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| Mab |
 Posted: Tue Apr 01, 2008 12:26 am Post subject: Migration |
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Drunken Warrior Princess
Joined: 05 Jul 2005
Posts: 390
Location: England
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San Francisco, Sao Paulo, Havana, Lima, London, Rome, Mogadishu, Kinshasa, Tangiers, Alicante, Johannesburg, Karachi, Damascus, Moscow, New Dehli, Phoom Penh, Kuala Lumpur, Jakarta, Genosha, Perth, Osaka…
Jacob’s life had become a flipbook of time zones, an endless checklist of pick-ups and drop-offs. He finally came to rest in his old Madripoor apartment, slinging his bag onto the breakfast bar and staring blankly at the spectacular view of Hightown. The stars had been blotted out by pollution, replaced by the twinkling white lights of other skyscrapers. There were few building left in darkness. Jacob had come to like Madripoor because, like him, it rarely slept. The glowing grid patterns were broken up only by the occasional neon sign or electric billboard. He watched one a few blocks away shimmer and shift from a coca cola ad into a trailer poster for some hospital drama. He felt oddly unmoved. Three years spent living in the penthouse had numbed him to the awe he’d first felt when his father had handed him a set of keys and said “Make yourself at home.”
“TV!” Jacob called out and three different I monitors dotted around the open-plan space burst into life. He turned to the smallest, set inside the kitchen hob’s gleaming steel extractor fan. The clipped pronunciation of a BBC News 24 anchor felt like a stark contrast to the past twelve hours using hand gestures more than sentences to talk with his clients.
“Equifax, one of the nation's three major credit bureaus, today confirmed that a company laptop containing employee names and Social Security numbers was stolen from an employee who was travelling by train near London. The theft, which could affect as many as 2,500 of the Atlanta-based company's 4,600 employees, happened two days ago and all employees were notified by early yesterday evening, spokesman David Rubinger said.”
“Employee names and partial and full Social Security numbers were on the computer's hard drive, though Rubinger said it would be almost impossible for the thief to decipher the information because it was streamed together.”
The report switched briefly to a small, sweaty man in a pinstripe suit. “It would be very difficult to link this information and determine they were actual Social Security numbers. No other employee data was on the computer, and there was no customer information on the computer."
Names and Social Security numbers? Riiiight… Jacob smiled and patted the record bag by his arm. It held a twelve inch laptop he had brought back from London. “NBC.” The monitors switched channel.
“Scientists in Washington DC have used stem cells and a soup of nerve-friendly chemicals to not just bridge a damaged spinal cord but actually regrow the circuitry needed to move a muscle, helping partially paralyzed rats walk. Years of additional research is needed before-*"
He knew full well what the white coat brigade over in Washington was up to. His mother had emailed him about collecting a batch of samples from Dr. McTaggart’s labs, cells the Scot had taken from Jacob’s own body years ago. Cells that were now in the base of several rats’ spines. “TF1!”And the channel hopped again. The French station had a badly dubbed episode of Faulty Towers on. Jacob left it running, just for background noise. Sighing, he hauled himself up and mooched further across the strip of linoleum he called a kitchen. It was a strange force of habit but whenever he felt restless, he always ended up being drawn to the fridge, staring into it just as vacantly as he had the window.
Olives. Wasabi paste. Milk. A couple of cans of Mountain Dew. A jar of pickles… Something in a Tupperware box that had turned green and fuzzy. He never seemed to have much more than random snack food and condiments, was never home long enough to justify buying anything else. "ABC." He called out after a long pause. He settled for honey on a stale toasted bagel and threw the science-project-in-a-box into the trash.
“Breaking news from Montana,” the gentle background ramble of stock market discussion and economic forecasts was interrupted by an orange skinned anchor man who was clearly relishing the opportunity to announce a breaking story.
Jacob turned; saw the screen, and his bagel tipped onto the floor. It landed honey-side down, of course. “Screen one! Email! Phone! Mom!” he yelled, the volume of his own voice taking him by complete surprise.
***
Moira stood outside the main lab facility on Muir Island, stirring her tea thoughtfully. A dark, hand-rolled cigarette was still clasped between the fingers that supported her “World’s Best Mum” mug, embers flaring as they caught the strong coastal wind.
When a figure dressed in a black suit and neon blue shirt dotted with white and yellow daisies materialised barely three feet in front of her, the doctor simply frowned in response, took another inhale of smoke as she felt the wind pick up. Having worked and lived with mutants for so long, it had become very hard to surprise her.
“Guuuaah!” Jacob gasped as soon as his form coalesced. He’d been travelling for almost five minutes non-stop and the cold Scottish air was an extra shock to his system.
