Or Is He Both? - Prolouge
Aug. 13th, 2024 08:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsTW: NPC "death".
Sooraya and Terry, representing the Mutant Underground, meet teenager Del Frye and his father in Colorado to discuss helping Del and his options.
Terry tucked her purse behind her elbow so it rested partially against her lower back as she glanced toward Sooraya. They'd just arrived at the Frye house and, as she opened the car door, she murmured, "Given the 'I'm green and you can see my skeleton' part of the email we received, I'm a little worried about our lack of protective gear or a power suppressor." Unfortunately, there were a limited number of the devices and several of them were down for repairs or upgrades at the moment and it wasn't as though they could walk around a small town like this wearing lead suits.
"Got us covered at least in one part. I had some of the same worries." Sooraya discretely opened up her tote, revealing the small geiger counter she had hidden in there. "It's silent though. But first let's see what the situation is." She closed her own car door behind her and started up the path, discreetly keeping an eye on the counter as they headed up the door. "Hmm, numbers seem elevated, but not hugely." She stated, frowning as she tried to remember the exact numbers from her X-men Hazmat training. "Let's see what we're dealing with here though." Raising her hand she firmly knocked on the door.
Terry glanced at the Geiger counter, then turned to face whomever it was that opened the door a moment later.
The face was shadowed by the door being cracked just slightly but it was unmistakably glowing and green, the skull inside visible. It made any expression hard to read. "You're the Underground people, right?" Del Frye asked, voice hoarse as he opened the door a little wider and ushered them in. The Geiger counter started to tick more.
Nodding, Terry followed the boy's gestures toward what seemed to be the living room. "Yes, we're from the Underground. We've brought several thin's that might prove helpful for y'and we can go over your options with y'and your father." She couldn't say she'd ever seen a mutation presenting quite the way Del's was, but there were an infinite number of ways for the x-gene to express itself.
"I am Dust and this is Banshee." Sooraya quickly introduced them before perching on the edge of the couch, keeping a half eye on the Geiger counter. The numbers were still rising, yes, but not dangerously so. "And you must Del. It was good you reached out to us. Why don't you tell us a little more about yourself and how you got your powers?"
"I had a sprained ankle this summer right? I got a cortisone shot and bit after that I started feeling a lot stronger and stuff but then a few days after I woke up like." Del paused and tilted his head down so that his eye sockets were facing down. His eyes were the same transparent green as everything other than his bones. "Like this. I'm still really strong but I've been feeling really exhausted all the time and me and Dad don't know if the fever is supposed to be happening or not..." He was trying not to sound scared and failing.
"Wait, you became like this and you've been feeling sick for over six months?" Sooraya frowned, throwing a look at Banshee before narrowing her eyes just a little at Del's father who was sitting next to him. "Mr. Frye, this must be hard, but what have you noticed? Gotten any outside help?"
“Doctor.” This was the first time the older gentleman had spoken, but the whipcrack whisper of his tone signaled that he’d had enough of this. “Doctor John Fyre.” The fierceness in his eyes was a shock compared to the rest of him — a thin man made of angles and dark circles, a man hollowed out by worry. A man finished listening.
This tension only subdued by a breath as the doctor looked from their visitors to his son only to immediately shift to nowhere in particular, but John Fyre straightened in what must have been a professional pride. “I have been monitoring Delbert’s condition over its progression. I won’t risk losing him.” There was a lot left unsaid there, but whatever it was was shut behind the thin line of John’s frown. He did not look back to Del. “His fever and bouts of weakness have only worsened in the past weeks. I am ready to be convinced that you,” the Underground, mutant scientists, anyone else, “can help.”
Terry had settled into a more observational role upon entering the house, listening to the back and forth between Dust and the Fryes. "Doctor Frye," she murmured, sitting forward. "Given your comments, we're t'assume you're a medical doctor? We've access t'advanced facilities with experts in genetic mutations and manifestations where you an' your son could stay. He could receive treatment t'help stabilise him and then assist him with understanding his mutation. Y'could be involved in the entirety o'his treatment plan." She'd been watching his face the whole time, well familiar with the many, varied ways parents tended to react when their children manifested. Even so, it was... odd, how the elder Frye seemed to have shut down -- perhaps he viewed this entire situation as a failure, given he hadn't been able to protect or help his son thus far.
"I," John retorted, "am a published medical professional specializing in cancer treatments. I have nothing to hide — unlike the lot of you. Dust? Banshee? Those aren't names." He shook his head. "Show me these expert's accreditations. Show me their journals and research. I," and his gaze again flitted to his son and away again, "I want to know my son will be in capable hands. I — I couldn — I . . . Del's my son. My perfect boy. He needs help."
Del put a hand on his father's arm, sweating translucent green. "Dad... I called them, we don't have a ton of options. You already told me you tried everything you could, right?" He gave his father a weak smile, or at least his lips seemed to be pulled back in one. It was hard to tell when you could see his skull.
Even for a glowing green skeleton he has the obvious look of a teenager trying to downplay their sickness.
