1963-07-22 - A Story of You Pt. 1
Summary: Nightcrawler lands on Mystique's fire escape. She invites him in to talk.
Related: None
Theme Song: None
nightcrawler raven 

It's after dinner and moving towards getting dark which means it's time for Kurt to swap jobs for the night. He's said 'Good night' to the kids in his Hell's Kitchen neighborhood, had his own dinner, and then teleported over to the buildings near the Eight Ball for round two of the day. Round one isn't really 'work' per se…he's just a sort of glorified, unpaid babysitter. It's also a great way to practice his English and learn more about American customs and slang. Round two is actual work.

To insure that he doesn't end up teleporting into anyone, he once again reappears with a dark flash and stench of Brimstone on the fire escape of the building. It's hot out, and he actually does sort of end up right in front of someone trying to catch some 'fresh air' on their 'balcony'. There's a scream and coughing even as Kurt offers a very startled yet sincere, "I am so sorry!" and leaps off to another, less occupied part of the fire escape.

He may need to find a different point of arrival.


The night was hot and long. The upper echelons of the brownstone were occupied with fans that constantly blew throughout her 'home'. She paced around, arm still bandaged about her middle, tank top worn and a nice pair of slacks that cut off right above the knee that looks almost something akin to spandex. Barefoot and blue, she lingers around the air that coolly blows, her fingers prying at the bandages until she hears the scream.. the cough.. and the apology.

A slow stride takes her towards the window, her hand clutching the window sill to shove it upright as she pokes her head out to peer upon the balcony. She knows those fingers and that tail from anywhere. Though how he's managed to pick out her fire escape was something of a.. bit of luck.

"No work today?"


Nightcrawler gives a jump at the voice appearing behind him, but he does manage to land back on the fire-escape without losing his balance. There's a windmilling of arms and tail before he stabilizes and peers down at the other. "Oh." There's a moment as he tenses, about to leap down, perhaps, but then there is a very obvious changing of his mind and he turns and points a finger at the blue woman. "You. Ich muss mit dir reden." English. "I have to talk to you."

Work may get to wait.

He doesn't seem willing to be shooed away. "We can talk here or inside…or on the roof. But we must talk."


There was little amusement as Kurt nearly stumbles. There was half a mind for her to reach out to try to grasp him but she does not. But, the intent was there, the twitching of muscles and the hand that curls into a fist, but then she relaxes yet again.

His German was a dream of home, but there wasn't a need for her to switch her own tone. She understood what he said as clear as day, and though there was a look of reluctance, there was also one of resignation. With a slight grunt, she turns slightly to the side, leaning against the window so that her elbow could press up against the sill to pry it upward further.

"Inside. It's hotter than Satan's crotch out there and I've finally managed to get it to cool." And then, she steps away so that he could enter as she stalks across the room. "Poison. Pick it." This.. this was going to be hard.


Nightcrawler isn't used to most people understanding his German unless they speak back to him in the language. It's also good practice, although this conversation may be bilingual. When he's invited inside, he looks at her for a moment before he climbs through the window. "I have not done that in a while," is quipped as he glances around at the place.

When he's asked about his drink of choice, he does have to think about. Americans keep their beer too cold and bourbon was nasty. "Whiskey?" Or Scotch. At least he's familiar with those. Yellow eyes note the bandage about her arm, "What happened?" is asked quietly, as if he's trying to make small-talk while he figures out how to say what he really -wants- to say.


"Climb through windows?" Raven asks, turning back to look over her shoulder as she opens the cabinet to retrieve two bottles. The first bottle is whiskey. The second was bourbon. Even though the bourbon was usually reserved for Gambit, she was going to make an exception. Plus, she secretly enjoyed when the Cajun swore in creole. Two glasses were soon taken from the cabinet as well, placed down upon the counter top as she gives a shrug of her good shoulder.

"I was shot. Twice. Protecting a friend that really didn't need protecting at all." She grins at that, then shakes her head. "Come. Let's pour."


Nightcrawler just gives a little eyebrow wiggle. Those scars aren't there just because it was fun to cut into himself. "Or out of them," is given with a flash of a grin. He steps closer when the glasses are brought out…"Just one," is declared. He has to work and he sort of overdid it the other day anyhow.

"I am sorry you were shot. Will you be ok?" Even if she didn't claim to be his mother, he'd ask the same thing. Moving to where she sets the drinks, he pretty much perches on whatever the nearest perchable surface is, whether it's on a chair, windowsill, or footstool. He's not much of a 'sitter'.


The little flash of a grin was met with a slight chuckle. It's been a while, indeed, that she was able to crack a genuine smile, the top soon popped off with her thumb and the tumbler soon poured part way for him. Her own was treated in the similar fashion, but a touch more was poured, the top of her glass nearly topped off.

