Moira and Haroun Meet

[x-mactaggart.livejournal.com]

Moira jogs down the hallway, a pile of folders in her arms and pieces of paper sticking out of the pockets of her lab coat. She skids a little upon reaching the Media Lab door and pauses a second when she hears the radio playing. She frowns, trying to identify the language and vaguely pinpoints it as being from the Middle East. Poking her head into the room, she clears her throat.

Haroun, for his part, is Captain Oblivious. He's got his boots propped up on the table, a clear violation of Lab policy. The pen scratches across the legal pad even more quickly now, and his mutterings grow even more obscene-sounding.

"Well, tha' doesn't sound very pleasant," Moira states, shoving the door open further with her hip. "Lucky for ye, probably no one can understand a word ye're sayin'."

Haroun blinks, drops his boots to the floor with a thud, and spins around in his chair. "Likely true." he says by way of a response. "New here, are you?" he asks. "Don't remember seeing you around this loony bin."

Moira grins slightly. "I'm Dr. Moira MacTaggart an' I'm usually enjoyin' life at me own loony bin across th' ocean. An' yerself?" She dumbs the hastily made dossier's on the table and offers her hand.

Haroun looks at the proferred hand, and briefly takes his feet to clasp it in a handshake. A _strong_ handshake. "I am Haroun ibn Sallah al-Rashid." he says, then retakes his seat. "What's your doctorate in?"

"Genetics and psychology," she responds, shaking her hand slightly. "Quite a grip ye have there." Moira casts a sharp eye over him. "An' yer no student, unless I'm mistaken...?"

"No, I graduated from the Massachusetts Academy a few years ago." he says. "Genetics, eh? Interesting. I take it you specialize in our oh-so-lovely mutant genome?"

"Ahhh, Miss Frost, I've 'eard a wee bit about her." Moira nodded, grabbing a chair and settling into it. "Aye, I've been researchin' the mutant genome for...och, more years than I care ta tell. I'm usually runnin' me own Research Facility...usually."

"Muir Isle Research Center, right? The one that got torched by the Brits? So sorry to hear about that - even in Marrakesh, we'd heard about the Center." Haroun says. "Even sent a few poor souls your way, although I don't know if they ever arrived or not."

"Thank ye. It's bein'...sorted out. Or it will be, eventually. The British government is findin' out tha' th' public isna really supportin' it's militaristic move on me Center." She tilts her head at him. "Those souls...they probably did make it, th' adults dinnae like ta talk 'bout their past sometimes. Harder for them ta let go than th' young ones." She pauses. "If'n ye dinnae mind me askin'...what are yer powers? I don't mean ta be rude but consider it a professional curiosity."

Haroun smiles thinly. "Flight." he says, his voice flat. "I fly."

Catching his tone, Moira held up her hands. "Sorry, lad, dinnae mean ta pry if'n its a touchy subject."

"Recent events have brought into question whether or not I will continue to be able to fly, that's all." Haroun explains. "So, are you a mutant as well or just a flatscan who's slumming?"

Moira lets out a snort. "Hardly "slummin'", Haroun, given me past. I'm here to reorganize Muir, easier ta do it when I'm not havin' ta shoot at people on me own Isle, an' I've been roped inta teachin'." She softens a bit. "I'm sorry 'bout th' circumstances wit' yer powers...considerin' ye have 'eard o' me center, is there anythin' I, or me colleague back there, might be able ta do?"

"I doubt it very much, unless you're concealing degrees in electrical engineering, computer science, kinestetics and/or cybernetics under your kilt." Haroun smirks. "And there are a _lot_ of mutants who wouldn't let a flatscan treat them if their lives depended on it."

"Well, then, honestly? They may end up screwin' themselves. Besides th' charmin' Dr. Essex, I am th' best in Genetics th' world currently 'as ta offer." Moira coughs. "And...while I'm not hidin' those particular traits under me kilt...

"The best or not ... some of my people see it as a holy war. Flatscans against mutants for the right to exist. It's moronic and it makes no sense, but there it is. Personally, I think such thinking is an offense against Allah and the Prophet. And are you implying that you _DO_ know someone, or a team of someones, with those traits?" Haroun asks.