Sooraya rose from the couch, pulling her phone from her purse. "Why don't I make a few phone calls? I might be able to arrange for you to talk with one of our experts directly. And they will be glad to be able to talk to someone directly about what interventions have been taken so far. I don't think we have the time to show you a whole body of research." Glancing over to Banshee, she quickly mouthed 'Moira' at her.
"Yes, yes," John offered in surrender. He'd visibly tried not to flinch at his son's touch to only middling success. "There are few options left here from what I have on hand for treatment. I'll have to be satisfied with a phone interview." He sighed. "Urgency over pride here. I'll do whatever is needed to save Del."
"Alright. I'll be as quick as I can. Be right." Sooraya stepped outside, her phone already dialing Moira's emergency number. "Hey Moira, it's Sooraya..."
After a decision is made, it turns out that while having a rest Del Frye has passed away.
Del had excused himself to go lay down while his Dad talked to the two women from the Mutant Underground, the whole affair having been exhausting him. Del Frye's heart and lungs stopped and his body was left laying ontop of his sheets. The boy looked peaceful, his translucent eyelids closed over his eyes.
There was a light knock on his door.
"Del?"
The weary figure of the kid's father waltzed into the bedroom without waiting for a reply, and immediately began to offer explanations. "I'm appeased, I guess. They have the equipment we need to monitor your progression."
Dr. John Fyre stopped, then, upon fully registering the figure on the bed. A small, private smile crossed his face.
"It has been a day," he said as he took a step closer. Details registered. "Oh... oh god. No." His smile soured, its thin line crossing into question to panic to shock to absolutely nothing.
John shut the door.
Sometime later, the man emerged back into the living room. What had been mere weariness and stress now hung on the man like a shroud.
"I regret that we will no longer be requiring your assistance," he announced.
"Why? What..." Sooraya looked up from her phone, falling silent when she caught the expression on John's face, especially the pain his eyes radiated. Lowering her head, she very quietly muttered: "Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji’un" before raising her head again and adding: "I am so sorry, Dr. Freye. Is there anything we can do for you?"
"You can leave," he stated clinically. "There is nothing – no more – nothing else can be done."
"Alright Dr. Freye." Sooraya nodded, still a little confused at the sudden turn of events. "I wish you much strength with your loss. If you do need to reach out, you can reach us here." She placed a card on the table, then glanced around to gather her purse before quietly slipping out.
"We're not needed here anymore. Del just passed away and his father prefers to be left alone." Sooraya explained to Terry as they headed out, shaking her head. "I wish his father would have asked for help sooner... Moira might have been able to do something..."
Sooraya and Terry, representing the Mutant Underground, meet teenager Del Frye and his father in Colorado to discuss helping Del and his options.
Terry tucked her purse behind her elbow so it rested partially against her lower back as she glanced toward Sooraya. They'd just arrived at the Frye house and, as she opened the car door, she murmured, "Given the 'I'm green and you can see my skeleton' part of the email we received, I'm a little worried about our lack of protective gear or a power suppressor." Unfortunately, there were a limited number of the devices and several of them were down for repairs or upgrades at the moment and it wasn't as though they could walk around a small town like this wearing lead suits.
"Got us covered at least in one part. I had some of the same worries." Sooraya discretely opened up her tote, revealing the small geiger counter she had hidden in there. "It's silent though. But first let's see what the situation is." She closed her own car door behind her and started up the path, discreetly keeping an eye on the counter as they headed up the door. "Hmm, numbers seem elevated, but not hugely." She stated, frowning as she tried to remember the exact numbers from her X-men Hazmat training. "Let's see what we're dealing with here though." Raising her hand she firmly knocked on the door.
Terry glanced at the Geiger counter, then turned to face whomever it was that opened the door a moment later.
The face was shadowed by the door being cracked just slightly but it was unmistakably glowing and green, the skull inside visible. It made any expression hard to read. "You're the Underground people, right?" Del Frye asked, voice hoarse as he opened the door a little wider and ushered them in. The Geiger counter started to tick more.
Nodding, Terry followed the boy's gestures toward what seemed to be the living room. "Yes, we're from the Underground. We've brought several thin's that might prove helpful for y'and we can go over your options with y'and your father." She couldn't say she'd ever seen a mutation presenting quite the way Del's was, but there were an infinite number of ways for the x-gene to express itself.
"I am Dust and this is Banshee." Sooraya quickly introduced them before perching on the edge of the couch, keeping a half eye on the Geiger counter. The numbers were still rising, yes, but not dangerously so. "And you must Del. It was good you reached out to us. Why don't you tell us a little more about yourself and how you got your powers?"
"I had a sprained ankle this summer right? I got a cortisone shot and bit after that I started feeling a lot stronger and stuff but then a few days after I woke up like." Del paused and tilted his head down so that his eye sockets were facing down. His eyes were the same transparent green as everything other than his bones. "Like this. I'm still really strong but I've been feeling really exhausted all the time and me and Dad don't know if the fever is supposed to be happening or not..." He was trying not to sound scared and failing.
