1963-10-09 - Chapter Seven: The Choices We Make
Summary: The choices we make today have a profound effect on the future.. in this case.. Jackson Palmer's.
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hrimhari emma jean 


CHAPTER SEVEN: The Choices We Make

6PM - East Village:

Thursday is when it happens. The weeks there after have been relatively quiet. Jackson Palmer, unknowing of the plans that was made for him to send him to his grandmothers, went to school with nothing but a bookbag upon his back and his school uniform to clothe his skin. While he had his books stuffed deep into his bookbag, and an eraser cap that was far too ruined but given to him by his friend who had moved away, he had no lunch save for the water that he would drink at lunch time, and the inhale of air as he sits upon the mounds of his school, not to mention the taste of blood that would be on his tongue as one of the bullies give him a good right hook to the jaw.

The teachers would watch that day. And she would be too scared to do anything. And later on that night, that very same teacher would cry herself to sleep, remembering the threat that Mr. Palmer had gave in relation to his son.

Years later, she would put a bullet through her head.

But that very afternoon, Jackson Palmer would return home with a bruise upon his jaw. There would be yelling as soon as he hits the front door, a familiar background noise that he was all too used to. There would be him there watching, as Mr. Palmer in his drunken state turns upon the child instead of the wife; in which she too, would join in the harrassment and subsequent beating of Jackson Palmer. It was one of those bad nights.

Bills were due. There was more beer in the fridge than there was food, he had spent the last of his dime on another case and not something to eat, in which he would blame the wife for not telling him when he called during his lunch hour to berate her for her womanly distractions and his lost account.

If womanly distractions were a thing; the distraction was her crying at night because it hurt to sleep on her side.

Friday would come, which is when Jean would take up residence at a bench across the street of the house. Jackson would not emerge from the house that day. Only the little peek outside the window to see the young redhead who offers up a wave, a sentry of calm, as he disappears within. She thought he would come outside. But he would not. She thought to reach into the minds of those within the house. She did. And she was horrified.

Saturday rolls around. Jackson did not come outside of the house as he usually would to sit upon the porch to take on the Fall's air. But there was a peek outside the window. The redheaded Sentry was there. Waving and smiling again..


The anger builds after two days of silence. Jean could feel it like a bad omen. Jackson did not peek his head out of the window, but she still remained, freshly dressed and clothed. Troubled. Worried. The week before this she was in a shootout. She watched a man die. Even though it was deserving, she felt the weight of the world and the true intentions of man when things go dark. And the inner cosmic 'demon' was looking for a fight. Or could it have been Jean.

'You know what you have to do.' - The bird chides.
'Just know, that I am with you every step of the way. You are not alone. I gave myself to you because of your heart.'

"And it's currently breaking." Jean says aloud.


<Sire is troubled.>

Hrimhari, the prince of wolves, looks aside and down at the large black Labrador flanking the silver-haired man. Man and dog walk down the street in the East Village, their mood quite sombre, listening to the thoughts and emotions of every other canine in this part of New York City.

<True,> the prince replies, in the language of hounds, with a nod of his head, and he releases a breath. <Mr. Pickles' sacrifice has earned him a place in Valhalla. The Great Hunt lies before him… as no hound of Midgard has before known…>

<This one misses him,> the Labrador (Dodger by name) comments.

<As does Hrimhari, but we shall see him — ,> the prince stops 'talking' mid-sentence, his thoughts drawn to the lamentation of dogs near a certain house. It does not take much for him to spot Jean Grey, and his golden eyes track across from her to a trio of dogs: a Terrier, a German Shepherd and a Pug, sitting at a fence, also watching the house.

<The Two-Legs are…> Dodger starts to comment, having also sensed the distress in the house of Jackson Palmer. <This is Lady Sunhair…>

<Go,> Hrimhari commands, and the Labrador bounds ahead toward Jean. The prince, on the other hand, maintains the semblance of 'normal human' and catches up more slowly.


Trouble. It sings upon the wind. Terror. It was bad blues for a rotten soul. Jean leans forward, her fingers sinking into her hair, her eyes slowly becoming bloodshot for the simple fact that she's ready to cry but she will not will herself to.