“Baby Gavin!” Moira smiled, knowing Jacob hated the nickname. “T’what do we owe th’pleasure?”
“Dr.McTaggart?” Courier started. He frowned, surprised to find the one person he’d come to see, looking like she’d waited on the doorstep for him. “I… uh…” He trailed off to take a few more deep breaths, to find a way of getting the thoughts out of his head and into his mouth without them coming out as garbled nonsense. “The army, they raided an MLF base, Jericho’s farm in Montana… I know he’d been itching to torch that Stark factory but… Christ, they were talking about Graydon Creed too, it was all on the nine ‘o’ clock news! And those… things! Did you see them?!”
Moira quirked an eyebrow. She was used to dealing with Jacob's tendency to condense information after a long jump. “The Sentinels?”
“Yeah! They-*” Courier’s sentence suddenly derailed itself. “Wait, you know about them?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“And you’re stood here drinking tea?”
“Well ah woulda sat, but smokin’ inside the labs would’nae set a good example…”
“But…”
“But what, Jakey?” Moira’s tone managed to dance a fine line between warmth and firmness. She paused to finish her cigarette. “Dija come here t’warn me ‘boot the ‘rampagin’ mechanoids’? Contrary t’popular belief, we’re no’ the 51st State, y’know. It's unlawful, what they're do'in, but they cannae touch the UK.” She ground the cigarette stub firmly with the heel of her flat black pump. Jacob got the distinct impression that she was picturing the face of President Kelly underneath her foot.
“That’s kinda why I came here too.” Courier frowned. He resisted the urge to call her Aunty Moira. “See... I was... It’s about my sis…” He looked down at his chewed nails, looking lost. Blue-black hair whipped around his face. “Is there somewhere we can talk? Inside? I kinda feel like I’m competing with the weather here.”
Moira ushered him through the automatic doors and into the building’s reception. “O’course. Let’s get ye’a drink too. There’s nuthin’ a wee cuppa an’ a jaffa cake could’nae set ta rights.”
***
Getting through the mansion’s security was as simple as it had always been. No alarms went off, nobody seemed to notice Courier’s arrival or thought him out of place. He tried to keep his thoughts as calm as possible so as not to attract telepathic attention as he scurried through the school’s corridors, small brown parcel under one arm, stopping various students to see if they knew where the recipient of his latest delivery was. He didn’t know the girl he was looking for, but was keeping an eye out for familiar faces. There were a few people at Xavier’s who knew him, might have remembered him. Or at least he hoped they did. He wanted to be remembered, just not recognised.
One young girl carrying a stack of books finally pointed him in the right direction. Jacob thanked her and disappeared, materialising in the centre of the library. There was only one person left that he could see, which narrowed things down a bit. She was a redhead, dwarfed by the tall bookshelves surrounding her.
Courier cleared his throat and adjusted his grip on the parcel Moira had given him. Delivering to someone other than terrorists or mafiosa-types made a nice change from the usual drop-off routine. “Uhm… Rahne Sinclair?” He made a small waving gesture and smiled. “Hey! My name’s Courier, I got a package here from your Mom. In Scotland.”
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Stacy X | Kes | Courier | Malice |
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| Wolfbro86 |
| Posted: Tue Apr 01, 2008 4:57 am Post subject: |
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Joined: 26 Jun 2005
Posts: 233
Location: Ventura, CA
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It really had been hell. Screaming, panicked people packed into the Medlab willy-nilly, all worried, all upset, all wondering what was going to happen to them...it had nearly driven Rahne to distraction. Never mind that it was her job to help them. She wasn't really a medical doctor, she was a geneticist (well, sort of). Rahne could perform first aid and she knew which painkillers did what, but beyond that she was pretty much lost.
Finally, the worst of the injuries had been seen to, people were beginning to calm down, and it wasn't a state of constant crisis in the Medlab. Time to find a quiet place to sit down, prop up aching feet, and relax. Rather than go back to her room (which was kind of a mess at the moment), she decided that the library was the place where such things could be found. Quiet, calm, relaxing...find a chair and kick back in the sun, maybe read a bit...
So that was where Courier found her, sprawled out in a chair with a book open, ignored, in her lap. She was snoring, chair leaned back on two legs. However, when he spoke, the Scot woke her from a catnap with an undignified snort, chair legs thumping down onto the floor and prompting a brief bout of flailing from the surprised girl. "Ehh? Wot?" Rahne wiped her face, pushing hair out of her eyes as she looked blearily up at him.
“Hey! My name’s Courier, I got a package here from your Mom. In Scotland.”
