xp_logs | Great Rift: Regrouping (Reply)

After some sleep, Ororo consults with the mansion and then makes an offer to T'Challa. Meanwhile, Nathan checks on Rahne.

It had hardly been feasible for them to bunk down in the waiting room of the clinic. After his explanation of the situation the previous night, T'Challa had brought the four of them to a house close to the clinic, where they could get some rest. It was a guesthouse, he'd said, and from the size of it, could have housed several more visitors in comfort.

Nathan had vanished again first thing in the morning, back to check on Rahne, leaving Ororo to call the mansion to update them on the situation. Your turn, Ororo, he'd said dourly. 'Whoops, I tripped and fell into a private war between an arms smuggler and a tribal king' would sound a lot better coming from you.

Ororo's wording had been somewhat different when she finally made the call, and she and Scott had a long conversation about the best course of action from here on out. Not surprisingly, he had been expecting what she had suggested as a solution (or attempt at one, anyway) and it was armed with this knowledge and confidence that she made her way towards the office-cum-private room that she knew T'Challa had taken as his own.

The door was half-open, as she approached. "Come in," T'Challa called distractedly from inside, before she could call out. As if he had heard her footsteps - and it was quite possible that he had. He had mentioned something about enhanced senses, the night before.

"Thank you." She pushed open the door, stepping into the doorframe and glancing around for the African man. "T'Challa, I spoke with the..." Here she trailed off dramatically, her attention suddenly taken by the sight of the Wakandan king, bare-chested and obviously in the middle of changing his shirt or some such routine. "The... people I work with. In the States." There she stopped. And stared.

"My apologies," T'Challa said somewhat awkwardly, reaching quickly for his shirt. "I thought you were Jakarra. I had asked him to arrange another vehicle." He pulled the shirt on without further ado. It wasn't quite fast enough; Ororo got a very clear look at the cuts and bruises that mottled his torso.

Ororo rarely blushed; she did for the second time now in as many days. "I am sorry. I should have announced myself more clearly. I wished to speak with you about an important matter, but if I am interrupting..."

"No. Please," T'Challa said, gesturing her towards a chair. He was moving stiffly again, obviously in some pain. "I have been envying those mutants with healing factors, of late," he said, lowering himself into the other chair.

Ororo took the seat, pursing her lips as she smoothed her hands over her thighs. "Have you been to the clinic?" she asked, though a moment later she frowned. "For that matter, were you injured in the attack? I do not remember it, otherwise I would have suggested you seek treatment earlier..."

"I was not injured in the attack," T'Challa said, then shrugged slightly, almost uncomfortably. "My last attempt to take Moses into custody went poorly. When I first confronted him, I was unaware of his concussive blasts." He smiled, a flicker of real, if bleak amusement in his eyes. "I would imagine he believes me dead."

Ororo made a sympathetic noise, shaking her head. "I am sorry to hear that. But perhaps it coincides with what I came to speak with you about."

T'Challa raised an eyebrow. "That sounds somewhat ominous..."

"It was not meant as such, I promise. You see..." Ororo shifted in her seat, drawing a deep breath. "I think we can be of some assistance in your plight."

T'Challa's expression turned immediately hooded. "You have already paid the price for my 'plight'," he said, a bit of an edge to the words. "You and your friends came here to help. Now, one of your young friends is injured."

"Yes, but we are not unused to the risks that come with defending the innocent... Rahne's injury is unfortunate, but I am sure even she would want to see this man stopped. Nathan, Angelo and I are trained, we can assist you if you wish to put an end to these attack once and for all." Ororo's expression was serious as she leaned in towards T'Challa. "For they cannot continue. We both know that."

T'Challa leaned towards her as well, an almost challenging look in his eyes. "Trained how, Ororo?" It wasn't suspicion, underlying the words; he was simply very intent on her, all of a sudden. "I shared a great deal last night. Should you have reciprocated?"

"I believe that is what I am doing now," she replied evenly. "The school that I come from - we are not only that. Many of the teachers are also part of a team... a team of mutants who train in order to respond to threats just like this one. We do not stand for the threatening of innocent people, and so when I spoke with my co-leader about what we witnessed, he agreed that offering assistance would be the only course of action left to us."

T'Challa raised an eyebrow. "And to think, I believe you all worked with an NGO..." He leaned back, shaking his head slightly. "I am concerned about escalation. Bringing in a large number of strangers - Moses has hired mutants from outside, as I said. Mercenaries. I would prefer not to see full-fledged war break out."

"Nor would we. That, combined with numerous other logistical issues means that we can only offer you the aid of the people who are already here. It is not a large group, but both Nathan and I are quite experienced in the field, and Angelo and John are both trustworthy young men. We would be glad to help in any way possible - we wish to see these attacks stop too."

"You handled yourselves well, last night." T'Challa winced a bit as he laid one hand to his side. "I certainly cannot handle him and all his men alone," he said more softly, "and I will not lead Wakandan soldiers against mutants. They would follow, if I did, but I value their lives too highly to throw them away in such a fashion."

Nodding, Ororo reached out to put a hand palm-up on the desk between them. "As it should be. But as you said, you cannot do this alone. If you will allow us to help you, you will have a chance at putting an end to this bloodshed once and for all." She looked at him beseechingly. "Perhaps the Wakanda are not my people. But I wish to see them safe, just as you do."

T'Challa gave her a long steady look - and then a nod. He reached out, laying his hand over hers, just for an instant, and then rose. "Then we need to plan."