"I'll never understand tha'," Moira admits, a haunted look flashing over her face for a second. "An', aye, Dr. Rory Campbell, perhaps ye've 'eard 'bout him? An actual medicine doctor, plus an amazin' man wit' machines, an' yer electrical engineerin' an'..." She pauses. "Dr. Campbell lost 'is leg a few years back. Hip down. He has been buildin' an' expandin' on the prothestic leg fer years but...I believe one o' th' reasons Muir got ransaked was because of Dr. Campbell's experiments with cybernetics. If it hadna been completely horrific, I'm fairly positive they would have taken his leg. He'd recentally done some amazin' work to reconstruct his leg."

Haroun smiles thinly in semi-remembered pain. "I know something of that feeling." he admits. "And the name doesn't ring a bell. Too many of my countrymen are too poor, too ignorant, to seek proper help in dealing with mutations. I once saw a little girl immolate herself right in front of me because she couldn't stand the dishonor of mutantcy."

Moira shudders. "Aye, I've been helpin' th' ones tha' I can but it's so hard sometimes. Mutants aren't understood, they sometimes dinnae understand themselves, an' they sometimes end up hurtin' themselves wit' their power. An' I fear tha', in th' end, there will only be jus' so much we can do."

"Try seeing mutantcy in the Third World sometime. Which is what I was doing in here - keeping track of the news from home, and reading between the lines." Haroun says. "That's part of why I'm here, actually."

She nods at the radio. "So tha's what ye were listenin' ta." Moira stares at the radio, listening to it for a few minutes. "I would give me soul ta help out there but, yer right, I wouldna be accepted. As a human or a woman. So I do th' little tha' I can...I'm grateful tha' ye've heard of the Center, means at least word is gettin' out there."

"Doubly damned, I'm afraid." he says with a sad smile. "And I don't think you understand. I heard about the center because a mountain cell of 'freedom fighters' were dreaming of cleansing the entire island with a stolen FAE. Luckily for you and all those poor wretches you call patients, I managed to dissuade them before they could do the deed."

For a moment, the blood drained out of Moira's face before deep anger came flooding back. "Those bloody, narrow-minded -bastards-," she hissed. "While I wouldna let me charges take out me own government, I most certainly would 'ave let them 'andle blood thirsty freedom fighters. Me patients may need help but it's almost certainly not wit' utilizin' their powers when they're cornered." She took a calming breath. "But, Haroun, I do owe ye more than a thank ye would every cover." She thinks for a second. "I'm plannin' on goin' back ta Muir this weekend, takin' some o' th' students here ta visit and help me clean-up and lock down until I return. If ye want, ye're more than welcome ta join us. Gives ye a chance ta see the Center an' talk ta Dr. Campbell. I'm not promisin' anythin', obviously, but he may be able ta help ye wit' yer problem."

Haroun smiles thinly. "Perhaps I will, but my own circumstances are ... unusual. Mutantcy interacting with bleeding-edge and beyond cybernetics. I doubt this doctor of yours would have the specialized knowledge necessary to even know where to begin."

"He might, he might not. But Rory's a bloody genius at gettin' what he didn't have before an', honestly, when ye talked about it, ye sounded like ye could use another suggestion to whatever ye may currently 'ave. It couldna hurt." Moira idly flips another radio to a news channel and turns it down soft. "Sorry, I know ye've got tha' one on, I jus' need ta here if somethin's on about Muir."

Haroun shrugs. "Go ahead, I got what I needed. Looks like Marrakesh is ... turmultuous. Reading between the lines, it seems that the clerics and the government are working together again, and the burnings have started out in the villages. But there's something else going on as well..." he muses. "Is your Dr Campbell familiar with the work of Shaw Cybernetics?" he asks, too-diffidently.

Moira tilts her head back and looks at the ceiling, thinking. "...aye, aye I believe he has. Th' name sounds familiar, meanin' tha' Rory probably has mentioned it before."

Haroun smiles thinly. "Shaw hardware interfacing with custom Frost neural junction software." He explains this comment not in the slightest.

"...neural...junction...Gods above." Moira looks like she just choked on something. "Okay, aye, when ye said bleedin' edge, ye -meant- bleedin' edge..."

Haroun kicks his legs back up, resting his heels on the edge of the table. "Suppose it couldn't hurt to show you." And with that, he presses hard against a segment of his bare leg (he's wearing long shorts) and a segment of his flesh _lifts up and away_, revealing a whitish-green goop covering musculature and neatly-bundled trunks of nerves. "This is what happens when you're not immune to the side-effects of your own power." he says with real bitterness in his voice. "Think you can fix this, Doctor MacTaggert? Think you can play with my genome and grow my legs back? Do you?"