"I'll be fine. It's just the muscle that needs healing. Another week or two and I'll be in tip top shape." She turns, watching him for the moment, offering him the glass before she accepts her own to take a quiet sip.

"What did you want to talk about?"


The glass is taken with a quiet, "Danke" and he takes a small sip before his own yellow eyes look at her. It's as if he's trying to figure out her tells so quickly, but that's not one of his honed skills. Kurt remains crouched, his tail lightly tapping to an unheard rhythm, almost like a cat's might.

Finally though, he asks, "How old are you?"

Before waiting for an answer, he amends, "I talked to Herr Xavier. He is not much older than me, I think." He looks over the blue woman before him as if to say that she doesn't seem to be either.


The pause. It wasn't agonizing. She was savoring her drink, her eyes closed for just a touch, the glass soon set aside for her to step aside and open the freezer. A tray of ice was soon produced, cracked with a slap and a cube flushed out and popped into the glass.

The question actually takes her a little off guard, a hard swallow which allows her a moment to gain her senses. Thankfully, she didn't take a sip of her drink, she would have regretted it just then.

"Are you questioning the validity of your existence?" She asks, tone slightly amused. Irritated, but amused. "Never ask a lady that. I'm older than the both of you combined." It was quick, and it was clipped.


Nightcrawler watches as Raven moves to the freezer as well as watching her reaction to his question. "Ja, I am. Not my…existence," The new English pronunciation is done slowly, but the word is very close in German so it's understood. "Because I know I am here. I am not sure that you were a part of it." It's said almost nonchalantly.

"We are both blue, ja. Und we both have yellow eyes." He looks at his un-iced glass for a moment before he takes a sip, "You tried to trick me before. To get me to leave. How do I know you are not doing this again? It would be a very mean trick."


Raven takes his words into consideration, now picking up the slightly iced drink to keep it pressed to her lips as her eyes narrow slightly.

"Telling you to leave this city was no trick. Telling you to return home to your mother in Germany was no trick. You are not safe here. But it turns out that you are not safe there. I was wrong." Her words were calm then, not clipped or irritated, but deliberate.

"Surely your uncle told you that I was up to no good. As is his right and warning. And in truth? I am not. And you need to be as far away from me as possible. But.. you are an adult. I cannot nor do I have the right to rule your actions. You do as you please." Her shoulder shrugs faintly.

"Just don't blame me for the consequences."


"I am not safe anywhere," Kurt points out with a sad sort of smile. "You can become different people…I cannot. I found people I could fit with, but after some time, it made it so I was not keeping them safe by being there. So I came here." Thinking that surely in America, it would be better. He may have been right, he may have been wrong. "Do you think it would be better in another city? I do not. New York is the biggest city, ja? If I cannot find a place here…" then where is he to go? The question is left unspoken.

"He did not agree that he was my uncle. He said you were not old enough to be my mother. He said that you and he did not talk very much and that he did not want me to be put in the middle. I am not, because I am not at his school." The whiskey is lifted to his lips again, "If I wanted to hide, I could go there, but I am tired of hiding." His yellow eyes look to her some more.

Finally, in a quiet voice he offers, "It would be nice to know the truth. It would be nice to have…how do you say?…Beweis." Proof.


"Yours is a hard life. This I admit."

She pushes away from the counter top, inhaling deeply, finally taking the rest of the bourbon into her mouth to swallow quickly. He was right. There wasn't a safe place for someone like him. Someone like her on the other hand? Fitting in was easy. So much that she often preferred it that way than the alternative. Which is what he was cursed with.

"The truth?" She finally murmurs, turning slightly. "The entire.. unabashed truth as I could tell it?" Which would be something. She wouldn't lie to him, but she would try to keep him away from her and following her path. That much she promised, and owed to him since he took his first breaths. "Perch upon the couch there, darling." She gestures, moving towards it herself after snagging the bottle with a lean-to of the counter.

"How far shall we go? From the start? Or only what concerns you?"


Maybe he should duck down to the bar and let them know that he'll be late…but it seems like pausing now would ruin the momentum. Kurt still nurses his glass, truly only trying to stick to the one drink even as he watches and listens. "Tell me what you want me to know." That seems to be the best answer he can give.

At the invitation to move to the couch he does so, sitting more in the corner of it than anything else. He'll start mostly seated, but may shift about if his tail gets cramped. Before she starts though, he does hold up a hand and says, "My life was not easy and it was very different from most, but…It was -my- life. Und I am ok with it. I lived when maybe I thought I would have died, and I have met many wonderful people. They are not all bad."

That piece said, he's ready to listen.


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