|
    |
Warren has been cooped up in his penthouse apartment for days. Ever since his dramatic return from his ordeal, he has remained hidden behind doors save for the brief excursion to go see Kurt a week or so ago. Solitary confinement, even self imposed, is not healthy for anyone and certainly not good for someone who has suffered the kind of trauma that Warren has been through.
So all irony aside, leave it to Jean to force Warren out into nature as a form of 'therapy'. Not taking no for an answer, the redhead has managed to get the fallen angel to venture forth into the world, even if he is wrapped up like a mummy and not letting any of his new skin color to one seen. Dressed in a pair of jeans, hiking boots, and a loose fitting hooded sweatshirt with the hood pulled up and over his head, Warren slogs along the trail, and audible grumble emanating from between his lips. "I can't believe you got me out here. I have better things to be doing, Jean."
"Yeah. Like crying." Jean could be crying. Hell, Jean wants to cry. But Jean was there. With Warren. Riding his back.
And it was all because Jean herself didn't feel like walking, though, she knew that Warren wouldn't outright spread his wings with her there, reveal himself, and fly away in front of people who were at the park. Maybe..
..okay..
..probably not.
And plus, it just makes her feel better as well, but even as she clings to him, she tries to find a bright side to it all. "With enough sun, you'll be purple. Purple's actually pretty. So is blue, don't get me wrong."
Peace and quiet appeal to a witch, especially one whose practices tie directly into the life force of Gaea. The abundant shade and thick foliage make the state park so popular with walkers also ideal for Wanda, though she's not carrying a walking stick or wearing ugly knee-length shorts. A dozen knives on her person, and a corset, are impracticalities she can work with. Besides, the leaves are floating around her as she dips and dodges, for all the world just caught up joyously dancing.
On the surface, anyways. Her actual behaviour has a very different activity in mind, albeit one hard to see unless experienced in sword fighting or capable of perceiving spirits. Said leaves are purposefully held up by flitting spirits of no particular provenance, their goal not to be hit. Hence, the dancing. In actuality, this is practice presumably where no one is much paying attention in a dell just off the main trail above the river.
Central Park is a great bit of Greenery in the middle of New York City but it's just that; in the middle of the city. Some people may never leave the city and see that there is so much more to the world…and so much more green! So, Kurt has taken it upon himself to find some larger plots of Nature, outside of the City, that he could potentially show the kids in the neighborhood. How he'd get them there…that was something else, but for now, he's trying to see what he can find.
Teleporting randomly in a direction isn't the safest, but he followed the highways for a while before veering off when he began to see more verdant landscapes. It's how he managed to come across this park by the river. It's just the place! He's taken to perching on one of the larger boulders so that he can look out and see the stretch of land before potentially climbing higher trees.
It's one thing to be taking the secluded millionaire out for a nature walk, it's another to be a living backpack. "Seriously, Jean? I agreed to come on this little nature walk of yours. I remember you saying 'It'll be good for you. The fresh air will be nice. It will be fun, I promise.' but not once do I recall agreeing to being your…whatever it is I am being." says Warren in an annoyed, clipped tone, even though a hint of a smile creeps onto his mostly hidden face. "And purple? I am going to have enough trouble with the board by being blue. Which reminds me, I still need makeup tips on a good concealer. Maybe I should talk to Scarlett."
Warren stops at the crest of one of the hilly parts of the trail, straitening his back a bit and getting a better grip and adjusting the balance to support Jean better. "If you think by making me sore and tired I am going to forget about all my issues you are probably right…at least for a time. But next time, I think you carry me."
"Well, you're doing me a favor. I need the fresh air and I often times get tired. And I'm not that heavy.." Which is true. Her face may appear healthy, but if anyone could feel -that- close to the redhead, she'd be nearly skin and bones. Someone needs to eat!
"Besides, we both don't get out as much. I stay cooped. You stay cooped. And I'm honestly tired of feeling Charles worried about us both." She smiles a little, then curls up a bit more so that her hair lightly dangles over his shoulder. "We should probably talk to him eventually. Or if you don't want to, you can talk to me."
Hint hint!
Though, part of her was in the conversation, or so she believed. She believed with her whole hearts that she was truly in the conversation. But like before, Chaos knows Chaos.. and with a slight kick to Warren's side as if he were a mare, her head tilts just a little into the direction of where she.. feels it.
"Can we go this way?"