--

Her arm ached and felt heavy. Her eyelids felt heavy too, and gritty, but not painful. She could see the red of strong light behind her eyelids, so Rahne squinched her eyes a bit and lifted her left hand to rub and shade them before they opened.

Not sunlight. Indoor lighting. Medical facility. She was a bit fuzzy on details at the moment, but was fairly sure she had been moved.

"Er," she said diffidently, "where am I?"

"You're in Wakanda." The deep voice was reassuringly familiar, and the chair Nathan was sitting in creaked as he moved for the first time in a few hours. "You're all right," he said more quietly as she blinked at him. "A broken arm and a bullet hole, but you'll be fine."

"Oh." Bullet. She'd been shot. She remembered that now, and the wings. "Right. ...Are the girl and her baby all right?"

Her mind was unfocused, from the drugs he suspected, and Nathan dipped gently into her memories to figure out what she meant. "They're fine. Still back at the vilage," he said, when the face of the young woman didn't match the handful of dead or any of the injured here with them in Wakanda.

"Oh. Good." She'd been shot. It was such an odd thought, and it shouldn't be considering what she'd been doing shortly beforehand. One side of her mouth felt a little bruised from when she'd bitten down on a hand and caught part of the gun-grip. And that was before the barking. "How are you? Everyone?"

Nathan reached out and took her good hand gently, holding it in both of it. "I'm fine. So are the others. Some of the other villagers were hurt, and we brought them with us here for help, too." He didn't mention the handful of dead. Later, for that sort of news. "Would you like some water?"

"Aye, please." She curled her hand around his; she might have produced a real squeeze under duress, but the token seemed enough.

A filled glass levitated itself over from the table at the side of the room. Rahne had what passed for a private room in the tiny medical clinic; the clinic was shockingly well-appointed, for a village in Africa. Of course, Nathan had been reassessing what he thought he'd known about Wakanda from the moment they'd driven into the place.

"Don't drink too fast," he said, lowering the glass gently into easy drinking position, and adjusting both the straw and the bed for Rahne. "Your stomach's probably a little unsettled."

"Thank you." She obediently took only a couple of sips to begin with, letting the cool feeling slide down her throat and roll around her stomach until it warmed up again. "So... Wakanda, ye said?"

"Mmm. It's a long story. They all seem very friendly, though." Nathan waited until she'd indicated that she'd had enough water for now, then let it float to the tiny table beside the bed. "I don't think I like seeing people point guns at your head," he said, after a long moment. "Or having to wash your blood off my hands. In fact, I think that's an experience I could do without from this day forward."

"This is not a revelation," Rahne said, mouth quirking lopsidedly. "I knew ye liked me a bit. Canna say I'm wild about the whole thing myself." She paused reflectively. "Could ha' been worse."

"There are ways to rush men with guns. If you're that determined to do it when necessary, I'll teach you." He hadn't let go of her hand yet. He was thinking he might not do that for a while, now that she was awake. "I know what you did it," Nathan went on, turning over the memories he'd seen in her mind, "and it was a damned brave thing to do, but you're supposed to learn from my less-than-sterling example. Why do you think I wind up in the infirmary so often? I'm causing an imbalance in the karmic scales so that the next generation doesn't have to." Despite the fact that his voice was low, even, his tone almost light, he was quite unmistakably rambling.

"Teach me," she echoed, and mustered the energy to squeeze his hand this time. "If the like comes up again, I'd hate to have passed up the offer. I didna do so badly the first few times," she added, rambling a little herself. "Dozen? ...Some. 'Tis hard to fire a gun without... bones and tendons, intact. Sideways, away from the herd and looking the wrong way. And silent. The barking was the thing...." Her eyes went unfocused. "He didna get all the way around to aim right at me. Fired a little early. Because he'd been starting to fire at her." She was trembling at this point, fear and fury piling up together, and her hand in Nathan's tried to curl into a fist. "A woman with a baby! He was terrified, he couldna panic and run instead like somebody with half a wit?"

Nathan didn't try to explain. Rahne didn't really want to hear why the man who'd shot her had likely reacted that way, after all. "It's all right," he murmured, not letting go of her hand. "You stopped him. They're fine. You're going to be fine, too."

She didn't really have the energy to lose her temper for very long at the moment. "Think you did the stopping," she murmured. "I just interrupted."

Nathan shook his head slightly. "I wouldn't have been in time," he said. "I was barely in time to help you."

"Like I said. Interrupted." She frowned briefly, then looked up at him. "Did I say herd? A minute ago?"

"Yeah, you did," he said, smiling a little. He reached up and smoothed the hair back from her face gently. "You're a little scrambled right now, but you're allowed. I think..." Nathan paused for a moment, weighing things, but then decided to say it. "I think Hrimhari would have been very proud of you."

Rahne blinked, and her eyes didn't exactly sting but they blurred. "He taught me a lot about how to fight as a wolf," she murmured. "I kept thinking of them as... a herd, aye, or a rival pack, it flip-flopped...." Her fingers curled tighter around his for a moment. "I think he'd like ye," she murmured. "Or else get in trouble trying to fight ye. Respect, for certain."

"Hopefully the former," Nathan said softly, seeing her eyelids growing heavier. He reached up again, fingertips brushing her temple. "Go back to sleep," he murmured, reinforcing it with just the tiniest thread of a telepathic suggestion. "Best way to make sure you wake up with a clearer head." And in the interim, he would make sure she had better dreams.

A tiny laugh bubbled up; the suggestion had been more gentle than subtle, and Rahne chuckled even as she let her eyes fall shut. "Nice," she mumbled. "Ironed brainwaves. Better'n injection."