One of her brows rose slightly, her voice thick as she spoke. "Mmm? From mum?" Rahne's eyes dropped to the parcel Courier was carrying. "Er, thank ye, I guess." She blinked owlishly, the man's words slowly percolating through her brain. "You came all the way frae Scotland, then? Quite a trip." Stretching, she stood up to take the parcel. "Can I give ye anythin' for yer trouble? Can' stand planes, meself, but I'm glad mum talked ye into bringin' along somethin' for me on yer trip." |
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| Mab |
| Posted: Fri Apr 18, 2008 12:26 am Post subject: |
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Drunken Warrior Princess
Joined: 05 Jul 2005
Posts: 390
Location: England
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Courier couldn’t help but smile as Rahne woke up in a flurry of limbs and squint of eyes. It was cute as hell, but the feeling he got was nostalgic too. Back in his ‘Institute days’, always leaving homework assignments to the very last minute meant he’d fallen asleep in the library himself on more than one occasion.
He was too busy being entertained by Rahne’s sleepy state to realise what he was saying. He cursed himself as soon as his last two words of introduction left his lips. Weeks’ worth of jetlag simply let him run on without thinking. In Scotland? Ugh! Way to state the obvious, moron! She knows where her own mother lives!
"Mmm? From mum?" Rahne's eyes dropped to the parcel Courier was carrying. He held it out, encouraging her to take it. Leaning over he tried to peer at what she was reading but couldn’t quite fathom the small, upside-down print.
"Er, thank ye, I guess." She blinked owlishly, the man's words slowly percolating through her brain. "You came all the way frae Scotland, then?”
“Uh-huh. Straight from Muir Island to Westchester. No pit stops, ‘cause I’m all about the hard-core commute.” Jacob smiled. He got the same look every time those in the dark about his powers asked about his journeys. It was the look of a child who had just set up an elaborate practical joke and was waiting for the payoff.
“Quite a trip.” Stretching, she stood up to take the parcel. "Can I give ye anythin' for yer trouble? Can' stand planes, meself, but I'm glad mum talked ye into bringin' along somethin' for me on yer trip.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of charging Aunt Moira’s girl for a delivery. And it’s not like I had to buy myself a plane ticket anyway. I just don't do sitting down for six hours straight. Your stunned amazement or best attempt at a faked astonishment to appease my excitable ego is all the payoff I need.” With that Jacob disappeared, coalescing behind Rahne’s left shoulder. He leaned over, still trying to peek at what she was reading, as well the contents of Moira’s parcel. “Because… yeah. I do this for a living. I’m the Courier.”
“I have to drop a laptop off in Atlanta in about…” Jacob glanced at his watch, “Um… Five hours. But I needed to see Moira first. Had a big favour to ask so I offered to take a diversion for her on my way back out. I give you this, me and her are even again. Well, for now, anyway I think.”
He adjusted the record bag slung over his shoulder and leant backwards against a bookshelf, arms crossed over his painfully loud shirt and the scrawny ipod wire hanging from his collar like a tie. “It’s funny really, my Mom and your Mom, they’ve know each other for years, but no one ever told me about you. I was in kind of a state when I got to Scotland, it didn’t really dawn me like it should’ve.” He cocked his head slightly, trying to see what, if anything, Rahne’s appearance had inherited from Doctor McTaggart. It felt better to stand and contemplate the pretty Scots girl than to think about what he’d seen on the news less than a day ago. Given the opportunity, Jacob was a great exponent of the head in sand approach. Stood in the library, there were no newscasts on giant killer robots. Therefore, for a little while at least, they ceased to exist.
“You lived with your dad before, right?” Moira hadn’t seen fit to fill him in on Miss Sinclair’s real back history, only a few vague half-truths. “I was already living here…” the Courier rambled on without giving Rahne the opportunity to correct him. “I mean I was already living on my own, here in New York, by the time my folks broke up.” He quickly rephrased, deciding on the spur of the moment not to mention his history with Xavier’s.
“Mom never made care-packages like that but she’d order my favourite bento boxes from this great place in NYC that did deliveries.” A rush of displaced air and Courier was sat opposite the Scot, a mischievous smile on his face. “So what’d I just smuggle across the big pond for ya? No contraband whiskey I hope.”
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Stacy X | Kes | Courier | Malice |
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| Wolfbro86 |
| Posted: Mon Jun 02, 2008 4:37 am Post subject: |
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Joined: 26 Jun 2005
Posts: 233
Location: Ventura, CA
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“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of charging Aunt Moira’s girl for a delivery. And it’s not like I had to buy myself a plane ticket anyway. I just don't do sitting down for six hours straight. Your stunned amazement or best attempt at a faked astonishment to appease my excitable ego is all the payoff I need. Because… yeah. I do this for a living. I’m the Courier.”