One of the fickle spirits has probably all the focus of a grasshopper on LSD. It springs away with its leaf and peers into the gloaming beneath the branches. Or perhaps it's a watch spirit, an unseen being looking for any kind of interruption while its temporary mistress performs her chaotic business.
Three leaves cut sharply towards Wanda where she dips and sways to patterns extrapolated at ruthless speeds. A leaf shouldn't hurt smacking into her but it might well cut her upper arm edge on. She narrowly dives aside, tumbling into a somersault over the uneven earth, and springs back up just in time to block another one with her palm. It's not her lightning fast twin, but it suits, especially since she bleeds off her energy to supply the movement and the shield. A brief flash of sunshine reflects off her bracelets around her wrist, the protesting jangle much too merry. In summer, at least; in winter, it would be perfect for a sleigh trip. No dancing horses and laughing youths in their holiday best here.
Amber eyes survey her surroundings, and it might be a hint of conversation at a distance that bids her to pause. Good idea, really.
Except for a spirit gleefully trying to swat her on the head with its leaf, seeing an opening. Her retort is rather sharp and harsh, in Transian: "«Stop!»"
«Feelings. Jean wants to talk about feelings. Damn it all…and you're probably listening to me think this aren't you…» Warren sighs, his head shaking slightly under the hoodie's hood, sending a lock of waves blonde hair to fall from within its confines. "What is there to talk about, Jean? I was kidnapped, tortured, had a part of me cut off and replaced with something…alien…to me, and I can't walk around in public anymore because on top of all of it they turned me blue." Bitter much, Warren? "Yes, yes…I know there are mutants out there that have it worse than I do. Yes I know I am being selfish, but damnit it…they took my life away from me."
He sighs, moving in the indicated direction as he is 'spurred' like a horse. "You're lucky I like you, Red." Warren says with a snort, "I'm not used to being rode like a horse. I swear to god if you try and put a bit in my mouth….did you hear that? I don't think we are alone out here."
Crouching on the rock, Kurt has a fairly good view of the park. Not all of it, but a chunk of it and he catches movement along one of the paths. Golden eyes look in the direction of the movement only to see Warren and…is that Fraulein Grey on his back? Interesting. He then tilts his head as he hears another voice in another language coming from another direction and he turns that way to yet another somewhat familiar person.
How odd that they all chose to congregate in this park on this day? But who to go to first? Wanda seems busy so he teleports down to one of the tree-branches nearer to the path Warren and Jean are walking. "Warren! It is good to see you out! Hallo, Fraulein Jean. Are you hurt?"
"Yes." Jean says to Warren's thoughts. "They're on the surface. Do you want me to go deeper?" Granted, Jean could have said something completely horrible, but her own emotions were on the fritz, there was really nothing she wanted to do about that herself.
"There's a lot to talk about that you don't even realize. How you feel. What you feel. What you wish you could have done, and how you can actively come to terms with being a victim." She says this matter of factly, but does add in a hug to boot. But this was a start. He was voicing his frustrations outloud, and she judged him not.
But their direction, was aimed towards that chaos, that center of the universe. It was as if that feeling was the nexus of all realities, and that feeling weighed upon her as the cinder-crisped fingers bore down upon her shoulders which made her 'feel' heavy. It was just a feeling, a burden that she shares with no one, and it made her tired as hell.
And yet, a surprise comes from above which has Jean lifting her chin to spy Kurt, and a grand smile draws upon her face as she takes one hand away from Warren to wave up above. "No no, I'm not hurt.." And for once, she relinquishes herself from Warren, carefully slipping down towards her feet with a happy bounce. "I'm all good and well, and it's good to see -you- out and about too. How do you two know each other?"
Wanda stares up into the trees, reading the dappled patterns of jade and emerald concealing the sky as much as it might help her detect red or blue, shades not normally found in the canopy. Her own degree of concealment is faulty, in part because the clearing she occupies has not much more than bushes and a few mature maples about. She shades her brow with her hand.
Definite movement and sound that way, even as the primordial loam of the woodland overwhelms normal senses and the chatter of the spirits is loud against her honed sensitivity for all things unnatural. Though she drops her hands, she makes a gesture to send the leaf bearers back where they will. Wrapping up the day's practice, she rubs her sleeve over her brow and starts back to the trail. Most people probably assume the best, another hiker.