Moira swallows but doesn't show any other emotion. "Nay, Haroun ibn Sallah al-Rashid," she responds, looking from his leg and then at him, and managing to pronounce his name correctly despite her accent, "I cannae. Not now, probably not in some years. But after those years...considerin' one o' me project is mappin' out the Mutant genome...who knows. But, nay, I cannae." She matches his bitter smile. "I am, after all, only human."

"Only human." he echoes. "Yes, I suppose you are." And with that, he closes the access panel and swings his feet back to the floor.

"But considerin' th' likes of Magneto," she muses, "I think I'd rather be tha'. I have seen horrendous types of mutations, an' th' worst types of pain it can cause...I'll stick wit' me human problems."

"Of course you would." Haroun spits out. "It's easier to just be normal. And while I've got it pretty good, all things considered, there's a lot of folks out there who happen to agree with Magneto. Personally, I think the man's an insane nutcase, but there's a storm brewing. He was right about that much."

"Oh, aye, it's easier ta be normal when ye have ta watch yer..." She stops mid-sentance, angry at herself. Haroun had managed to hit a sore spot.

"Watch your what? Watch your back? Watch to make sure no flatscan is going to try to stick a knife in you just because you were born _different_? Watch your friends die at the hands of butchers who thank Allah to the sounds of fires and gas?" Speaking of stepping on sore spots...

Moira stands abruptly. "Nay, watchin' yer best friend attempt ta walk again after yer son decided tha' "Uncle Rory's leg isna really there anymore". Watchin' yer son's mutation kill him at th' age of 7!" she snaps. "Watchin' an' tryin' ta hold onta him as he's screamin' because he doesna understand what's hurtin' him, what's happenin' an' why mommy cannaea make it better! THA'S why it's safer that I'm "normal"." She's breathing hard, hands clenched and then turns away, staring at the wall opposite and trying to compose herself.

"It's always the worst when it's the children." he says quietly. "They rest in the glorious eternal paradise that is Heaven, I'm sure."

"Aye, tha' they do," she agrees, voice muffled. Her back is stiff. "I...apologize fer tha'. It's been a long, long time since I've talked about it an' I dinnae mean ta bring it up now. It's been a tryin' couple o' weeks..."

"I understand. It's been a trying few weeks for me as well." he says by way of an apology. "But I do not trust any flatscan, even one who has borne a mutant child, with too much information about my kind. Perhaps you will prove me wrong and accomplish something useful."

Sighing, she turns around. Her eyes are dry but she looks weary, older. "I hope I do. An' I do understand why yer reluctant an' I'll honor tha'." She nods at her files. "What little I can do ta ease yer mind, I will...there will be no file on any Haroun ibn Sallah al-Rashid in any o' my records. An' I hope tha' one day, I'll be able ta shake yer hand an' tell ye ye were wron' an' hand ye some proof."

"I look forward to the day. Perhaps we shall meet in Paradise, perhaps while we still drew breath. And as for that file ... *sighs* ... it should remain blank for now. But, during your researches, if you happen to come across any information regarding chemokinetic propulsion, I'd probably find it very useful. As would Sam Guthrie."

"If I will, I'll let ye, and Mr. Guthrie, know. I jus' hope tha' I do." The radio on the table suddenly picks up.

"...the attack on Muir Island Research Facility, ancestral home of Dr. Moira MacTaggart, a head geneticist in mutant powers, left all of Scotland shaken an' there actually have been protests in the surrounding area."

Turning her head, she looked at it. "If'n ye'll excuse me, it seems I have a phone call home ta make."

Haroun nods. "Of course. I should be going anyway - I agreed to help Mr Guthrie plow the fields out back for a while. With his face."

"...well, um...ye do tha' then." Moira's mouth twitches. "Sounds like th' kind o' fun tha' only a rugby player could enjoy." She nods and turns to head out of the door, pausing for a second. "An', Haroun, I -will- be seein' ye again...I never miss an opportunity ta tell someone their wrong, even if it is years down the road."

Haroun merely shrugs, then stands up and walks proudly out of the Media Center to give the Scot some privacy for her phone call.