1964-06-26 - I for I Scream
Summary: Ice cream, family reunions, and the rules of engagement.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
erik lorna wanda 

Long Island is about as far away from the city as a person can get. Rolling dunes hide any prospect of there being a Jeep or a house over anyone's shoulder, at least hiding some evidence of civilisation. Reeds rattle around and hardy grasses enduring the Atlantic winds howling over the ocean make fitful noise. An element of the forlorn mingles with the pale sands and the greenery, the grey jade waters washing over bleached driftwood adding their haunted lamentation. Along this stretch of the beach, in the furthest stretch of the park, there are few bathers. Swimmers play closer to the boardwalk where all the amenities are, but they're not necessity for the golden-skinned woman. Food and arcades don't attract her. She instead sits on the littoral zone, her feet extended into the water, and a soft chunk of stone under her supporting her with a bit better permanence than the eroding sand.

Lorna had maintained the shockingly short shorts with the high waist that had made Emma Frost clutch her pearls in distress. A swim suit tucked under it and a loosely tied shirt completed the look with flip-flops and sunglasses. The shorn locks of the green haired mutant had also drawn a shocked gasp from Emma, and yet Lorna kept it anyways, a light bob around her chin with a headband atop.

"Wanda! I got ice cream!" She cam trekking over to her half sister, ice cream cones in hand. One clearly meant for her, as she'd already eaten a good portion of it while the other was extended toward her sibling. Before Lorna plopped down beside her on the drier side of the sand.

Erik is arching a brow as he comes into view, his generally laconic manner not having shifted greatly even in finding himself out on a family outting. He walks with his usual purposeful strides but there is an undercurrent of peace to his features that is not normally present. Blue eyes are thoughtful as they survey the beach and the nearby jetty and he steps out onto the sand. Erik, for his part, has still has his shirt on for the moment athoguh he has found himself a pair of purple swim trunks which are perhaps reminiscent of his armour and cape.

"I'm surprised there's a stretch of beach here that is left almost untouched," the man murmurs, stepping over stones scattered through the sand which would convince most people to stay back. "It's a good sign." Eventually Erik finds his way all the way up to the shore, taking a place a few meters to Wanda's right, and watches the water move.

The three of them have little in common at the surface. Green hair, a midnight shadow, and something more like the moon proper, for one. Wanda's complexion betrays her as a daughter of the sun and not the moon. Yet the cheekbones are all the same, and her veiled gaze watches the water while she kneads at the sand with her bare toes. Her toenails and fingernails are polished a shade of brilliant red that lesser souls might not dare, mostly because they can't match that shade. Her face turned up to catch the warmth of the day suggests her tolerance for cold and warmth is considerable. And it is. "They do not bother when privacy is wanted," she explains, her greeting of a sort. Slim shoulders roll and she slowly breaks into movement, torpid creature she briefly is. "Hello, Father." It may be very odd for Erik to hear that in English, but there it is.

Lorna isn't forgotten, either, though she takes the ice cream cone before it melts. "Thank you." It makes a fantastic accessory; her hand holds onto the cone, and then she looks up at Erik. "What is it?"

It's worth noting this is a woman who in no time in her life lived a sheltered, happy existence with any sort of creature comfort. She doesn't speak of it, but sometimes those losses are plain.

Lorna was busily working on consuming her ice cream before it melted away in her grip, while trying to shimmy out of her shorts. A glance lifted toward her father and she beamed toothily. "Did you want some ice cream, Tata? It's really good." She finally got free of her shorts, and kicked off her flip flops before moving to splash her toes in the water. A squeak of the coldness had her darting back and behind her sister to curl her toes in the warm sand littered with pebbles and crushed shells.

Compared to the two rather stoic members of the family, Lorna was all spun sugar and laughter. Even if she never got quite as energetic as the speedsters in the family.

"Hey Wanda, I wanted to ask you something, but I forgot. I was talking to Remy, a friend, and gosh. I can't remember what it was about. I'm sure I'll remember it in like five minutes." She wrinkled her nose and darted back toward the water with a few splashes against her toes.

"Hello, my dear." Erik does appear briefly taken aback when Wanda refers to him as 'Father' but there is no disappointment or upset there. No, this is a man who actually wants a family, and the slight press of his lips together when he is addressed is more accurately attributed to the difficulty of processing the manner in which he has come upon one. He takes a slow breath inward.

"It is- vanilla ice cream, I believe. A- desert. You should eat some… You might enjoy it." Erik's gaze shifts between the two young women and he takes a slow, deep breath. Mention of his actually partaking of the ice cream draws a quick shake of the head. "Ah, yes. Your friend, Remy. He and I spoke for a few moments not long ago. He seems to be a nice young man." There might be some sort of question behind that statement but he chooses not to elaborate.