There was a change in temperature in that moment. Not due to the Phoenix or some other anomaly other than the weather; or maybe it was. Maybe it was the simple fact that something horrible was bound to happen and the spirits grew restless and cold…

At least the animals knew. Dogs who linger at the house, one bark here.. a soft howl and a whimper. Jean's eyes lift to watch the dogs at the fence, and then rears back as the addled mind of the Labrador approaches. She was met with licks and little kisses. Her hand reaches out to lightly rest upon the neck of the pup to scratch..

"It is alright.." She murmurs quietly, her voice slightly shaking..
'It is not.'

Her gaze lifts as she sees a familiar figure within the distance, her heart slowly growing heavier by the moment. If she was going to do what she was going to do, she'd rather not a friendly conversation before she has it. Her heart, her choice, her mind was made up. "Sire.." She calls out towards him, keeping the labrador at her side.

"Did he leave you?" Indicating the dog.


As he draws nigh, Hrimhari inclines his head with a hand to his breast and smiles warmly at both Jean and Dodger. In his melodic baritone, the wolf-man replies:

"This one… gave him leave to greet you, milady." The smile lingers for a bit while Dodger does his best to console the red-haired telepath, until the prince's expression shifts to something with more gravity.

"This one smells trouble on the wind," he tells Jean. "Milady feels it too." Turning toward the house in question, the golden-eyed man scans it carefully, nostrils flaring. "What is this place?" he inquires. "Who lives here?"


"That was very kind of you." Jean murmurs as she kneels. It was a hug that she needed, and she sought it from Dodger instead of asking the once met Prince for comfort. She pats his belly not once, but twice as she slowly rises, her hand soon finding her cheek as she weighs her options. But Hrimhair said it. There was trouble on the wind, she could feel it just as easily as anyone who was inclined could.

"It's a house." She murmurs as she finally turns her gaze upon it. It was then, that the door itself slides open, a man.. dressed not to the nines but down stands in front of the way. Cigarette within his hands, staring towards Jean with a hint of malice. Puffing upon the stog that allows the smoke to filter through the netting.

"There's a boy inside. I can't hear him." She knew that he knew what he meant. "But that man.. terrorizes him. His wife does as well." Her voice lowers even softer, afraid that her voice would carry. "And I am unsure, but one day, he will kill that boy."

Jean nearly makes a move to take a step, but she doesn't. Her hand drawing up to bite a little at her thumb as the figure within the door stands true.

"He knows I have been watching. He's calling me names. He wants to wrap his hands around my pret—.." She turns away then, facing the wolf-prince with both fingers that soon rubs and soothes her temples.

Pleased, as if the man knew what he had done, he turns around to disappear from the doorway..



A gleaming white towncar with personalized license plates pulls out of a small faculty lot garage and idles at the intersection, ready to pull out onto the street and leave the Frost Institute grounds. Normally, the woman riding in the back of that vehicle would be completely immersed in some report or another she is reading, leaving the driving and most apparent situational awareness entirely up to the driver and the bodyguard riding in the front seats.

But that woman is a telepath, like Jean Grey. But a well-trained, very precise, very exacting telepath. And one that could never miss the presence of Jean's mind, having known it in her life.

Instructions are given, changing intent. The vehicle pulls out and turns down the street, circling a few blocks out and coming back around at the same side of the street as Jean's currently abandoned bench. And then the car pulls over and idles, as the dark-liveried bodyguard emerges from the passenger side front door, walks around to the rear, and opens the door.

Emma Frost, resplendent as always in pristine white, steps out of the car, and nods towards the guardian before stepping away and proceeding towards the redhead. She says nothing, but her eyes, her scent speak of knowing Jean, and of a commanding presence. She stops a bit shy of Jean, standing just beyond a companionable distance.

"Miss Grey. I beg your pardon for bothering you, but you seem distressed." Emma stops short of asking how she can help. But she is here. The cold, distant, business-driven woman the world sees would never stop here like this. Or so they believe. But she is here. Isn't that enough? She seems to have missed the foul-minded smoker across the street. Or did she?


A sound comes from the prince.

A growl.