"Wait, you became like this and you've been feeling sick for over six months?" Sooraya frowned, throwing a look at Banshee before narrowing her eyes just a little at Del's father who was sitting next to him. "Mr. Frye, this must be hard, but what have you noticed? Gotten any outside help?"
“Doctor.” This was the first time the older gentleman had spoken, but the whipcrack whisper of his tone signaled that he’d had enough of this. “Doctor John Fyre.” The fierceness in his eyes was a shock compared to the rest of him — a thin man made of angles and dark circles, a man hollowed out by worry. A man finished listening.
This tension only subdued by a breath as the doctor looked from their visitors to his son only to immediately shift to nowhere in particular, but John Fyre straightened in what must have been a professional pride. “I have been monitoring Delbert’s condition over its progression. I won’t risk losing him.” There was a lot left unsaid there, but whatever it was was shut behind the thin line of John’s frown. He did not look back to Del. “His fever and bouts of weakness have only worsened in the past weeks. I am ready to be convinced that you,” the Underground, mutant scientists, anyone else, “can help.”
Terry had settled into a more observational role upon entering the house, listening to the back and forth between Dust and the Fryes. "Doctor Frye," she murmured, sitting forward. "Given your comments, we're t'assume you're a medical doctor? We've access t'advanced facilities with experts in genetic mutations and manifestations where you an' your son could stay. He could receive treatment t'help stabilise him and then assist him with understanding his mutation. Y'could be involved in the entirety o'his treatment plan." She'd been watching his face the whole time, well familiar with the many, varied ways parents tended to react when their children manifested. Even so, it was... odd, how the elder Frye seemed to have shut down -- perhaps he viewed this entire situation as a failure, given he hadn't been able to protect or help his son thus far.
"I," John retorted, "am a published medical professional specializing in cancer treatments. I have nothing to hide — unlike the lot of you. Dust? Banshee? Those aren't names." He shook his head. "Show me these expert's accreditations. Show me their journals and research. I," and his gaze again flitted to his son and away again, "I want to know my son will be in capable hands. I — I couldn — I . . . Del's my son. My perfect boy. He needs help."
Del put a hand on his father's arm, sweating translucent green. "Dad... I called them, we don't have a ton of options. You already told me you tried everything you could, right?" He gave his father a weak smile, or at least his lips seemed to be pulled back in one. It was hard to tell when you could see his skull.
Even for a glowing green skeleton he has the obvious look of a teenager trying to downplay their sickness.
Sooraya rose from the couch, pulling her phone from her purse. "Why don't I make a few phone calls? I might be able to arrange for you to talk with one of our experts directly. And they will be glad to be able to talk to someone directly about what interventions have been taken so far. I don't think we have the time to show you a whole body of research." Glancing over to Banshee, she quickly mouthed 'Moira' at her.
"Yes, yes," John offered in surrender. He'd visibly tried not to flinch at his son's touch to only middling success. "There are few options left here from what I have on hand for treatment. I'll have to be satisfied with a phone interview." He sighed. "Urgency over pride here. I'll do whatever is needed to save Del."
"Alright. I'll be as quick as I can. Be right." Sooraya stepped outside, her phone already dialing Moira's emergency number. "Hey Moira, it's Sooraya..."
After a decision is made, it turns out that while having a rest Del Frye has passed away.
Del had excused himself to go lay down while his Dad talked to the two women from the Mutant Underground, the whole affair having been exhausting him. Del Frye's heart and lungs stopped and his body was left laying ontop of his sheets. The boy looked peaceful, his translucent eyelids closed over his eyes.
There was a light knock on his door.
"Del?"
The weary figure of the kid's father waltzed into the bedroom without waiting for a reply, and immediately began to offer explanations. "I'm appeased, I guess. They have the equipment we need to monitor your progression."
Dr. John Fyre stopped, then, upon fully registering the figure on the bed. A small, private smile crossed his face.
"It has been a day," he said as he took a step closer. Details registered. "Oh... oh god. No." His smile soured, its thin line crossing into question to panic to shock to absolutely nothing.
John shut the door.
Sometime later, the man emerged back into the living room. What had been mere weariness and stress now hung on the man like a shroud.
"I regret that we will no longer be requiring your assistance," he announced.
"Why? What..." Sooraya looked up from her phone, falling silent when she caught the expression on John's face, especially the pain his eyes radiated. Lowering her head, she very quietly muttered: "Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji’un" before raising her head again and adding: "I am so sorry, Dr. Freye. Is there anything we can do for you?"
"You can leave," he stated clinically. "There is nothing – no more – nothing else can be done."
"Alright Dr. Freye." Sooraya nodded, still a little confused at the sudden turn of events. "I wish you much strength with your loss. If you do need to reach out, you can reach us here." She placed a card on the table, then glanced around to gather her purse before quietly slipping out.
"We're not needed here anymore. Del just passed away and his father prefers to be left alone." Sooraya explained to Terry as they headed out, shaking her head. "I wish his father would have asked for help sooner... Moira might have been able to do something..."
