xp_logs | Magnificent Seven: Arrival

Upon arrival in Wakanda, Emma and Jean discover that the astral plane in the vicinity hasn't recovered from the events of the summer. Later, Nathan and T'Challa touch base.

Nathan was down the steps of the plane first, duffel bag slung over his shoulders and his steps quick as he moved towards the unmistakable figure of Wakanda's king, standing in the shade by the terminal building. It was questionable as to how much relief the shade would really offer; it was blazingly hot at N'Jadaka's airfield, the air shimmering with heat even this early in the morning, and no trace of a breeze despite the mountainous surroundings.

Jean had been feeling kind of off for most of the flight, something she'd put down to nerves about being back in Wakanda after what had happened last time, but stepping off the plane she had to admit there was more to it that that. There was definitely something strange about Wakanda. Again. Or possibly still.

Emma had to admit that she found the combined company of Jean and Nathan an irritant at the best of time. All that concentrated goodness tended to set her teeth on edge; it was like overdosing on sugar. But her reasonably foul mood turned even sourer as her feet touched the ground at the bottom of the plane's steps. "What did you two do the last time you were in this country?" she asked. "The Astral Plane is fucked." She didn't normally swear, but she liked to annoy the Pollyanna twins. It was petty, she knew, but sometimes Emma very much enjoyed being petty.

Jean shrugged, refusing to let Emma needle her. "I refuse to be held responsible for the maraudings of a psychic parasite. The Shadow King was the one to fuck up the Astral Plane. We just got sucked into the aftermath when some minor primal godlike being decided that it'd be nice to make a visit."

Emma's mouth twitched downwards at the mention of the Shadow King. "Farouk," she said bitterly, "really could have found a better way of dealing with his daddy issues. I'm still trying to think of reasons why lobotomising the man is not a good idea." She glanced around the primitive airport, no more enamoured of it than of the strange roiling of the Plane against her telepathy. "What's he managed in the last few months? Fucking up the Plane, releasing minor godlings and summoning demons intent on eating Paris? Why is he living at the Mansion again, exactly?"

"Charles has said it, and thus shall it be," Jean said with a resigned shrug as they made their way towards where Nathan and T'Challa were waiting. "Personally, I'd be all for letting Bets at him with her psychic knife."

--

"I understand people are trying to kill you again," Nathan said, not quite dryly as T'Challa half-collapsed into the chair opposite his, "but you look like you want to melt through the floor." He paused. "Things really that bad these days?" he asked, almost reluctantly; he didn't want to open up a can of worms, but the tension here in N'Jadaka, Wakanda's capital, was all too obvious to a telepath. And his friend looked terrible.

T'Challa shrugged. By the doorway, one of the ever-present bodyguards stood silently, watching. "It's just one more thing, this new threat," he said, his deep voice sounding flat and tired. "What happened in the summer... it changed things. I knew it would, but I don't think I appreciated just how much."

"How so?"

"They haven't been able to let go of what happened. My people," T'Challa said, a mixture of frustration and love in the words. "I can't be what they seem to want me to be, Nathan. I am not some... object of worship." He muttered something under his breath, eyes flickering warily to the bodyguard. "And I don't look back fondly on being possessed. I don't think I ever will. My ancestors might have wanted to be... ridden by a god, but perhaps I'm not the Black Panther they were."

"Different times, different worlds. I don't blame you for not savoring the experience. You weren't precisely...yourself," Nathan said, sipping at the glass of water he'd gotten hismelf before sitting down. They were in the sitting room of the guest house - the same guest house he and Ororo and the others had stayed in, that first visit. It had seemed like a logical site for a strategy meeting. T'Challa's security detail had been able to secure the house, which was a priority right now. "I'm sure the others will be down shortly," he went on, more briskly. "We need to figure out how we want to handle this."

"I want to help you help these children," T'Challa said, focusing on the matter at hand with every evidence of relief. Although the dark eyes that met Nathan's were stormy with anger; it wasn't entirely unexpected, after the deadly silence that had greeted Nathan's initial explanation of what was going on over the phone the previous night. "This is obscene, what's being done to them. Whatever I can do to help stop it, I will."

Nathan smiled faintly, and made a mental note to tell T'Challa the truth about his personal connection here. It was possibly past time he was honest about certain things. "Well," he said, aware of the hostile edge to the bodyguard's attention, now. "Planning will be done. But we're here to protect you, as much as to stop them. Whatever we decide to do, it has to accomplish both goals."

Although it was going to make it much easier to catch themselves some brainwashed mutant teenagers, if T'Challa was willing to act as bait.