She's mentally prepared for bear, her steps muffled as she picks her route towards Jean and Warren, then Kurt by proxy. No bright smile shines upon her lips; hers is not a face that carries mirth frequently and she almost never laughs. Not in company. The route winds in a circuitous fashion, giving her a chance to see them as she rounds a stump. "Erik's student." Yes, she sounds close to Slavic, though there's a heavy impression of a romance language under there too. She nods to Jean, the others not shared by the same description unless they care to borrow it. Hey, they might be his students! She isn't presumptive.
"Part of me does, Jean, just to see what is in there that I don't know about or remember. The other part of me is afraid to know what you might find." Warren says honestly to Jean as he rolls his shoulder in a shrug. "I feel..angry. No, more than just angry. Rage? That might be even to tame of a word for it. I also feel lost, like I don't know who I am anymore. I look in the mirror and I don't even recognize myself."
He looks up at Kurt, as he lets Jean down off his back slowly. "Oh. Hey Kurt. You are the last person I expected to see out here today." Warrens says with a slight chuckles, "What drags you out here? Finally come out to talk to your uncle?
He glances between Kurt and Jean and shrugs a shoulder, "We met…I forget. Did we meet at the church? I know I just saw you at the church, but is that where we met?" Warren places his hands on his temples like trying to coax a memory out, "I can't remember."
And suddenly, another voice is heard as Wanda makes her presence known. Warren's head snaps in the direction of the voice as he instinctively moves to place himself between Wanda and Jean, shifting his gaze between the two ladies. "Jean? You know her?"
Nightcrawler hops down from the tree branch and gives both Jean and Warren a smile before he nods, "Ja, it was at the Church. I do not remember if you were there first or me…but I remember asking…" oh. He should not mention that. "It was definitely at the Church. I think maybe you thought I was one of the gargoyles come to life?" Back to grinning he looks to Jean. "I know many from your school. Did the rosary help when you were having troubles?" He had been thinking of her and hoping that she found some peace.
Wanda's arrival gets another grin and he greets her in Romany before turning back to Warren. "Is this school near here then? I was just looking for a green space that was not Central Park…but a real green space. I thought the kids might like it if I can bring them here. But it is nice to be out of the city, ja?"
The dusky haired witch blends in surprisingly well, despite her crimson leather jacket and corset. Maybe the most normal looking other than Jean, she watches the two men with a mixed degree of guarded care and recognition. English is clearly not her native language, and she makes no effort to conceal that though it may lead to all kinds of first impressions and few good.
Those grave eyes, harbingers of the summer sun, alight upon Kurt and the brief measure of flaring surprise settles back into something this side of accepting. She replies in Romany; her greeting is formal, not unkind. In that she's infinitely more skilled with translation than English, for all her Slavic accent melts away in a heartbeat. Just proof of the masks worn, though she runs her thumb down the subtle metal chain around her throat. If anyone can sense the mystical around her, she burns with it as brightly as a star.
"No school here. The war school," she gestures casually east and north, "is that way."
"War school?" Warren say incredulously as he continues to watch Wanda wearily. "If you are talking about Xavier's, I wouldn't call it a war school. It's purpose is meant for peace." He snorts, "Though the way things are going it might as well be a school for war. Maybe I should start a new curriculum." He eyes the brown haired woman questioningly for a moment, and then reaches up pulling back the hood from his head, releasing the mess of blonde hair to fall around his blue face and yellow eyes. "So, who are you, anyway? You seem to know Jean."
"Ah! This is Wanda. Wanda, this is Warren…" both names are given in his strong, German accent. "I did not know you also knew Fraulein Jean," is offered to Wanda although they met so very long ago. At Warren's mention of the Institute now being more of a 'war school', he turns back to the other blue one to ask, "What has happened? Is there anything I can do to help?"
"She knows my father," Wanda replies after the first round of introductions are made. She gives Warren a steady look that doesn't treat flesh entirely as opaque, at least for the degree of intensity it delivers. Blame her for rudeness; she knows no other way to see, not with the mystic's sight saturating her vision and revealing hidden qualities and auras freely. Her fingertips are ever poised on those threads of the universe, a compromise between magic and her natural abilities. "I am not a threat to you or your school. My brother went there for a short time." That would imply she might, though she's on record no where in the vicinity. Her gaze narrows a little, and she glances aside to Kurt. "«There is a military school some miles away. For the national forces.»" He might forgive her flip to German but English just isn't her mother tongue, not even close, and she can apply far more rigorous precision in one they do share in common. "Why would you say there is need for war study? That is…" She shrugs. Kurt's summed it up well enough.