Rahne blinked in surprise, looking back over her shoulder as he changed position without apparently moving through any of the intervening space. However, after having lived at the mansion for as long as she had now, she likely wasn't as shocked and surprised as she could have been. Even so, her hackles would be rising if she had them at the moment. "A teleporter...all the way from Scotland? That is impressive." She chuckled softly, ruefully. "And yeah, definitely a courier."
She blinked, a frown creasing her brow as she noticed Courier's close scrutiny. Rahne was about to ask what it was about when he answered the question for her.
“You lived with your dad before, right? I was already living here…I mean I was already living on my own, here in New York, by the time my folks broke up.”
Rahne swallowed heavily, missing the last of what he said from the first question. "Uhh...yeah." She didn't think that he'd be satisfied with just that much, though. He seemed really curious. "Moira adopted me after me Da chucked me out." She rubbed her forehead ruefully. "He was the minister in town. Didnae sit to well with him his daughter turning into a werewolf, and he got the whole town roused up with torches and pitchforks." No matter how many times that memory came up, it was still bitter, like bile in the back of her throat. "So you don't need to go looking for ways that I resemble me mum."
“So what’d I just smuggle across the big pond for ya? No contraband whiskey I hope.”
She snorted to herself softly, looking through the parcel. The bitterness was slow to recede. "Nae, just a normal care package. Some books frae home," Rahne blinked, digging a little deeper, "ohh, some of me favorite tea, too." That brought a small smile to her face at least. |
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| Mab |
| Posted: Sun Jun 15, 2008 2:20 am Post subject: |
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Drunken Warrior Princess
Joined: 05 Jul 2005
Posts: 390
Location: England
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“Ah. Okay. See, this is why no one tells me about stuff like this, I always find a way to run in, trip up and land with a foot in my mouth. Sooo… Werewolf huh? That’s cool. Must make shaving a nightmare.” Courier smiled feebly, tried not to show a reaction, although inwardly he was kicking himself for dredging up Rahne’s resentment. “So what’d I just smuggle across the big pond for ya? No contraband whiskey I hope.”
She snorted to herself softly, looking through the parcel. The bitterness was slow to recede. "Nae, just a normal care package. Some books frae home,” Rahne blinked, digging a little deeper, "Ohh, some of me favourite tea, too." That brought a small smile to her face at least.
Looking to speed up her return to a better mood range, Jacob stood up from the table, the twinkle of mischief returning to his eyes. “I know just what’ll go with that.” He shrugged off his jacket, draping it over the back of his chair. “Back in a minute.” And with that he simply disappeared from the library.
The view of Rahne surrounded by papers and bookshelves disintegrated, replaced with corridor walls and canteen doors. Pushing through, Jacob was pleased to find very little had changed. Unaware of Mimic’s attack, he simply assumed the noticeable changes were basic refurbishment. He tried to make his way through the students as casually as possible. Wandering through, he began to pick up on the various strands of conversation winding through the busy hall. Most was the typical conversation one would expect to find in any high school, with a little banter about mutant powers here and there. But as he joined the back of the short queue, the word “robots” caught his ears.
“I heard it was a missile off one of those things that hit her. Like POW! Smackdown!”
“Oh my god, no way! She’d be, like, dead or something!”
“She taking classes again?”
“Nu-uh. I had foreign languages right after lunch yesterday and it was still ‘tall-dark-and Russian’ stumblin’ through the syllabus. I’m gonna fail French for sure!”
“You should talk to that X-Man, the Cajun guy.”
“Shut up!”
Jacob stood behind the two girls, shuffling restlessly as the queue moved along at a pace, trying to look like he wasn’t listening intently. Passing the drinks dispenser, he grabbed two cups of hot water and a carton of milk before disappearing again.
A rush of air heralded Jacob’s return to the library. He set the mugs and milk down on the table in front of Rahne. “Ta-dah. Please tell me you’re a milk-and-no-sugar girl, ‘cause I forgot to pick up sweetners.”
He settled back down on his chair, unsure how to ask the question suddenly preying on his mind. He had a good idea of which teacher the students in the canteen had been talking about. “Um… this is gonna sound kinda nosey, I know, but…” The Courier shifted uncomfortably, “Were the X-Men in Montana recently, if you know what I mean?”
Soft brown eyes narrowed with concern. “…Did anyone get hurt?”
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Stacy X | Kes | Courier | Malice |
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