Low and guttural, it reverberates in the back of his throat as he watches the man exit the building, and then glances sidelong at Jean. A second growl joins his, although it comes from Dodger. The large, faithful dog starts across at the house — at the man — his ears flat against his head.

<Peace,> the prince instructs the dog, although he might as well be reminding himself. So focused is he upon the house and the man smoking without, that he is a few seconds slower in responding to Emma Frost's arrival.

Dodger sniffs, turning his noble head toward Ms. Frost.

<This one does not recognise the other Two-Leg She,> he tells Hrimhari in the language of dogs. <Is She safe? Should this one sniff her? Or bite the Two-Leg He, who smells of wrong?> the labrador indicates the man again.

<Peace.> Hrimhari lifts his chin, and regards Frost with a golden eye before shifting his thoughts toward Jean once more. <The She knows you, milady?> he inquires mentally, and he offers Frost a polite — regal, even — bow of his head.


The entire conversation, in houndspeak, was not understood in the way that most telepaths would understand. Emma could possibly pick the words out, but Jean could feel and understand by intent unless it was directed at her. Her brain works different, fresh and brand new. Though with further learning..

The limo that moves and turns down the street was watched for a moment, the door glanced at, and the limo once it stops. The growling happens as well, which was a soothing little lilt to put her senses at ease. Somewhat. The girl, who now felt that the growl of anger was relaxing, comforting, was becoming slightly alarmed by the second.

Emma could pluck her intent from her thoughts easy enough, for as the woman approaches, Jean stiffens considerably. "Miss Frost.." Jean says, turning her glance towards Hrimhari with a slight trepidation. "..I am not distressed. I promise you. All is well. You shouldn't be here.."

'For what you are about to do.' - The bird croons.

~~Yes, I know her.~~ Jean mentally answers in return, though no doubt that Emma could pick upon that two. "But please. I think you both should leave.. I hav—-.."


Jackson finally rouses from his sleep, a little stretch was given that pops a bone that was out of place back in. He yelps a little in pain..


..Jean suddenly grasps at her back, feeling almost winded. "Ow.."

INSIDE: .. then slowly rolls himself out of bed. The little pitter patter of feet carry him downstairs into the waiting arms of trepidation, his ghostly white face rests upon the ol' Palmer upon the seat of his personal chair. A fluffy, ratted brown thing, a permanent imprint that is fixed around him from his constant seating. "Just who in the Sam Hill is that girl outside, boy?"

Jackson looks through the door, immediately dipping back as he gives a shake of his head. "I don't know, Pa.."


"Mama I don't know!"


Jean straightens as her cheeks become flush, her body turning almost mechanically towards the limo. Her hand reaches out to steady herself upon it…


..Jean goes flying backwards..
..Little Jackson goes flying backwards and onto the ground, in which he lands with a sickening crunch, his orbital socket damaged and bruised but his poor arm snapped in two. The scream was unlike any other.. and it was heard from the house, that spills onto the streets, that has the dogs barking..


"Jean, dear, I am sorry to say this. But you lie abhorently. You need to work harder to do so effectively." Emma replies to the redhead, with a cool but almost - just almost - affectionate tone. not quite teasingly playful, Emma's demeanor is not, however, harsh or condemning. She may feel Jean needs to do better at this lying thing, but she finds the girl's lack of artfulness at it rather endearing.

Unable to pick out houndspeech, Emma instead simply returns that regal nod with one of her own in acknowledgement without vying for command authority, nor ceding it to the male in the gathering.

EMma's focus remains on Jean, even as the young woman tries to encourage her to leave. But then Jean reacts to abuse that is not heaped upon her body, and Emma's perfectly coifed platinum blonde head whips around — away from Jean — towards the house. She felt the pulse of the connection between the girl now on her tush on the sidewalk and a boy inside that house.

Emma is a cold, hard woman. She has had to be. She would not normally involve herself in the trials and tribulations of the boy inside that house. But those trials now impinge upon a young woman in whom Emma intends to invest quite a lot. That bothers her. Bothers her enough to do something about it.

Emma's act is simple, clean, and efficient. Hers is a mind of precision, a telepath with few if any equals in that regard. And none of the minds in that house are protected against her will. So she simply reaches out and induces sleep. A sleeping man cannot amuse; a sleeping woman cannot yell and scream; a sleeping child cannot cry, or bring further retribution. Just sleep.