Finally Erik finds himself standing just at the edge of the water, bare toes trailing against the surface and drwing ripples through the waves as they pass against his feet.

No one cares to know their genetic matter had something to do with the creation of another person, much less without their knowledge, and even worse, without their consent. She embodies the violation as much as her silver-haired likeness, a mirror cast in male form rather than fleet-footed dawn. Let one make of those choices what they will; the same girl is also a mother to full-grown children in their same timeline, and collusions of possibility mingle together in the most impossible ways. She draws her fingers through the turbulent water, surf snarled on the tiny stones and scouring fresh lines through the sand, leaving her to measure the different patterns by tactile impressions alone.

"Milk," she says without further preamble, shaking her head almost apologetically. It is, truly; simply converting the dairy element of the ice cream into something palatable is not, unfortunately, entirely sporting. So vanilla for Erik; she is happy to surrender the choice rather than leave any indication of upset. "Remy?" Not being a student at Xavier's has its limits. On the other hand, this is probably better for everyone involved. The demon-hunter watches them both, curious, though as much relies on translating the cues and hints of English to something sensible.

"Ask after you remember. It will be fine."

Lorna flushed faintly at her father's mention of having met Remy before and she bit her lower lip after she'd finished her cone, clapping her hands free of crumbs before dunking them into the sea to clean off the sticky remains of the melted desert. "Yeah, he told me. We're just friends, you know." She made a face, straightening as she glanced toward her father and then half sister.

"Remy is a guy at the school. He's got the power to make things explode. We've been working on training together in the basement. We figured if it's metal, he can put an explosive charge on it, and I can fling it to the target." She grinned, and waded into the water near Wanda.

"Also, he has a kitten named Oliver who is so cute." She shivered in the cold of the sea water that splashed up her legs. An exhale of thought following.

"Forgive me, Wanda," Erik murmurs, shaking his head. "I should be more considerate." He takes the ice cream, yes, and even looks it as he looks between the girls. To Lorna he adds for clarification, "Wanda does not eat animal products. Including milk." This leaves the man clutching ice cream as it starts to melt onto his hand. Even this he manages to make look somewhat dignified- a stark contrast to people who like to watch the subtly absurd. Melting cream on a stoic's knuckles.

"Yes. Remy was asking about some of the special programs at the school," Erik offers then, canting his head slightly to the right while he considers his words carefully. It's a faraway, knowledgeable stare that allows him to both watch Lorna while seeming to be looking past her. "I didn't know about the kitten but he did mention you to me, Lorna. He seems like a nice young man.

"Although, speaking of special programs. After we head back I have a few things I'd like to show you." Erik takes a deep breath and then he slowly raises his houlders, tilting his head back. No, he hasn't gotten wet beyond his toes and the light spray hitting his calves and shins when the tide moves. "The next stage of your education."

The melting cream may be an absurdity, true. When it becomes clear he's not planning to eat it or even consider doing more with it than allowing the ice cream to separate into a sticky morass and a soggy cone, action is necessary. A flick of her wrist draws a ninety degree turn, her thumb and finger presumably pinching a fine piece of hair straight. Nails flicker with sunlight that isn't there, a dazzling sheen rippling off her fingertips. The cream collapses in on itself, a perfect pearl rolling from Erik's knuckle into nothing. It vanishes, leaving barely a trace of itself, and the cone comes undone in a Mobius strip that bores through some glittering space to another point where temporal folds align together. It takes all of two seconds.

Meanwhile, Wanda basks in the sunshine again. Heat flows across her skin and may be at risk of causing skin cancer. On the other hand, a woman who physically reset herself to whatever she feels like out of sheer orderliness probably needn't worry too much about that. The waves pull and spill across her feet, up to her calves. "That sounds to be quite enjoyable."

Lorna winced, "My bad Wanda, I forgot." She mumbled, and toed the sand awkwardly. She huffed a breath as her father spoke about Remy being a 'nice young man', she'd heard that before from her father. Another shiver before Lorna turned and plunged into the water and then promptly raced back out, hopping and shivering from the cold. Her gaze falling on the unwound ice cream cone that simply vanished. Her brows climbed higher and she stared, her mouth falling open.

"Woah. Cool." And then Lorna moved to pluck up her towel and curl up in it as she sat back down beside Wanda. Her attention shifting back to her father as he talked about the next step in her education.

"Oh? It's not learning another language is it? Cause I'm still struggling with French. It makes no sense and has too many letters." She pouted, reaching up to wring out her hair.

