasn't certain. Just that he…" Maybe this was an indelicate thing to bring up around his dear friend. Once her friend. Maybe not. She sighs, parsing the words gently, "…He cares quite deeply for me. I don't comprehend why he'd do something like this… Was it so bad? What we all went through? Bad enough to toss it all away?" There, just beneath the surface, is a touch of bitterness and anger. The pain she feels at the last few years, so rough and miserable, that she's not quite let out yet. But he's a man who knows pain. And it's all too clear behind her eyes.


Oh yes. Erik Lensherr is a man who knows pain. He carries it deep within, close to the chest, and yearns for the day when he can finally be free of it. He may have given up his hunt for the man who killed his mother, but only temporarily. He knows, deep within, that he'll never find rest until that man is dead.

"You must speak with Charles," he repeats. "It is not my place to explain things that I do not understand." With that, he gives Moira a tired smile, and squeezes her hand in a friendly way. Still, his expression darkens just so. She doesn't speak about what pain she went through, but his keen eyes look to the crutch she carries, then back into her face. There's a quiet menace there, and the rising of his eyebrows. A silent offer, perhaps, to set one thing right, since he's unable to set others right.


There is certainly a touch of frustration there, as she finds no more real answers here, only confirmation that this did happen. His look to her crutch, however, and that rise of his brows, it's enough to make her own brows arch before she just shakes her head slowly. A discussion for another day, far down the line. When things aren't still fresh. She gives his hand one last squeeze. "Thank you, Erik. For… what it's worth, I still do care. Even if I can't remember why." That is the strangest bit of truth she's ever spoken, but it is truth.

She then gently pulls away, shifting her weight back onto her cane again and moving to turn. "… Seems I have a certain Professor to track down. If you'll excuse me…I am not letting this discussion be put off any longer." And with that, she practically turns to stalk towards the mansion. She was always a determined woman, a few more years of age has just made it worse. Poor Charles. There was no escaping this now.


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