« Now. Do you care to tell me your involvement in this matter? » Emma questions Jean, gently but a bit tartly.


The prince's reaction is somewhat different.

As Jean goes flying backwards, the Asgardian werewolf dashes to her defense. In a moment, Hrimhari has gone from 'quietly regal silver-haired fellow' to 'somewhat feral, golden-eyed lycanthrope'. He resists most of the change, but it nevertheless affects part of him: his teeth elongate into fangs, his fingers into claws and his ears lengthen as his face contorts into something more lupine.

Crouching down beside Jean, he offers to help her up.

"Thou art bonded to the Two-Leg pup within, milady," he tells her in English, glancing worriedly across the street. "How? Why? He is not of thy pack."

Dodger, the labrador, meanwhile bounces up and down on his forepaws in excitement — but not joy. In one second he is half darting forward; in the next he is doubling back — completely torn as to what he should do. His concern over Jean wins out shortly thereafter, and he bounds over toward her from the opposite side of the prince.

<It smells wrong, Sire,> he tells Hrimhari. <The Two-Leg kennel. It smells wrong. The pup is… wrong. What should this one do, Sire? Tell Dodger what he should do…>

The concept of a broken home is…incomprehensible to the dog.

And the wolf.

Himrhari shifts his attention toward Emma, curious. "Thou art as the Lady Sunhair is…" he murmurs.


Emma was right. When was she ever wrong? Jean was a horrible liar but yet the intent was there and pure…


"Ooowwww!" Jackson screams out, kicking his feet against the air, the father soon looming and rubbing his hand from the force of the blow.

"Get up you little shit!"

The woman remains quiet, curled into her chair, rocking. She was sporting a fading bruise around the eye. And a split lip that has never seen the light of day.

"If you don't get your ass up ri—.." It was like the world had slowed down. His steel toed boot was drawn back, his thigh tensing as he prepares to deliver an all too familiar powerful kick to Jackson's stomach. The boy tenses.. tenses so much that it was almost second nature. A second nature that has him looking up in shock and surprise as the body of the heavy man hits the floor in a loud *THUD*.


Jean leans up, placing an arm upon the bench, thankful that she didn't hit it hard enough to break herself as she fell. She was just getting over her injuries. No more wheelchair. No more crutches. But the look she had given the three was a tired one, her eyes lifting from Emma, to Hrim, to Dodger, a hand reaching out to lightly stroke the top of the pups head as she lets out a slump of her shoulders.

She felt alarmed. Though it wasn't her alarm, it was the boys.

Her hand reaches out for the wolf-prince, using his strength to air her into standing, though the standing was only temporary, for soon she falls right upon the bench with a visible slump. Both of them had their questions, both of them needed answers. And both of them needed to leave there after, even if Emma made it easier for Jean to do what she needed to do.

"I don't know.." She answers to the both of them. "No.. I do know. It was like I imprinted on him. Felt sorry for him. I know he's not like us.." She looks up towards Emma earnestly. "But his heart.." It was breaking just like hers.

It was then that she finally got a good look at the wolf-prince. His entire face, the demeanor was different. He was not the man that he seemed to be.. which was clearly written upon his features. "I just didn't want him to die. I need to get him out of there. He deserves our help just like everyone else who can't fight for themselves.."

And she was trying to convince herself. As Hrimhari makes his guesses about Emma, Jean herself stands. "You two need to go. I'm going to take him and get him to a hospital. Then I'm going to take him far, far away from here, no one will ever see him again and he'll never be hurt again."

Though while it seems like Jean was going to put the boy out of his misery by physical means, she wasn't. She was going to give him an enchanted life that she herself, never had.


The regal and poised platinum blonde doesn't seem to turn a hair at Hrimhari's transformation, but she is surprised; his is not the aura of a mutant, and she wasn't expecting it. She just doesn't show surprise. She's busy. "Not precisely. But I do have talents, and I use them." she responds

To Jean, Emma simply answers, "They are asleep. Now, don't be silly. Go get the boy, and bring him to the car. You cannot make a child disappear, Miss Grey, without money. You, dear, do not have that kind of money. But someone standing here does. If you insist on saving that child, go get him right now, and be quick about it. I am not idling here all day."