Erik is quietly appreciative of the display of prowess. He had licked a small amount of ice cream up but it was clear the effort was not sufficient to prevent a mess from develop. So he appreciates the aid. At the same time the man blinks, his eyes widening very slightly as the cone disappears into aether, between the fabric of space-time and to some distant locality.

"…French has the same number of letters as English, corcezka." There is no point in dwelling further on the other matter. Briefly Erik frowns, his brow lightly furrowing. Then he gives his head a shake. "No, it has nothing to do with your language learning though it sounds as if I may need to redouble efforts there as well.

"Actually, I want to teach you how to perform in combat. Properly." There's a pause while Erik lets that beat settle in. "Actual drills. Possibly destroying things with your powers, if we get to there." Then to Wanda Erik adds, "Thank you for clearing the mess. I am afraid I only brought one towel."

No complaint originates from the brunette. Should there be any offense at being given something she can't eat in a time period when allergies are barely a known thing, Wanda is not going to be uncouth and whine. She still has far more joy to gain from baking herself to a darker copper shade than most of the blondes around here can manage, and she has no concern about the seaweed kicked up sometimes, either. Tossing aside pieces of kelp captured against the rock she sits on, they land in a fairly precise heap. It may be hard to remember this particular branch of the family holds the bulk of the spellcasting ability.

"French is good to learn. It is not so bad." Says someone for whom English is a pet project, only because it helps the man with the silver temples to know what the hell she's talking about, for the most part, and the kids aside from that. Fingertips wiggle and nothing happens other than tossing away another deep green fleck as Lorna joins her. "You do not mean the accents? Perform… combat performance?" Her eyebrows arch. "Not dancing with swords."

Erik's words bring an immediate pout to Lorna's features at the gentle chiding over her whine about the French language. "But German made so much more sense." She muttered, and slumped as her father promised to redouble her language work again. "And it's summer, tata." She wrinkled her nose, burrowing deeper into her towel as she watched her sibling throw around seaweed that washed up around her.

Then her focus returned her to her father as he continued about teaching her combat skills, on how to fight. Before everything had been about control. How to control her powers. How to not take apart a house because she was upset. So his announcement had her eyebrows lurching upwards as she stared up at Erik. "Oh my gosh, really? Like seriously?"

The green haired mutant shifted, as if she were excited and all at once nervous about the offer.

"I've spent all this time trying to teach you how to control yourself. Maybe we will find some clarity by approaching it a different way." Erik nods once and then takes a slow, deep breath. "You can move things without causing harm or you can be a razor, slicing apart only those things you choose. We can focus on the latter."

Erik shifts his weight slowly to the left, swaying at a speed which follows the movement of the waves in front of him. He is unlikely to tan but doesn't seem to be overly concerned with the heat of the sun overhead. "Performance also means the process used to accomplish a task," he offers to Wanda. Then the man abruptly switches to German.

"German does make more sense," the man known as Magneto notes mildly. "How much do you remember?" After a beat he adds, "If you understand me properly I will give you the rest of the week free from your language studies."

So saying Erik bends down and slowly picks up a smooth white shell from the sand beneath the surf.

"I see." Wanda pushes herself off of the rock. She hasn't bothered with a visible towel anywhere. Smoothing her hands over her sides pushes off bits of sand from her skin. Small showers land upon the golden beach and white surf, two things gathered together in a beguiling concoction. Kicking her feet lightly into the waves that break below the promontory she is on, slick and dangerous if footing gives way, the brunette wades into the water slightly. "I go. Success in your studies."

Just that, as she makes a point of continuing to walk down the gentle slope into the ocean surging with activity. One footstep, then another. It won't be until she reaches at least above her knees and probably closer to her hips that diving in is any sort of prospect worth having.

Wanda goes home.

Lorna shifted her grasp on the towel as she dried off enough to let it settle around her to warm herself by the sun's rays. Unlike her sibling or even her father, she had packed sun screen. Because she burned.

Yet as her sister went for the water, utterly abandoning her to her father's questions, Lorna pouted. "Wanda!" A whine, and pleading note following. Her lower lip sticking out as her gaze followed her sister's departure and sagged back to the towel. A huff and her gaze turned thoughtful as her father switched to German. She caught bits and pieces, a word here, a word there. Her brows furrowed as she tried to make heads or tails of what her father had said.

"Uhm. I.. er.. to know, no, I mean, I know." A wince as she bit her lower lip, stumbling over the verb tense awkwardly. "I get week off?" She grinned sheepishly, hopeful as she responded in stumbling, halting German.

"One week," Erik agrees quietly. He watches Wanda depart and breathes a quiet sigh, nodding once as he does so. He takes a deep breath and holds it for a long moment. "Make the best of it." Erik turns the shell he picked up over in his hands several times, studying the spiraled shape with a practiced eye.

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