Warren looks between Wanda and Kurt, his eyes shifting from yellow to orange and then red as the words fly from his mouth. "Well, other than the fact that mutants are getting kidnapped and experimented on, you mean? We need to be able to defend ourselves. I am not incompetent in a fight by any means, and yet I was taken without even as much as a blip on anyone's radar. I just got back saving Lorna and a couple of other kids from being sold on the black market for God knows what purpose. If now isn't the time to stand up and learn to protect ourselves, then when is? When it is too late and they round us up like…"
Warren stops, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes for a moment. When he reopens them, they are back to a neutral yellow. "Someone has to protect these kids. Someone has to stand up and stop this bullshit. I do what I can, throwing money at the situation where I can but it just isn't enough, and I may not even be able to do that much longer if my company gets yanked from under me."
Nightcrawler ahs as Wanda explains things in German and he offers back, «I see. There are schools like that even in Europe. Is it so strange for it to be here?» he then turns to Warren, watching and listening quietly before he reaches out to place a hand on the other's arm. "It is -your- company, ja? If you still want it, do not let it be…ahh…'yanked' from you." He'll even offer a pat, "I agree. Someone needs to protect the younger ones. We all need to be able to protect ourselves und each other. But…I do not think war is the way for it."
His expression turns a little sad as he looks to Warren, "I am sorry that this happened to you, but…it is not a new thing. We can try to stop it, but it is not something new und only to mutants. Believe me. I do not like to see it still happening, but it is a constant fight."
|ROLL| Wanda +rolls 1d20 for: 20
For a long moment, the dark-haired girl stares off into the distance and the trees. She is young, not far into her twenties, and at times the softened lines of her features reveal youth even fairer preserved than that. The lie is in her gaze, something ancient, witness to things that should not be above and beyond even the average mutant's reckoning. "They threatened my sister." A statement as much as a rhetorical question, her voice is faded back to soft volume barely a notch above a murmur. "The second time now? Or the third?" The slow blink and the frost completely covering her implacable expression melts away slightly, pulling her into the company of two people probably scarred in their own fashion, but not quite the same.
"Take anyone different and study them, kill them? You are twenty years late for that. A century and more. They have hunted the different for centuries and a wage of blood, Herr Warren, changes not a thing." How old is someone who can speak with such spellbound certainty, cold words of adamant and titanium, chilled by the excess of time and space? "Rage, yes. Drink a cup of anger. It will be all bitter at the end and no answer. Lead by example to shed the fear. Money is a kind of power. Use that. Those 'children'? They are adults. Young, but adults. My sister is not a baby. She chooses for herself. Sometimes people do not listen to good words, and they find themselves in trouble. It is not always best to save them. It is best to teach them how to live well and others to live with us. At least it seems so."
Adding two plus two to get four, Warren has as he comes to a realization. "Oh…that Wanda. Pietro's sister, and Lorna's as well. Got it."
Warren folds his arms over his chest, "Oh, I know this is nothing new. Experimentation on the 'different' has happened from the dawn of time most likely. Your skin color is different? You have wings? You can create ice from thin air? That must mean it is just peachy to treat you like you are less than human. I get that I am not unique in my persecution, nor will I be the last of us. I am just one of the 'lucky' ones that managed return to see another sunrise."
He starts to pace along the little trail, "Rage may be bitter, and you're probably right…in the end it will amount to nothing, but it /feels/ right. There is a part of me that wants to…" He pauses, closing his eyes as a little shudder manifests and runs over his body. "…make them pay. I never used to feel this anger before. They changed more than my body. They changed my mind."
Kurt nods to Wanda, agreeing that not all of the aforementioned 'children' are helpless. As Warren paces, he watches but then adds, "Only you can control your mind, Mein Freund. They hurt you. They took what you knew und they changed it. You will never be the same…you will never go back to that. But only you can choose how you think. How you control what you think. I think that it is like when someone dies, ja?" He looks between the others. "You have thoughts…the levels?" Stages of Grief. "Anger is one of them. You have a right to be angry. But you cannot say, if you let anger control you, that they -made- you do that."
Warren's fists clench, the gloves creaking as the leather tightens. "Can't I though, Kurt? I've waken up in the middle of the night, my bed trashed and destroyed because these wings on my back lashed out in the middle of the night. I had no conscious control over them, so you are telling me that I am responsible for that? Sometimes I have to fight them, to keep them from tearing out of my back and lashing out. If I let my concentration falter while I am awake, I am terrified they will kill someone. I don't want to kill anyone consciously…yet they wings want to taste blood. I never had these feelings before…so what is it? You tell me."