That said, Emma does not question further, or wait for feedback. Instead, she pivots on her toes - pivoting on high heels is a sure way to shatter ankles, thank you - and marches back towards her car. She doesn't even have to gesture at the bodyguard standing by the hood, and he has the door open before she gets there.


Hrimhari goes to help Jean stand, then backs away a little. Still, he remains at her side while she talks to Emma, and only motions toward the Labrador.

Dodger… sits at Jean's other side.

"The lonely one speaks truly," he murmurs aloud to Jean, an ear swivelled toward her stately companion. Why did he call her that? The image he forms of her in his mind is that of a tower, white and shining in the morning sun… equally as bright by the moon. Incredible Unassailable.


The lady — empress, even — of the tower.

He steps forward, as if to cross the street — and holds out a mostly-human looking hand to Jean. "Come. Whatever it is thou art about to do, do quickly. This place smells foul to Hrimhari."



Jean was prepared to make her argument. To make them see her way by force if she had to. Perhaps what was surprising.. was that others were here who felt the same way as she. Not the reluctance and to do what the wild child wishes; but the sense that a child who was from a home need be liberated to show that there -was- hope. And they were on her side.

It was shocking, really. So much that her feet could barely even move; so much that her lips snapped shut during their tremble, so much that when Hrimhari offers a hand on the calming presence of Dodger was there to aid them.. she nearly cries.

But no. This was not about her feelings. This is about doing what was right. Jean's mantra would have consisted of her giving a thrashing to the parents, to make them wish that they were never born, through violence of all things and for blood to run..

'Do you wish that? Or is there another that plagues you so?' - The bird asks.

Jean shakes her head, her hand reaching out to grasp Hrimhari's hand hesitantly. She was frightened of his appearance, but what was more frightening were the parents waking to continue their wrath upon the boy.

With a tight grasp to his hand, she ventures across the way with the taller man in toe, her eyes widening as she sees the young boy upon the floor, laying unconscious near the body of his father. His mother far off. Jean releases the hand of Hrimhari and dashes up the steps, the screen door tugged open with a modicum of force as she immediately skids to her knees to carefully gather the limp body of the boy into her arms. She doesn't say anything. She only takes a closer look at the young boys face, a look of sorrow grown upon her features.

She was careful as she handled him, attempting to draw herself to her feet. But Jean was not as strong as she'd like to think, his body, sleep-filled weight, was too heavy to handle.

"Please Sire.. take him to Miss Frost.." (Poor thing, following the ways of the pups..) She asks of Hrimhari, turning upon her knees, the boy's sleeping form a lowered offering that she could not lift. "I will only be a moment, there is something that I have to do here.."


The wolf-prince takes the sleeping child in his arms, and gives Jean a sombre look. "Do nothing that thou wouldst regret, come morning's light, Sunhair," he tells her. "As a mother burns for her pup, so doth thou burn for this… broken soul."

He goes to lay a hand upon Jean's shoulder.

"Do not burn thyself out, little mother."

With that, Hrimhari carries the boy out of the house. He pauses to check for traffic — fortunately, there is none at the moment — and approaches Emma. The child is heavily bruised with wounds both old and new. Even asleep, the shadow of fear lies heavily upon him, pursuing him in the dark.

Dodger sniff and hangs his head.

Hrimhari nods.

"This one knows," says he, offering the child to the lady of the tower.


The bodyguard opens the driver's side rear door, exposing a large bench seat, Emma settled at the far end, to allow the wolf prince to slide the child inside. Emma nods to him.

"Lay him there. He will be safe, here." Emma offers, somewhat imperiously but not disrespectfully. Once the child is in the car, she reaches out one hand and lightly caresses his brow, intruding into his mind to brush away darker thoughts, nudging things about until his drams are instead filled with playing on a warm spring day at a lake shore, with a certain lovely redhead and an adorable puppy, all elements gently lifted from the boy's own memories and played back for him, now, to soothe the ache in heart and mind.

Once the child is settled, the door is closed, and the bodyguard moves around to the passenger side front door. But he waits there for Jean to emerge; he would be incapable of explaining why he does so, since the suggestion is a telepathic one from Emma. She will wait for the girl, who should see this child safely into his new life.


Once the weight of the boy was drawn from her grasp, Jean's hands press against her thighs in contemplation. She heard the wolf-prince's words, a little frown crossing her features as she looks up towards him to give an honest, and equally sombre nod. "I promise, I won't.." She says quietly, a hand lifting to rest upon his until he draws away, her gaze lowering again as the fire begins to light within her eyes. No, she wasn't going to do something she regretted..

..she was going to take away what could have been their joy.

She turns to crawl upon hands and knees, resting her bottom upon her heels as a hand reaches over to touch upon the tops of his head. And into his mind..

..a young boy, forced to shoot an animal even if he didn't want.
..his father goes to war.
..his mother, brings in every and any man underneath the sun until he couldn't recognizes faces..
..he ate out of garbages.. he was angry..
..he shot a man and killed him in cold blood, ran.
..he met a woman, but didn't fall in love. But he succombed to his lot in life..

And Jean takes that away from him. The horrid and terrible memories. Of his mother. And father. She replaces them with respectable people. The wishes of a madman who did not really truly want to suffer this plight upon his child but could not help it. And she gives him the idea of love. Not with a child present, that child is gone. But the idea of love he could have with another woman who was currently curled up and bruised, battered upon the couch. Sound asleep.

She allows him to believe that he rescued her from something horrible. That he saved her. That he will do all that he could to nurture her and love her; for she is owed a debt. And he will pay it with his heart.

Jean rises slowly and strides towards the woman, and with a little bend, her fingers brush away the hair that litters her face.

She wasn't pretty.. at least she didn't think so.
..Her sisters always said she was a homely looking woman…
..they always said that she was never good enough.
..how could she be when she was the lowest of the low? The odd child out..

And Jean takes this away from her. Her family always loved each other. Not a bad word said even though there was anger and fights. But there was love there. Hugs. Sisters gathered around and told stories of it, they encouraged her, lifted her up..
..yet when she needed saving? This man upon the floor, upon that horrible livingroom floor saved her. And in turn.. she saved him.

Jean was tired.. even if she believed these people didn't deserve a lick of happiness.. this is what Jackson would have wanted right? Parents to love each other. To never lift a hand unless it was to place upon the shoulder or take the other into an embrace. And Jean.. Jean gave them that.

No too soon after she emerges from the door, she slowly sinks upon the porch, sitting there to stare into the ground, staring at her ratty little shoes. She.. was tired. And done.


The wolf-prince walks back across the street to the porch, bringing Dodger with him. He does not sit, but stands there, his golden eyes upon Emma Frost, the limousine, and the boy whose heartbeat he can hear even at this distance.

"There will be consequences," he murmurs to Jean. "This one is sure that She of the Tower can help…" and he motions with his chin toward Emma, his features gradually returning to 'human'. "Art thou prepared… friend? The pup's journey begins anew."


Emma waits with exaggerated patience in the back of her car for Jean to finally come out, then to get off the porch and come join her at the car. She does not prod or pry. One might imagine she doesn't care what Jean is doing. Soem might think she has no idea. Both would be wrong. But she does not interfere, nor cajole. She waits.

When the redhead finally reaches the car, the bodyguard opens the rear door for Jean to climb inside and join Emma and the boy. Then he eyes the wolf prince, carefully, and closes the door.

"He is your responsibility." Emma explains. "I will help you do this. But you must make the decision: Where do we move him? And what do you want him to know about his past?"


Jean inhales, then exhales slowly, her eyes lifting to watch Hrimhari. It was odd; watching his face change. She almost wanted to stand and peel apart his cheeks like putty. "I know.." She says quietly. Shoulders slumped yet again, she finally lets out a little grunt to stand, wobbled, yet upright again as she gives a shrug of her shoulders. "It's too late to think about that now.. the consequences.."

Without another word, Jean reaches the car, settled into the seat at the drivers offering. Once the door was shut, Jean allows the window to roll down with a roll of her hand, leaning her head against the door to stare forward. This was as far as the plan had went. Jean hadn't planned this one out. Not at all. All she knew is that she wanted to get the boy out, wanted him to be safe..

So this was her risk. "Maybe.. there's someone out there who has never had the chance to have a real family. A son. Or a girl. Or a child to love and nurture. I don't know." She says quietly. "But no. I don't want him to remember.. I.. I don't want him to have to heart anymore.." She glances up towards Hrimhari.. a thought in her mind. "You? Do you want a son, Sire?"


Hrimhari snorts, peering inside the car where the two women sit with the child. Tucking in his chin, he tilts his head a little further to the side and replies:

"This one?" he inquires, referring to himself. "This one is more wolf than Two-Leg…"

Instantly, voices can be heard in the wolf-prince's mind: the howls of wolves in despair, yelps of pain, the tearing of flesh and the chill of ice… A silver pelt hangs from a giant's belt, freshly taken. Another silver streak assault's the giant's head, tearing him apart.

Tears are shed over the recovered pelt.

Hrimhari bites back tears suddenly, and shakes his head. Briefly closing his golden eyes, he murmurs: "There will be Two-Legs to raise the p — child. He should not be among wolves. Miladies, thou hast Hrimhari's gratitude for this meeting. Good hunting and warm dens to thee."


Emma cannot help the arched platinum blonde eyebrow at Hrimhari's parting words. She doesn't quite get it, but she's not prying for answers, either. What's done is done. "How far away do you want us to take him? Upstate? Massachusetts? California?" Emma questions Jean, as she reaches out a hand to brush over the boy's forehead, her power reaching out to gently catalog his memories, and then starts to outline in her own mind the changes that will need to be made. "It should not be too difficult to find him a good family. Now. Where should I take you?"


There was a look of defeat. Jean was out of ideas. She didn't know what to do with the boy now that she was successful at retrieving him from his place. Though there was a certain alarm, Hrimhari's sudden departure gives her pause. While he would have been a good candidate, he was right. The boy belonged with his own. His own two-footed people… alas..

Emma gives her options. Options that no one else had came up with. Options of sending him far, far away.. or keeping him very close. Either way, it was going to be a drive and it seemed as if Emma was willing to make the trip, just as much as Jean was. And watching her so tenderly with the boy, Jean almost thought to plead with Emma to keep them.

But the lives they will lead from here on out, wasn't befitting of a child.

"Massachusetts." She says finally. "A small town. Away from the city life. It's time for him to experience something new.." And then there was an afterthought, even though one of the pups lingered by to continue to watch the house, Jean cracks out a loud whistle. The door itself opens as a small little collie hops into the car, Jean giving Emma an awkward smile and a little bit of a shrug. She'll scrub the limo with a toothbrush when all of this was over. Emma didn't even have to ask…

OCTOBER 19TH, 1983:

A man stands in front of the mirror, his slightly pale skin marred with a little bit of a color, but that still does not compare to the way it that slight paleness stands out within his eyes. His hands lean upon the dresser top, his light grey eyes squint as his hand reaches up to brush the darkness of his hair out of his face. He looked tired. He worked long hours for this night to finally happen. There were cheers, haunting the hallways as he turned an ear to listen, a smile grown upon his face.

Michael Stone was a star, or as much as a star as one could be. He was running for governer, the thirty something with a wife and three kids, and a dog named Hari that sits upon the dresser of the room that was alloted to him for this meet. There was a knock at the door, it was time for him to come out and deliver his winning speech. The odds were two to one that he'd win, and he found it all favorable.

As he pushes himself out into the hallway, his back straightens, a woman approaches to dab at his face with a makeup brush and fixes his tie soon after. He says nothing, though the coldness within his eyes as he regards her causes her to shrink back in a little bit of fright.

The young man makes his path, following the yellow stripe upon the carpeting, back into a few hallways that leads to the stage in which he takes up the podium in short order.

"Please.. please…" The man calls into the microphone as the crowd begins to cheer, his hand lifting up in a wave as he puts on an enigmatic smile.

"Hold your appla—.."

His words were cut short as he looks into the rafters. To him, the crowd was silent. Whatever color he had drains from his face as the figure that catches his attention.. rises..



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